Inspector Holmes heard the muffled sound coming from his vest pocket. It wasn't so much the sound Holmes disliked, as he'd recently discovered he could have virtually any noise he wished to announce a call on one of these bloody new devices. No, it was the rather strong vibration that accompanied the Royal Philharmonic's rousing rendition of
Rule Britannia that startled him. And he was not a man accustomed to surprises, especially those located so close to a vital organ such as his heart.
Freeing the smartphone from his pocket, he glanced at the screen. It was Watson, doubtless with news on their latest case, the one involving the whereabouts of a certain bust of Winston Churchill.
Holmes seemed to remember the initial reports of the bust having been removed from the American White House by this Obama fellow shortly after he had taken office in 2009. Rumour had it that the bust was spoken of in hushed tones by the new staff, often with mild cursing underbreath, but the latter point was never reliably established.
Recently though, new facts had emerged that cast doubt as to its actual location. Holmes had taken an interest in the case. He had appointed himself as the Unofficial Curator of British Historical Artifacts on Loan to America, in Service to Her Majesty.
He tapped the screen to accept Watson's call.
"Good day, Watson."
Watson returned the greeting, "Good day to you sir. I'll be brief, but I have some news that will solve this case of the missing bust of Churchill."
"Am I to assume you've located the bust, Watson?" said Holmes.
"It was, to coin a phrase, elementary, sir. It seems as though recent reports issued by the administration of this Indonesian fellow are incorrect."
Holmes had suspected as much. He silently wondered how so much mystery could bedevil a public figure. So little was known of him as to make him a vapour. Vast sums of money had been spent to disguise this man's past, so much so that the Inspector grew to distrust nearly every word he heard, along with most of the punctuation. It was a healthy speculation, borne of close scrutiny of the seamy underbelly of the powerful.
Watson continued, "It appears we can confirm our reservations for dinner this evening as planned."
"Don't keep me in suspense, man. Where is it?"
"Sir, you'll be delighted to know that the bust was indeed returned to us.
It was right where that Charles Krauthammer fellow said it was all along."
"Splendid work, Watson! I shall relay this news to Her Majesty as soon as we hang up. I'm certain she'll be delighted to know the bust is safe in the bosom of England once more."
"So, dinner is on, is it? If you reach Hooters prior to my arrival, could I impose upon you to pre-order their lovely sliced pickles? I've grown rather fond of them. And a cold ale, if you please." Holmes said.
"Certainly, sir. Would you also like me to secure the services of our favorite serving wench, the lovely and talented Amber?" Watson inquired.
"By all means. Her smiling countenance and attractive comportment is always welcome at our table, wouldn't you agree?"
"Quite sir. I'll see you at seven."
