Sherlock Holmes and the Winchester Wii - Part 1

It was no unusual thing for Sherlock Holmes to be awake for long periods of the night. His habits, while most unusual, had borne within myself a passing familiarity throughout my stay here at Baker Street. Despite these night time activities, Holmes took care not to wake either Mrs. Hudson or myself at all. Indeed, the only times I ever noted his irregular insomnia were through the faint strings of violin music that waived through my solid bedroom door.

Therefore, it was of no small shock that I woke to the sound of Holmes under the attack of some unknown assailant. Hearing Holmes’ shouts reverberate though the house, I resolved that his foray into the London Underworld had resulted in some unknown person seeking to silence my friend forever. Retrieving my army pistol from the night table, I made my way to the bedroom door. Holmes voice was becoming increasingly frenzied, finally calling out, just as my hand touched the doorknob.

“For the love of the Queen, Watson, Kill him!”

I wrenched the door open, rushing to his study, gun in hand. Finding his study door locked, I took a few steps back, and charged into the wooden boards. The door gave and I collapsed upon the floor, looking madly about for my friend’s attacker. To my surprise, only Holmes and I occupied the small study; his initial surprise at my abrupt entrance quickly giving way to anger.

“Confiscate and confound it, Watson!” he shouted, tearing off his headphones and throwing them into the fire. I nearly had that n00bcake and you completely distracted me!”

Groggily, I stood up and made my way towards the desk where Holmes was seated. The rapidly flashing images on his monitor, showed me he was not engaged in the life and death struggle I had initially thought.

“See here, Holmes!” said I, brushing the dust off my nightclothes. “I hear the sounds of you being attacked at 2:30 in the morning, whilst you call for me to come to your aid. How else am I to respond?!”

“Your concern is appreciated, Watson,” said Holmes, tearing the wrapping off his fourth set of headphones. “But unnecessary. I was clearly shouting at that dingbat AWP_LORD_Watson, to finish off the last CT. However, the n00b was afk at that very moment. Clearly I am surrounded by the most incompetent team in all of London.”

I glanced back at the screen. The pitiful number resting next to the word “Terrorist” did much to highlight the team’s dysfunctional coordination. Even Holmes’ considerable skill at Counter Strike made little change to his teams score, if any. Sighing, I returned my pistol to the pocket of my dressing gown.

“Try to keep it down then,” said I propping the broken door back into place. “We don’t want to be evicted again. And don’t forget, Lestrade will be stopping by in the morning. So if you aren’t intending to sleep tonight, at least be ready by then.”

With a half heard nod, Holmes eyes remained fixated on his screen. I walked sleepily towards by bedroom, hoping to salvage what was left of a good nights sleep.

Daylight shone through the windows as I finished off the breakfast set by Mrs. Hudson. Whilst reading the paper, I noticed Holmes had not stirred one bit from his study. Irritated, I walked toward the broken study door, listening intently as Holmes banged away at his keyboard, issuing a bold stream of profanity through the computer microphone.

“I swear Alt_SeeBorg, if you keep wall hacking, I’m going to hunt you down and beat your 14 year old as-“

“HOLMES!” I shouted, knocking the study door to the ground. “Lestrade will be here at any moment!”

“What! It’s nine o’clock already!” Holmes said, hurling his computer tower out the window. “Stall him Watson, while I get dressed!”

Holmes ran to his bedroom, and locked the door. Sighing, I heard a knock and quickly made my way out of the study.

Mr. Lestrade of Scotland Yard strode into our rooms. It was no unusual thing for Lestrade to visit Holmes fifteen to sixteen times in the span of a case. This situation was no different. Lestrade and I exchanged cordial but brief greetings as we both sat down, awkwardly waiting for Holmes to appear. I tried my best to shield the broken door with my chair, as Lestrade whistled a tune whilst staring into the fire.

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock Holmes burst forth from his rooms. Clearly having neglected his laundry for the last few weeks, Holmes strode towards us, dressed in a bright red Hawaiian shirt and dull yellow dress pants. In an effort to appear professional, he also wore a long grey trench coat, sporting a fancy silk top hat and a pair of dark, silver rimmed sunglasses.

“Ah my dear Lestrade, how very good to see you!” said Holmes, grasping Lestrade’s hand and shaking it like a dead sparrow. “I trust you managed to solve your little problem with the Gloucestershire grape juice?”

“Yes indeed, Mr. Holmes. It was still in the grapes like you said.”

Rubbing his hands together, Holmes poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down in his armchair.

“Excellent. So, what business comes from Scotland Yard today?”

“Well Mr. Holmes, we’ve had a rather strange break in over in Tewkesbury.”

“A break in?” said I.

“Yes indeed Dr. Watson. Last night, someone broke into Winchester Manor and has left us with a most puzzling case.”

Winchester Manor! The name sprung to mind some of the noblest men and women of England. Lord Winchester himself was one of the most reputed Playstation supporters in the country, serving as an advisor to the Queen on matters of gaming and the sort. Holmes and I shared a knowing look, as he finished the rest of his coffee and tossed the mug into the trash.

“As noble as Lord Winchester is,” said Holmes, “You know I only take cases that interest me in some way. Break-ins are so commonplace these days. What sets this case apart?”

“I thought you might ask that, Mr. Holmes,” replied Lestrade, pulling out his official notebook. “So I took the liberty of jotting down some of the more irregular findings.”

Clearing his voice, Lestrade flipped through the pages, and began to list off the facts one by one.

“The break in occurred early this morning at 2:22 AM, precisely at 22 seconds on February 2nd.”

“A rather droll coincidence.” remarked Holmes.

“Perhaps. The burglar entered the manor through the first story window; however upon examination there was no sign of glass on the inside or the outside.”

“Obviously, the pieces were blown away by the wind.”

“Upon entering the kitchen, the words “Seventy Three Rag Me Thirteen” was plastered in red paint over all the walls.”

“Accidental tomato sauce spill.”

Lestrade began to look annoyed, but composed himself and continued reading his list.

“Three foot totem poles made of cedar were found in each of the rooms containing a window...”

“One of the household is a collector.”

“All of Lady Winchester’s priceless vases were filled with hot chocolate…”

“A gross eccentricity on the part of Lady Winchester.”

“A green light was spotted behind the stables...”

“Moonlight illuminating swamp gas.”

“All of the horses bolted from the stable after seeing the aforementioned light…”

“They must have heard a clap of thunder.”

Lestrade looked positively furious at this point, listing off the points at a much quickened pace.

“All the butter in the manor was replaced with margarine...”

“A healthy lifestyle change.”

“A weather balloon was seen above the manor with the words, “Your time is soon” written in Spanish…”

“Marketing Scheme.”

“Fifty five tons of tofu, sculpted into a scale model of Buckingham Palace?!”

“Artistic Expression.”

“The servants quarters stuffed to the brim with a hundred and twenty five live turkeys?!”

“Commonplace.”

Lestrade hurled his book towards the floor, as Holmes lazily got up and made his way to the hallway closet.

“A rather uninteresting case, I’m afraid.” Holmes said, pulling his spare computer out from under the closet shelf. “I don’t see why you need my help in this matter, Lestrade. Surely Scotland Yard will have this one figured out by the end of the week.”

“Wait a moment, Holmes,” I said picking up the Inspector’s notebook. “It says here, the servants also found a discarded Wiimote under pile of ancient Egyptian carvings in the trash can.”

“Well yes Dr. Watson,” replied Lestrade. “But in comparison to everything else, such a finding was rather trival an-“

“TRIVAL?! Lestrade you Iron Frosted Toad Hat!” Holmes shouted, dropping his computer in the process. “You clearly haven’t learned anything by my methods. You list off the dullest facts of the case and leave out the most important! That piece of information makes this whole case extremely singular.”

Holmes rushed past the startled Lestrade, grabbing his gold coated walking stick and another top hat in the process.

“The game is foot Watson!” he blurted out, jamming the top hat on top of his current one. “Don’t just stand there like a log. There is work to do.”

Whisking himself out the door, I grabbed my coat and followed suit, Lestrade in tow.

“That was my hat.” Lestrade muttered as he shuffled past me.

I sighed and followed Lestrade, as we walked out the doorway of Baker Street and into adventure.

END OF PART 1

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Written in 1907, Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Adventure of the Winchester Wii”, boldly placed him and his creation “Sherlock Holmes” into the spotlight of English literature. Now for the first time ever, this wonderful masterpiece has been restored in digital form, celebrating the hundredth anniversary of Doyle’s creation. Say tuned for the continuation of what is undoubtedly Holmes crowning triumph and glory.

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