from Sherlock Holmes Esq to Dr J Watson:
Watson
Here are my hurried notes which I was forced to scribble down, due to your extremely quick departure to Dickens’ water-closet, caused by the unstoppable explosive nature of your severe reaction to that curry. I had a feeling when you informed me that it was a Two-for-One Deal from Master Sainsbury’s Emporium that you might be regretting it later. I heard from my Sources that they had had a delivery of old mutton from that new Butcher’s, handily situated next to the Abattoir, which unfortunately has been inundated with complaints after whole swathes of the Local Community went down with some nasty case of food poisoning. I believe this to have been engineered specifically to disguise the deliberate poisoning of Lord X, which we were called in to investigate the other day, but I digress.

After your disappearance, Dickens shot me a look so filled with Fear and Loathing that I momentarily lost my customary composure, and began fiddling with the end of my instrument, concealed safely within the pocket of my frock-coat. Dickens’ eyes bulged hugely from his whey-coloured visage, his lips drawn back in a ghastly parody of a man convulsed with laughter, but it was not hearty barks of merriment which issued from his mouth – he turned slowly in a sideways fashion and emitted a high-pitched squeal – “My God, Man, but you’re stinking up the place to High Heaven!!”

I had to admit that the odour issuing from the Water-Closet was hardly pleasant, but his rude and insensitive ejaculation did appear somewhat cruel, and I said as much to him. He turned to me with what I presumed would be some sort of Literary Put-down, but instead, a bone-chilling scream filled the room and caused him to fall off the Pouffe, dangerously close to the Fender – as I rushed to a grudging rescue, still smarting from his inconsiderate treatment of your good self, we both noticed another noxious smell in the room – but this one had the distinct tang of sulphur. What on earth!

At that moment, we heard the flush of Dickens’ new-fangled high-level cistern, and you appeared, silhouetted in the doorway, one hand down your trousers, adjusting some item of apparel, and the other locked on your trusty piece. “Let him have it!” I bellowed, and just at that moment, as your eyes adjusted to the fire-light, I heard an explosion, and muffled curses, as you rushed once more to relieve yourself.

To be continued.
Holmes