On a lonely planet spinning its way toward damnation amid the fear and despair of a broken human race, who is left to fight for all that is good and pure and gets you smashed for under a fiver? Yes, it's the surprising adventures of me, Sherlock Cecil Danger Asbo Holmes!
I first met John Watson when I was in the process of solving the Green Ladder Case. It was a case far too complex for the Met to solve by themselves but far too simple to entertain me for more than a few hours. Molly asked if she could make me coffee, which was very accommodating of her, but couldn't sort out her make up. Then in walks Stamford with this little chap with a limp and a revolting jacket and I was able to deduce everything important about him in three seconds flat except why he wears such horrible jacket - a mystery that still eludes me and keeps me awake at night. Anyway, Stamford was obviously trying to set us up as housemates since I'd already accepted Mrs Hudson's kind offer of a discounted rate at 221b, having decided that the damp in 221c would play havoc with my violin strings, and having had that rather unpleasant disagreement with the landlord of my previous flat in Brixton but really I needed to get coked off my face and play my violin at all hours if only to drown out the sounds of him masturbating into a sock and then crying about it. So I showed him around the flat the next day - John Watson, that is, not Stamford or my old landlord who never treated his fungal infection, good God, that man was disgusting (my old landlord in Brixton, that is, not Stamford or John). He was delighted. He made a joke about not liking my furniture but he was delighted and so I decided we should move in straight away only then bloody Greg showed up and there had been another murder only then we thought they were suicides so I went out to investigate and I brought John with me because he looked like the adventure loving sort and I had a theory that I could cure his limp with action and excitement by the end of the night and I was right but then aren't I always. Anderson and Donovan were there too I think, because I can remember an annoying white noise I always sense when they're around but I deduced that the suitcase had to be in a nearby skip. Oh, yes, they didn't know about the suitcase. There was a suitcase and it was in a skip. So I popped on a couple of patches and texted John but he took AGES, it was very inconvenient, he said something about Mycroft, blah blah blah. Anyway, I had John text the victim's phone and we went to Angelo's to wait and he arrived and we chased him and I was right about curing John's limp and I knew it was a cabbie all along, obviously, I was just playing for time, but bloody Greg turned up AGAIN and nearly ruined everything, the big idiot and then JUST as I was about to reveal the murderer, the murderer turned up. I was in complete control all the time, obviously, I let him think that he was going to kill me but he never stood a chance and then just as I was about to outwit him somebody shot him to death. Still have no idea who, despite the way that SOMEBODY decides to mistreat my trust MOST unkindly sometimes, which you'd think would jog a deductive genius' mind into working out who did shoot that man, but what do you know, turns out my mind's still a blank, even when I had to do the washing up twice this week and now he's galavanted off to drinks and everything without me. And then we went out for a Chinese and he hasn't taken me out to dinner in ages either.