Illustrations by JMF Casey'Twas a clear and brightly mooned night, yet somehow Holmes seemed bothered and bewildered, as if by phanthoms themselves. The Great Deducer was not himself, indeed, and as he paced nervously forth and back on the Persian rug of his sitting room, I enquired if his famous migraines had reclaimed their perch atop his esteemed noggin.âNo, Watson,â Holmes said, âIâve no headache, kind sir, but truly these whispers and shadows I see flitting and flashing about me are making me tetchy and concerned! Iâve an idea to consult yet again the medication you proscribed to me not but yesterday!âAs Sherlockâs private physician I had taken it upon myself to proscribe a new round of ethers and powders to soothe his consternated visage, most notably a full monthâs supply of the precious cucaine, and this from a particularly pure batch as promised by my supplier, the esteemed Marks and Worthlerâs Apothecary of 2âLondon Ln. As Holmesâs shaking hands revealed the stash from beneath his bookcase, I was gape-jawed by what I perceived.âHolmes, youâve been robbed!â I exclaimed.Holmes, gripped by a suddenly agitated state, snapped back: âWhat is robbed of me, Watson?! Quick, sir, what is bereft? For I see nothing amiss and I am a master of perception!!ââThe cucaine!â I stammered, ââTis less than a day since âtwas proscribed and more than a weekâs proscription is already missing!âMy bewilderment only grew, for my commentary was answered by somewhat deranged laughter from Holmes. ââTis no robbery! Lest I have robbed myself, Watson, old man! Iâve been snorting away like a crazed hog after a rich vein of truffle! Now, if youâll chill a bit, another line I shall deprive myself of forthwith!âAt this he shnuffled up a round and hearty line of the medicant. I silently hoped it would becalm his nerves, and after his dip and snuff he grew suddenly silent, but his frame quivered and his eyes flashed open andâit seemed to meâlocked as such unnaturally, seemingly unable to blink, wink, or rest. Holmes took up a position by the window, staring upon his small courtyard, perched such that he could view his garden, shared on three sides by friendly neighbours. My own eyelids were wavering, for I had had a full day of consultations and cucaine proscribing.Noticing my weary state, Holmes proposed, âRest thyself, Watson. Iâll stand watch here, to make sure no stranger intrudes to upset your slumber or practice vandalism upon the little walled community of this neighbour-hoode.âThis comment struck me as a trifle lunatic, as there had been no vandals or traipsers of any kind heretofore, and if there had beenâperhaps a stray fellow using the courtyard as a short-path to get home from a nightly jauntâwell, it hadnât ever made much bother. Holmes, however, was the wiser of us. I was sure of that. And recently he had apposted himself âCaptainâ of a self-initiated âneighbour-hoode watche,â so I happily nodded and hence drifted into a fast slumber which ended abruptly and with a start at the sound of Sherlockâs welping call-to-armsââWatson! Awaken, slumbering cat! A traipser! In our midst! We must ascertain his identity forthwith!âHolmes seemed jittery as he continued in this vein. My glance told me the cucaine bag had been deprived of a noticeable amount of granules since his last snort, and yet it was only a few short hours later!âBut Holmes, what of it? A traipser in your garden? What cause of alarm is this?!â I enquired.âI tell you I saw him!â Holmes continued. âA mysterious, hooded, harmless figure traipsed by! Right there, through our gated arena, trespassing he was! We must find him and deal with this egregious affront! Grab your coat, old man!âI was coated and at the door in seconds, despite my confusion, but I hesitated when I saw Holmes tarrying to retrieve and load his Winchester riffle from oft the wall.âWhatâs THAT for?â I pecked at him.âThat traipser may incite violents, and I want to be at the ready!â Holmes declared, as he leant down for yet another whiffle of the swiftly vanishing cucaine.âEasy, tiger,â I niggled him. âWeâve to make it last, havenât we?ââWhatâs this âweâ?â the great tongue lashed back. âI purchased this cucaine with my own banknotes! Monitor thine own stash! I know what Iâm doing.âAnd off we went into the night.Holmes was on a tear, and I could barely keep up with the hurried pace of his feet, tongue, and mind. He narrated his thoughts to me, but they were a jumble!âNo one traipses on my garden! I will despatch with this scofflaw forthwith! Someone will eat a midnight snack of leaded pellets, I declare!ââHolmes, who was this traipser? What should I be on the lookout for?ââHe was hooded, as I stated, wandering casually, sipping a tankard of tea, and nibbling at a small packet of colorful pastilles bought from the all-evening apothecary, no doubt! Hurry!ââHolmes, this fellow doesnât sound dangerous in the least! But rather some stumbling friend-fellow whose presence we should feel perfectly safe to ignore and let passââBut my argument was called to order by the repeated blast of the Winchester rifle in Sherlockâs knotted grasp! Ahead of us, not a brickyard away, the hooded figure collapsed; Holmesâs gunfire had done its work! Immediately we stood over the expiring figure, tea dribbling from the tankard, pastilles scattered among the roseweeds.âWhat the fucke, Holmes!â I started. âThe guy was just walking home! Whyâd you shute him!?âHolmes stood over the prone figger, breathing in fits, a silence in his eyes, his upper lip dusted with a white trail of cucaine. He made no response to my final query, nor to the deputies of Scotland Yard who seemed to echo my consternation. Luckily, the constable of the evening was a chum and schoolmate of Holmesâs, and the Unfortunate Traipser, being of a lesser class than our esteemed personages, did not require to him the level of investigation and prosecution that would be afforded to a peer.And while I never worked out the why and wherefores of this most mysterious event, I chalked it down to Holmesâs intrepid inscrutability, the kind that resides in all geniuses, and, as well, he was probably just a tad cuked up.
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