Written by matwil

Monday, 8 June 2009

image for 'Professor Moriarty and the Cabinet Murders' The scene of the Crimes

Somewhere in West London, or possible East-by-West-by-East-by-South-West London, detective Sherlock Holmes was reading his new copy of 'PlaySleuthBabes', and eating a slice of housekeeper Mrs. van Helsing's barley and rhubarb leaf cake, when the door opened and his colleague Dr Watson entered the room.

'Ah Watson,' Watson wrongly said to himself, 'have you seen this?', and he passed himself that morning's London Evenink Stayndehd. 'Another Cabinet Murder. Police Baffled', the headline said, underneath the main one, which read 'Katie Price's Enormous Chest, Worth Having A Peek At On Page 3!'.

'That's four murders in one week, Holmes, most disturbing.' 'Come, Watson, let us not wander up the garden path and down the dustpipe, or use ridiculous and long winded subclauses that may - or may not - sound like a man from Illinois ordering a packet - and possibly packets - of Old Chuzzletwit's Cheese and Onion crisps. To The Next Paragraph!', and the two left, pausing only to help themselves to some of Mrs. van Helsing's turnip and seaweed biscuits on the way out.

'Watson', the detective said, prepare yourself for a shock.' 'Shock?', the doctor replied, fearing Holmes had discovered his stash of 'Victorian Nursing Girls In Heat' magazines in his office. 'We must take the Underground!', and as they arrived at West Eastsouth North Harwich Tube station, the two sneaked in through the exit doors, and were soon heading towards Grenouille-sur-Ile.

'Dashed clever chaps, these Tube johnnies', Dr Watson said, 'running a line into Paris'. 'Amateurs, Watson, French men are rank amateurs, and garlic-eaters. And over-emotional, liqueur-drinking, snail-eating, wine-guzzling, cheese-snaffling cowards.'

'Well -' 'Treacherous, perfume-wearing, unpredictable, frog-roasting, Johnny Walker-loving, nationalistic bunch of rockthrowing madmen, that set up barricades in the streets whenever the price of camembert goes up by a single cent! Ah, le Quay', and Holmes strode into the headquarters of the French security service, le Zeroeme Burea.

'You have, 'ow you say', dropped a 'u', monsieur', the sergeant on duty said, handing the sleuth the letter. 'Now, sir', Holmes addressed the policeman, pocketing the 'u' for later use, 'I have deduced that the Cabinet murders in London were planned, even contortionalisificationed, in this very building!' 'Zut alors!', Watson said, and 'sorry' to the copper for using his next line, so that flatte pied could only say ' '.

'But, Holmes', said Dr Watson, 'but but but but but, but - but - but, but, but.' 'I weel kick your butt out of here, rosbif, with your very monstrous and 'ideous espece de l'odour des chevrons!' 'Enough, monsieur', Holmes replied, the train now leads us back to Londinium. Taxi!' and a Hansom cab rolled into the room, and soon he and Watson were driving at full speed across the English Channel, or the French Channel, as the French call, it for some mysterious reason.

'Holmes', Dr Watson said, as he threw a piece of bread to a red cantona seagull, 'I'm snaffled.' 'Baffled, Watson, but ere long we shall verily track down our oldest and most nefarious opponent.' 'You mean Gary Lineker?' 'Not that over-rated poacher, no, I mean ... Professor Moriarty!', and the cab stopped in front of a 32-piece orchestra, playing a ten second dramatic blast of Hammer House of Horridness music.

'Begone with you!', Holmes ordered the musicians, and pressed the bell, which was marked 'Professor M. Oriarty'. 'But how did you work out that this was his house, Holmes?' 'Trigonometry, Watson, the doorbell placque is made of South Korean alloy, one that could only have come from North Carolina, where Moriarty visited a saloon bar in 1887.'

'And the bell, as you heard, plays the morse code for that villain's fowl name. I mean foul. And, of course, this door is the final clue, it's a Homebase Cheapo Door for Proles with Welsh Surnames, so you see, deduction and amazing guesswork have, once again, -'

'Can I help you?', came from a small, elderly lady that had opened the door. 'But', Holmes himself butted, 'where is Professor Moriarty?' 'Why, I am Professor Moriarty, I retired from being knitting professor at the London London of Londoners in 1789.''A thousand curses on you and your blue hair!', the sleuth angrily yelled, before storming out of the building and into a double bass and two oboes, four trombones and a triangle.

To be co

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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