This is the story of a case my good friend, Sherlock Holmes, took on at a very strange time in our
lives. Indeed it is only now, many years later, that I can bring myself to talk about it.
The events occurred at a time when Holmes' legs had been mysteriously turned into cord,
necessitating the use of a wheelchair at all times. Though his powers of deduction seemed
untouched, he was sadly unable to really help people out.
I, on the other hand, had turned into a small, square, yellow man with no hair and jaundice. I was
therefore confined to bed and could not help Holmes in any way, such as when I went on ahead to
investigate the problem at Baskerville Hall.
It all began when a talking black cat called Sooty came to see Holmes at his Baker Street
apartment. Mr Sooty, an employer of chimney sweeps, who had recently woken up as a cat, had
also recently had the misfortune to have his best sweep disappear while up a chimney at No 3
Whitehall Park, Archway, N??
Holmes could, of course, do nothing but apologise to Mr Sooty. “I can do nothing, I am afraid,
because I cannot get out of this wretched apartment.” “Then I suppose I shall have to seek the help
of the police, Mr Holmes.” “Indeed; I cannot apologise enough.”
Holmes then did what he so often did when he needed to think or had nothing else to do: he turned
to opiates and began to smoke heavily. The drugs soon turned Holmes into a gibbering wreck in a
hallucinatory dream world where all was white.
And a dragon came to speak to him. “I shall guide you, great detective, through this chemical
world to your desired destination.”
And so on they travelled to meet a talking yellow auto mobile called Brum, formerly a
Birmingham-born wheelwright. “I think I'm being shown my future, Mr Holmes,” the
wheelwright said with a puzzled expression, “And I'm not sure I understand it. I cannot help you,
I'm sure.”
Then a giant, painted ceramic cock came forth. “I was once a judge, Holmes, you helped me once
but now all I can only crow at the break of dawn. I cannot help you, I'm sure.”
Next the dragon showed Holmes Paris, told him of the mysteries there and in other places that
went unsolved because there was no one like him. Holmes smiled and was happy. The dragon
wrenched him on with a disapproving look.
Then a wooden owl appeared “I am wiser than you, Holmes, and I know the answer I was once a
professor, is it not obvious?” And the dragon smiled, hoping that would dent the ego that had just
been inflated by mistake.
Then things got stranger and Holmes found himself talking to two giant metal things like the auto
mobile but larger buses they called themselves: one was silver and much larger than the other,
which was red. They were apparently the best of friends and had been for years, ever since they
had been schoolchildren and they told him of a recent problem they had had and said, “You need
to look at your own predicament.”
Holmes looked at his legs that necessitated a wheelchair and the dragon asked him if he
understood.
“Yes the sweep turned into something that is still in the chimney but scared by his new state!”
“No,” the dragon said wisely, “This whole mystery has been druginduced-
there is no Mr Sooty,
your legs are fine,
Watson has not jaundice.
And you are no closer to solving the real mystery.”
“Dash!” exclaimed Holmes, “I must've taken too much.”
lives. Indeed it is only now, many years later, that I can bring myself to talk about it.
The events occurred at a time when Holmes' legs had been mysteriously turned into cord,
necessitating the use of a wheelchair at all times. Though his powers of deduction seemed
untouched, he was sadly unable to really help people out.
I, on the other hand, had turned into a small, square, yellow man with no hair and jaundice. I was
therefore confined to bed and could not help Holmes in any way, such as when I went on ahead to
investigate the problem at Baskerville Hall.
It all began when a talking black cat called Sooty came to see Holmes at his Baker Street
apartment. Mr Sooty, an employer of chimney sweeps, who had recently woken up as a cat, had
also recently had the misfortune to have his best sweep disappear while up a chimney at No 3
Whitehall Park, Archway, N??
Holmes could, of course, do nothing but apologise to Mr Sooty. “I can do nothing, I am afraid,
because I cannot get out of this wretched apartment.” “Then I suppose I shall have to seek the help
of the police, Mr Holmes.” “Indeed; I cannot apologise enough.”
Holmes then did what he so often did when he needed to think or had nothing else to do: he turned
to opiates and began to smoke heavily. The drugs soon turned Holmes into a gibbering wreck in a
hallucinatory dream world where all was white.
And a dragon came to speak to him. “I shall guide you, great detective, through this chemical
world to your desired destination.”
And so on they travelled to meet a talking yellow auto mobile called Brum, formerly a
Birmingham-born wheelwright. “I think I'm being shown my future, Mr Holmes,” the
wheelwright said with a puzzled expression, “And I'm not sure I understand it. I cannot help you,
I'm sure.”
Then a giant, painted ceramic cock came forth. “I was once a judge, Holmes, you helped me once
but now all I can only crow at the break of dawn. I cannot help you, I'm sure.”
Next the dragon showed Holmes Paris, told him of the mysteries there and in other places that
went unsolved because there was no one like him. Holmes smiled and was happy. The dragon
wrenched him on with a disapproving look.
Then a wooden owl appeared “I am wiser than you, Holmes, and I know the answer I was once a
professor, is it not obvious?” And the dragon smiled, hoping that would dent the ego that had just
been inflated by mistake.
Then things got stranger and Holmes found himself talking to two giant metal things like the auto
mobile but larger buses they called themselves: one was silver and much larger than the other,
which was red. They were apparently the best of friends and had been for years, ever since they
had been schoolchildren and they told him of a recent problem they had had and said, “You need
to look at your own predicament.”
Holmes looked at his legs that necessitated a wheelchair and the dragon asked him if he
understood.
“Yes the sweep turned into something that is still in the chimney but scared by his new state!”
“No,” the dragon said wisely, “This whole mystery has been druginduced-
there is no Mr Sooty,
your legs are fine,
Watson has not jaundice.
And you are no closer to solving the real mystery.”
“Dash!” exclaimed Holmes, “I must've taken too much.”
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