Note: This is a parody of Arthur Conan Doyle's book, A Study in Scarlet.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes edit
In 1878, I was a free man. You see, the free man is distinguished from an ordinary bum in that he does not laze in the streets, no sir. Instead, he catapults away his money until he becomes one. I was a bum, you see, in 1879.
It thus occurred to me, as so many other things, that spending more than one earns is not usually a financially sound decision. It also occurred to me on the very selfsame day that it is my best interest to spend, then, less.
Once I reached this remarkable epiphany, I proceeded to cleverly squander away my money at a local bar. Coincidentally, I happened upon there my long-time friend and former employee Harmvard. So pleased was I to see him.
"What have you been doing, Watson?!" He asked in disgust, "You look like a Communist."
I proceeded to tell him a short sketch of the happenings in the Afghan War.
"Then, POOM! Bababababababababa! PFFFT-SHEEEEEW! Bam! Bam! Blam! PFFFFFFT BOOM! Babababa! AAAAAAH!"
"Idiot!" he muttered. "Is there anything you need?
Upon understanding the fact that I am in desperate need of inexpensive shelter, he exclaimed strangely. "Why, 'tis perfect! This man at the chemical laboratory wishes to split room prices as well!"
"My, can I meet him?" I inquired. "He sounds perfect!"
"Ha! TOOL!" My friend chuckled back, unable to contain himself. "Even though I mentioned this Sherlock Holmes, and it sounds perfectly like a recommendation, he really is a terrible choice as a lodging partner. Why, he's the worst guy to be around! I simply mentioned him as to further the plot."
"Why, what is wrong with him?"
"Even though I had just said he's the worst guy to be around, he's not that bad after all. He is just weird. Certainly you agree that all people with weird scientific tastes must be shunned from society?"
"Certainly," I replied. "But pray tell, is he a medical student?"
"Nothing of the sort. But I never bothered to ask him. Instead, let us both make haphazard conjectures about his queerness as to increase suspense!" Answered Harmvard cheerfully.
After lavishly pouring money into the bar, we proceeded to visit this Mr. Sherlock Holmes at the chemical laboratory in the hospital. Before the main gate, my friend stopped me short.
"This visit is made 'AS IS' without warranty of any kind, either expressed or implied, including, but not limited to, the implied warranties of contract, conversation, or fitness for a particular purpose." Harmvard was eager to waive his responsibilities.
"I agree." I promptly replied. "But what is it that bothers you so about him? 's'it exist anything you have against him?"
"He is a reptile."
"Excuse me?" I asked incredulously. "I am to be housed with a lizard?"
"Did I say 'reptile'?" My friend returned from his daydream. "I am sorry. I meant to say that this Holmes is rather... cold-blooded in his scientific approach. It wouldn't be imaginable for him to, say, bash his friend with a mallet, stick him full of knives, and then proceed to push him off a building, not out of malevolence, you understand, but simply to understand the effects that a severe trauma may have on the human body. Such is his passion for empirical knowledge."
"Not out of malevolence, but out of sheer stupidity," I concurred, "right."
"Such things may be pushed past the line of morality," my friend continued, "once he committed genocide to study its effects!"
"Slightly out of line," I agreed. "And yet you say he is not a medical student?"
"No," my friend denied.
The door of the chemical laboratory was open. The floor of the room was lined with shattered bottles, and bristling with bottle caps, bottle-openers, and bottle labels. "Budweiser" was neatly stenciled on each.
A man staggered slowly from a table in the corner. "Eu...reka!" The man cried with an obvious lack of sobriety, holding a Budweiser bottle in his left hand and an empty test tube in his right. "I... found... the ferpect test for vod. For blood."
"Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," introduced Harmvard.
"Yow are hou?" he asked, accidentally punching me in the face with the bottle. "You... have been in Antarctica, I see."
"How on earth did you come to that conclusion?" I asked incredulously.
Chuckling to himself,