The Story So Far: Top Victorian Sex Crime Investigators Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson's investigations into the bizarre attacks on the genitalia of nude statues adorning houses of ill-repute lead them to a supplier of sexual accoutrements in London's docklands. Upon entering the warehouse, the pair find themselves confronted by a masked figure wielding a huge phallic club!
I brought up my arm to try and protect myself from the gigantic penis swinging toward my head. However, before it could connect the bizarrely masked figure cried out in pain, dropping the phallus. I looked round to see that Holmes, back on his feet, had hurled a set of heavy iron manacles at my assailant. Before I could grab him, the figure had fled through the warehouses open door.
"An African ceremonial leather dildo," observed Holmes, picking up the weapon with which I had so nearly been bludgeoned. "Stuffed with Water Bison testicles, it can be a deadly weapon in the right hands!"
"What about that poor fellow?" I asked, gesturing toward the prone figure of the man assaulted by the masked attacker. "Were we too late?"
"I'm afraid so, old friend," said Holmes, sadly shaking his head as we looked down at the blood-stained body. "It seems that someone wanted to ensure that we couldn't speak to Mr Ephraim Winkler, the proprietor of this emporium !"
"Then you think that we're on the right trail?" I asked.
"Indeed, Watson," Holmes replied, turning his attention to an office at the far end of the warehouse. "However, it might be that we managed to disturb this fiend before he had a chance to destroy Winkler's sales records - we might yet be able to find out where the statues originated from!"
The office was a shambles, furniture overturned, drawers and filing cabinets ransacked and, most ominously, the fireplace was full of ashes.
"They're still warm - it seems we were too late," declared a crestfallen Holmes, poking the still smouldering hearth with his stick. "I'll venture that all of Winkler's purchase records are destroyed!"
"Perhaps all is not lost, Holmes," I said, as I rummaged through Winkler's drawers. "The purchase records and his supplier lists may be gone, but it seems the attacker missed the sales ledger - if nothing else, we should be able to find out just how many of those infernal statues he supplied, and to whom!"
"Excellent work Watson! But what's this?" enquired Holmes, his attention drawn to something on the floor. "It appears to be a piece of dog crap - and it is still warm!"
"I thought I felt something brush past me as we entered the warehouse," I recalled. "He must have had a dog with him - good God man, what are you doing, have you gone completely insane?"
"My dear fellow, this could prove to be a vital clue," responded Holmes, as he picked up the lump of feaces, rolling it under his nose like a cigar, before wrapping it in his handkerchief and placing it in his jacket pocket. "You will, no doubt, recall my treatise on the subject of canine excrement, in which I showed that it was possible to identify no less than seventy breeds of dog merely from the smell, texture and taste of their droppings! If the animal which left this turns out to be of a unique breed, it may be possible to trace the owner through the records of the Kennel Club! Now, Watson, we must return to Baker Street so that I may thoroughly analyse this evidence!"
Back at Baker Street, Holmes busied himself with his scientific apparatus, subjecting the dog feaces to a series of tests, whilst I sent a telegram to Scotland Yard, informing Lestrade of the latest developments. Within the hour, the Inspector was back in our rooms, which were now filled with an acrid odour and clouds of brown vapour, as Holmes continued his experiments.
"What is that peculiar odour, Dr Watson?" he asked, sniffing the air as he entered.
"Crap, Inspector," I explained.
"No, really, there is a distinct smell in here, if you don't mind me saying so."
"Have you made any progress in your investigations, Inspector?" enquired Holmes, his face lit by a strange putrid glow as he hunched over a bunsen burner, heating up a test-tube full of bubbling liquid.
"I'm afraid not, Mr Holmes. We've still not identified the origin of the statues, but your description of the mask worn by Winkler's murderer tallies with those of the mask worn in the statue maimings! The two crimes are obviously linked!"
"Of course they are Lestrade! The sales ledger we recovered from the warehouse shows that what Winkler described as 'homoerotic sculptures', were sold to two houses of ill-repute other than those already targeted. I propose that you and your men keep the 'Little Olde Shoppe of Titillations' under surveillance, whilst Watson and I do the same at the second establishment. Logically, the fiend will strike at one or other of these next, affording us an opportunity to catch him in the act!" Holmes broke off, inhaling deeply from thte test tube he had been heating, coughing violently before gasping: "Incredible! I've been wrong all along! This excrement - it isn't canine at all! It is most definitely human!"To Be Continued...
Labels: Satire, Sherlock Holmes