SHERLOCK HOLMES :THE MYSTERY OF THE DISAPPEARING HARPOON- PART 1

I am very excited about this post. This is because I have taken up a huge challenge. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is one of my all time favorite authors. I still worship him and I still revere Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes has been an integral part of my childhood and I cannot thank Sir Arthur enough for creating a character so delightful and believable that it has influenced the lives of several eager and curious readers like me.

I am about to write a short story…a memoir and I hope that I can do at least 0.0001% justice to the living fictional legend that roams the foggy streets of London up to this very day. I dedicate this post to the memory of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

SHERLOCK HOLMES

THE MYSTERY OF THE DISAPPEARING HARPOON- PART 1

It was with great anticipation that I opened my overflowing tin chest. I cast aside the length of cord which held the lid together and delved into the container. I rummaged for a good fifteen minutes before I finally laid my hands on the document I was looking for. It is from this document then ….that I put forward the details of a very singular and interesting case which happened to involve Holmes and myself. You will pardon me for not revealing the exact date of the incident so that it may not be traced back to it’s actual occurrence, for the wounds are still raw and the people concerned are still threatened by the law.

It was on a dreary and most depressing day that I found Holmes in the blackest of moods as soon as I entered our Baker Street quarters. His eyelids were heavy and drooping and his pipe was emitting the foulest of black puffs. “Have you been using that infernal drug again Holmes?” I asked with some asperity. “Pray…have a seat Doctor. You look remarkably fit and toned”, Holmes remarked, his keen eyes performing a routine check as usual. “Do not worry about me Holmes…you look as if you have been starved for days at end” I uttered. Holmes’s cheeks had shrunken and his keen eyes had lost some of their luster and had assumed a dream like glazed look. It was at moments like these when I assumed control. The master became the listener and the awed student became the teacher.

“What good do you get out of that drug, my dear chap?” I remarked blandly, “It will slowly finish you off. I have often told you….do not let some substance destroy that great brain which you have been gifted with”. “Ah!! Good old Watson”, Holmes smirked, “it is to engage myself in these moments of inactivity that I call upon my worthy friend……But….your arrival is most timely……for I see a man upon our doorstep….Maybe he brings some magical potion to stir me out of my slumber…...Eh Watson??”.

I turned to face the doorway and was greeted with the sight of our guest. “Good Evening my dear Lestrade….you bring me a case I hope. Watson’s arrival is most certainly turning out to be an omen for some thrills”, Holmes remarked. In reply the ferret like Inspector raised his cap and occupied a seat next to Holmes. “Pass him the glass Watson…here Inspector, pour yourself some brandy. A worthy medicine….. to cure us of the ailments of a terrible chilly evening. Now….Sir….pray…how can I help you??”. Lestrade downed the brandy and began in the earnest. “A strange caper, Mr. Holmes. A most singular case. A robbery took place at the London Museum last night. At around 10 pm, Mr. Downing, the curator abandoned his office and locked the doors to the museum. When he reopened the doors the next morning and began his usual inspection, he discovered to his horror that a harpoon belonging to the legendary whaler, Neil Johnston had vanished.”