The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: A Parody/Tribute to Conan Doyle's Famous Detective

Dr. KoffeeKlatch Watson bounded up the stairs to the lodgings she shared with world-famous detective, Sherlock (HubPages) Inglish-Holmes, and flung open the doors to their rooms.

The stuffy, smoke-filled apartments at 221 3/4 B Baker Street reverberated to the sonorous cadences of Sibelius' "Finlandia," rendered with virtuoso skill by a ragged, stooped, pipe puffing, Gypsy violinist.

"Good heavens, Holmes!" Watson threw open the windows, flapping her saucer in a vain attempt to clear out some of the choking fumes.

Their long-suffering landlady, Maddie Hudson, entered with a breakfast-laden tray. Quickly depositing it on the table, she rushed to the window. "Dr. Watson," she said between coughs, "that foul tobacco is going to be the death of us one of these days."

"I couldn't agree more." The worthy doctor turned to the gypsy. "Marvelous disguise, Holmes, but that music is so... so..."

"Scandinavian?" Holmes straightened, violin bow poised.

"Depressing."

"Ah. Well, perhaps this would be more to your liking." Holmes broke into a rousing rendition of Stravinsky's "Firebird."

"Actually, I would prefer to enjoy our excellent Maddie Hudson's delicious-smelling repast before your caller arrives. Perhaps you could sweeten our tea with an English country dance."

"Caller?" Holmes strode to the window, music forgotten. After one piercing glance at the street below, she returned to the table. "Thank you, Maddie Hudson," she said. "This looks delicious, and I find I am quite famished. Please show our visitor up as soon as she arrives."

Very good, sir." Maddie Hudson departed with a final, reproachful cough.

"Well...? Aren't you going to ask how I knew?"

"It seems perfectly obvious to me, Watson. There were a number of passers-by, but only one lingered - a lady, unmarried, perhaps fallen on hard times. Her dress is of excellent quality, but not the latest mode, and her boots, though fine leather, have not seen a proper blacking for some weeks. Her hands are smooth and well-kept, indicating she may have some private means, though she wears no jewelry except for a pair of rather handsome, pearl ear-bobs. She gazes repeatedly at our windows while nervously twisting her gloves - troubled, but undecided. Unless I miss my guess, she will be arriving shortly, so do eat up, there's a good woman."

The pair had no sooner finished than their kindly landlady arrived with a young woman, and withdrew with the breakfast tray.

The young woman stood gazing from Holmes to Watson, wringing her hands. "Please, you must help. My poor father will loose everything - his good name, his honor... Have you heard of the weekly writing contest?"

"Of course, the Hubnuggets contest. Calm yourself, my dear. Have some tea." Watson led the distraught young woman to a chair. "Six nominees arrived in this morning's post. Holmes and I were just about to peruse them..."

As they finished perusing the nominees' hubs, tears filled the young woman's lovely eyes. "Oh, dear. Whatever shall I do?"

"Let us begin at the beginning," said Holmes, pulling up a chair. "What is your name, and who, exactly, is your father?"

She blushed prettily. "Forgive me, please. How rude you must think me."

"Not at all. Let me freshen your tea," said Watson, reaching for the pot.

"Thank you. My name is ladyjane1. My father, Sir Jason Menayan, was trusted with ensuring the safety of all eighteen HubNugget Nominees, and now they are missing - well, twelve of them are missing."

Watson started, alarmed. "Great heavens! Holmes if this loss becomes public knowledge, cabinet will be in an uproar. Questions will be asked in the House."

"Then we'd best find out who's behind this, Watson." Holmes crossed to the fireplace and reached for the Turkish slipper resting on the mantle. She pulled out a quantity of shag, stuffed it into her pipe, and struck a lucifer against the slipper's sole.

"Great Scott, Holmes, not while ladyjane1 is here."

"Oh, yes, so sorry. We've heard something of your father's troubles, ladyjane1. Do go on."

"We have fallen upon hard times. My poor father lost almost everything to the notorious Spanish confidence woman, Simone Smith-quez, Comtessa de las Vegas y San Bernadino. We're surviving on a small legacy from my dear mother. Presenting the nominees at Court would have mended the family fortunes and restored him to his rightful place in society." ladyjane1 pulled a dainty, lace square from her reticule and dabbed at her eyes. A scrap of paper, dislodged from her bag, fluttered to the carpet.

Holmes pounced on it like some great bird of prey. "The game's afoot, Watson! Look - the nominees for Religion and Philosophy!"

A timid knock at the chamber door roused them from their reading. Holmes' brusque "Come in!" caused the door to open a crack, and a small head to emerge round the edge of the door frame.

"Quit pushin."

"G'orn, git in - 'e don't bite."

The childish voices resolved themselves into three street urchins, two standing in the doorway, caps in hand, while their companion, a sweet-faced child with bare feet peeping out from under her skirt, beamed at everyone.

"Me 'n' Elfie foun' summat in't road." The leader of the three shoved the first urchin forward. "G'orn - give it 'im."

Elfie held out a rather fine tobacco pouch to a bemused Dr. Watson. "Who are these children, Holmes?"

"Let me introduce the Baker Street Irregulars, Watson. This rascal is Elfie - has the makings of an artist - never forgets a face. And this fine, brave chap is Enelle Lambie, the leader of their little troupe - very clever, our Lambie."

"And who is this wee lass?"

In spite of herself, Holmes smiled."Little ripplemaker."

"Her don't talk much, but my mam says it makes yer 'appy just 'avin' her about."

"Your mam is quite right, Lambie," said Dr. Watson.

"What have you for me today?" Holmes rubbed her hands together.

"That lady dropped 'er 'baccy pouch - we follered, and we seen 'er come 'ere, so we brung it you. We fink it might be val'able." The three urchins gazed hopefully at Holmes and Watson.

"Why, that's my father's," said ladyjane1. "I was taking it to the tobacconists so they could match father's special blend. I must have - "

" - dropped it in the street, yes. May I?" Holmes opened the pouch and peered inside. "Hmm...is Sir Jason a somnambulist, ladyjane1?"

"What? I..."

"Does your father walk in his sleep?" Holmes extracted a piece of paper and held it for Watson to see. "Give our young friends a shilling for their trouble, would you, Watson?"

"Holmes - it's the last of the HubNuggets!"

After dispatching the Irregulars with the promised shilling, Holmes carefully brushed both papers with fine talcum, and examined them closely with his magnifier. "I see only one person's finger marks here, and the hand is far too large to be yours, ladyjane1. It appears the burden of the past week proved too much for Sir Jason. In his desire to keep the nominees safe, he hid them from even himself."

"Of course," said Watson. "At the urging of his over-strained mind, Sir Jason hid the nominees while sleepwalking, and upon awakening, had no memory of his actions."

"You have solved the mystery. The HubNugget nominees are found; our family fortunes are restored! You are truly a great detective, Sherlock Inglish-Holmes. Thank you, too Dr. Watson! I shall never forget you." The grateful young woman swept out the door.

Holmes affected to be unmoved, but Watson could tell she was pleased with her morning's work.

"I shall write this up in my memoirs, Holmes. Let me see. I need a good title... The Case of The Missing HubNuggets? Hmm... too bland." Dr. Watson paused, deep in thought.

Holmes returned to the serious business of lighting her pipe.

"I have it! The Case of the Purloined HubNuggets. Wait - even better - The Case of the Purloined Letter."

"It wasn't a letter, and it wasn't purloined. It would be closer to the truth to call it The Case of the Tempest in the Teapot!" Holmes sounded almost exasperated. "I don't understand why you dress up these so-called adventures of ours, and I certainly cannot imagine why anyone would read them."

"Perhaps that's why you are the detective and I am the writer." Watson smiled tranquilly as she bent over her journal.

"In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon..."

Voting for their favorite new HubNuggets Hubs was one way in which hubbers supported and celebrated new-to-us writers through the weekly HubNuggets contest:

• About the HubNuggets Program
  Each week 18 great Hubs written by new Hubbers were nominated in the HubNuggets contest. We invited the HubPages community to vote for their favorites, and the winners were featured in our newsletter.

The central mystery in this hub was borrowed from Wilkie Collins' novel The Moonstone, in which a man, while sleepwalking, hides a valuable object to protect it from thieves, and, upon awakening, doesn't remember what he's done.

The title Dr. Watson proposed for their adventure was suggested by Edgar Allen Poe's The Purloined Letter.

Interestingly, though Sir Arthur Conan Doyle didn't write a Holmes adventure with that title, Hollywood created a film based on the plot of Poe's novel starring Geoffrey Whitehead and Donald Pickering as Holmes and Watson -The Case of the Purloined Letter.

Dr. (KoffeeKlatch Gals) Watson's journal entry quotes the opening sentences of the first Sherlock Holmes novel A Study in Scarlet.