Holmes and Moriarty. Chapter One

Part one. Morten Moriarty.

Sadly this book is about to begin with some rotten eggs, a couple of criminal masterminds and a bong. We know that an adventure such as this, would usually start with some chips, a couple of heroes and a twang, but sometimes life’s tough. You just gotta go with the bongs, grab the twangs when they happen and pray there aren’t any unexpected dings along the way.

‘Bong!’ went the bell above the boiling eggs.

The youngest criminal mastermind,

‘Bong!’

London Town had ever seen,

‘Bong!’

was about to have some breakfast.

‘Ding!’

‘What the devil has happened to my eggs and where on earth is my toast?’ shouted Morten Moriarty.

Then he sneered, first at his empty plate and then at his Uncle.

The brilliant and ruthless master of evil, James Moriarty, stood in his dark grey suit and little flowery apron as he repeatedly tried to place another slice of toast on the hotplate without burning his fingers.

His voice was strong but troubled.

'Eeeek! Won't be long now my tough buttered biscuit bag,’ he said.

It had an edgy, confident tone.

‘Ooookkk!! Any second now my slyly sweetened sock stain.’

A noble, proud voice.

‘Oeeiikkkkk! Just one more moment my fudge flattened floor flannel.

Morten sat like royalty on a tall wooden chair at one end of a long oak table. At the far end of the table a dark, red cloth was draped over something that looked like a large crown. A gift that Uncle Moriarty was certain would stop Morten from becoming angry, when he learned that he was to leave within the hour.

Morten started screaming.

‘What! ‘Why?’ When? Wait!’

Moriarty grabbed the red cloth and pulled it from the table.

‘What’s that?’

In the centre of the table gleamed a magnificent golden crown.

Morten grinned. If there was one thing he loved more than himself it was Queen Victoria. He was her greatest fan and now he had his very own crown.

‘You see my dear boy, it’s a matter of urgency. In fact it's so urgent that it matters. What I mean to say is that it's an emerging matter of urgent merging, I mean merging matters that need my immediate urgent merge, err, attention. But I’m definitely not going on holiday. And I must, just must go alone. Pleeeease Morten, my dearest Sludgebucket!'

Morten took the hard boiled egg he’d been sucking on out of his mouth and stuck it in his ear. Then he flattened his dark, limp hair with an oily hand. His mouth opened and to Moriarty's surprise a great big smile spread across his sweet, innocent, little face. It spread like old butter on burnt toast, making a scratchy sound until it reached from ear to ear. His teeth shone magnificently in the morning light, like a line of rotten old peanuts.

'Well, if you put it like that, I believe I have no choice but to stay here and play with my new golden crown. And I can assure you I have no plans for any naughtiness, misbehaviour, wrongdoing, mischief, horseplay, monkey-business, hokey-pokey, large scale destruction or complete and total world domination.’

Morten scooped out the egg from his ears, carefully spreading them on his cold toast. He grinned again and another load of old peanuts caught the light.

James Moriarty stood up, like someone had plugged him in and thrown the switch.

'Well that's settled then, I must be away immediately.’

He quickly removed his apron as if it was on fire, then realising it actually was on fire, threw a pan of water onto it. Next he reached under the table and grabbed a packed bag. Moriarty had been planning on a quick getaway.

'If you need me, I’ll be at the Billericay Holiday Beach Hotel. But of course I’m most definitely not going on holiday. It’s all part of a despicable evil plan and anyway, I’m going to be in disguise,’ said Moriarty as he put on a pair of bright pink flip flops, a big floppy hat and some sunglasses. Then he rushed out the door, down the stairs and into a waiting carriage.

‘I’m definitely not going on holiday,’ he could be heard shouting as he vanished into the mist.

Morten sneered once more at his breakfast.

‘Twang!’ went the clock.

Morten’s sneer turned to a smile. He knew the sound of a good twang when he heard it.

'Sometimes, just sometimes twangs fall right onto your plate and when they do you must snap them up fast. It’s time to take my crown, become King and sit next to good Queen Victoria. For soon I shall be unstoppable, untwangable and undingable and then…,’ Morten stooped.

‘What’s this?’

He pulled a small white calling card from inside his crown and read it.

‘Do you have old shoes? Embarrassed? Losing Friends? Chips cold? Then you need our totally FREE, super cool patented automatic flip-flops Just try them for instant relief. They're FREE! So don’t delay, put them on today!

(Please note: Wearing Flip-flops will result in the total destruction of London town and the usurping of the English throne. Product may not contain chips.)

‘The throne! The Queen is in danger!’ said Morten.

‘This must have something to do with that oity toity, fancy wancy, la di da, know it all family of detectives. But I know just what to do about that, I’m going to find Shirley Holmes!’

He lifted up his head and laughed a real evil pea-nutty laugh until some eggy earwax fell from his ears and onto his plate with a twang. He snapped it up fast and ate it right there and then. Morten may have been an oily, schoolboy criminal genius, but let's not forget, he was also completely disgusting.

Part Two. Shirley Holmes.

Thankfully this story will now continue with with some chips, a couple of heroic detectives, some squeaks and a twang. And yes, we know that an adventure such as this, would by now have collapsing bridges, terrified villagers and explosions, but sometimes life’s tough. This just ain’t that kinda book. It’s sophisticated.

Twang!’ went the timer above the iron stove.

The youngest detectives,

‘Twang!’

London Town had ever seen,

‘Twang!’

were about to have some breakfast.

‘Twang!’

‘Royal Chip anyone? They really are the newest thing, straight from the Queen’s chip factory at Buckingham Palace,’ said Professor Dwight Dulltop.

The brave people of London feared absolutely nothing. Except of course, dark alleys, bread without butter, Tuesday afternoons, women with big ears, old shoes and soon flip-flops. But such things do not concern us here, so let us continue our tale and never talk of these things again. Do not utter one more word of such matters, not a murmur, not a titter, nothing.

'Well you see, it was elementary,' said Sherlock Holmes reaching forward and picking up one of the strange yellow sticks. The world’s greatest detective was about to have a chip.

'It was the enormous ears that gave her away and nobody eats bread without butter, especially on a Tuesday afternoon. The police arrested Lady Belinda Bilgepump Bathwaste there and then and so the case of the Big Eared Butter Batterer of Basildon was Solved.'

Sherlock seemed pleased with himself. His niece, Shirley Holmes and her small, white dog, Watson had come to stay and now his neighbour, the brilliant Professor Dwight Dultop was visiting with his chips.

'How thrilling,' said Professor Dulltop excitedly eating another chip.

‘Heard it,’ said Shirley Holmes, eating a whole handful of chips.

Sherlock shuffled uncomfortably on his squeaky, red leather sofa.

Squeak.

His voice was strong but troubled.

Squeak.

‘Well what about the mysterious case of the Hot Hounds of Hamsterville, or too many dogs in a duvet,’ he said.

Squeak.

‘Heard it,’ said Shirley, throwing Watson a chip.

Squeak.

‘Then how about the famous case of the man with no name called Mildred.’

Squeak.

‘Heard it!’

Squeak.

‘Er, then surely the terrible tale of the Richmond Riddler, the Twickenham Twiddler and the Fulham Fiddler.’

Squeak.

‘Heard it!’

Squeak.

‘Well what about the impossible case of the men from Billericay whose trousers fell down.’

Squeak.

‘Solved it.’

‘It was the Belt Stealing Bounder of Billericay,’ said Shirley, slumping down on the sofa.

Sherlock suddenly stood up. Perhaps he’d just realised his belt had been stolen, his trousers were about to fall down and he was terrified of chips. Or maybe he was just fed up with squeaking about his famous cases.

‘I’m afraid the time has come for me to leave you all,’ he said.

Shirley dropped her chip. Squeak.

‘What! Why? When? Wait!’ she said.

Watson had grabbed one of Professor Dulltops shoes and was frantically jumping up and down on the sofa rolling his eyes.

‘Woof, squeak, woof, squeak, woof, squeak, woof.’

‘What is it Watson?’

In the centre of the shoe was a small white calling card.

Shirley grinned. Was this a clue, a new case?

‘You see my dear Shirley, it’s a matter of urgency. In fact it's so urgent that it matters. What I mean to say is that it's an emerging matter of urgent merging, I mean merging matters that need my immediate urgent merge, err, attention. But I’m definitely not going on holiday. And I must, just must go alone. Pleeeease Shirley, my dearest beanbucket.’

Shirley tied her long, blonde hair behind her head, tucked a few chips into the pockets of her skirt and gave Watson the secret signal. Watson wagged his tail in a knowing way. Then he dribbled into Hetty’s shoe in an awful way and sniffed his bottom in a disgusting way. He had no idea what the secret signal was. But he did find a chip under the sofa. Result.

‘Well if you put it like that, Watson and I shall stay here and play, safe in the care of Professor Dulltop. And I can assure you we have no plans for any plucky detecting, clue solving heroism, ballyhoo bravery, intrepid valour, large scale investigations or stiff upper lip, lionhearted monkey business.’

'Well that's settled then my dear plum drum sock tree, I must be away immediately,’ said Sherlock.

He reached behind him and grabbed a bag. Sherlock had been planning on a quick getaway. He gave Shirley a big hug and thanked Dwight for the chip. Then he put on a pair of bright pink flip flops and went out into Baker street.

‘Morning Mr Holmes, on holiday are we?’ asked a small, dirty street urchin.

‘No absolutely not. I’m in disguise,’ said Sherlock, getting into a waiting carriage as a beach ball fell out of his bag.

‘So where to then Mr Holmes?’ asked the carriage driver.

‘I’m totally not on holiday. It’s an urgent merging matter,’ said Sherlock as a bucket and spade fell out of his bag.

Sherlock leant forward.

‘Psshhht, Billericay Holiday Beach Hotel please,’ he whispered.

‘Have a nice time!’ shouted Shirley as the carriage and the legendary Sherlock Holmes, now wearing a big floppy hat, sunglasses and a flowery shirt, bounced up the cobbled street.

‘I’m so not on holiday,’ he could be heard shouting as he disappeared into the fog.

Shirley pulled the small white card from her pocket and read it.

‘Do you have old shoes? Embarrassed? Losing Friends? Chips cold? Then you need our totally FREE, super cool patented automatic flip-flops Just try them for instant relief. They're FREE! So don’t delay, put them on today!

(Please note: Wearing Flip-flops will result in the total destruction of London town and the usurping of the English throne. Product may not contain chips.)

‘The Throne! The Queen is in danger!’ said shirley.

‘That oity toity, fancy wancy, la di da, know it all family of master criminals must be behind this. And I know just what we need to do about that, we're going to find Morten Moriarty!’

She lifted her head and laughed a real, shiny toothed hero laugh. Watson woofed and woofed and woofed and woofed until he dropped what he was chewing on.

‘Good heavens, woof, almost lost my chip there, woof!,’ he said.

For Watson may have been a fur covered, cheeky chappy, but he was also the world’s one and only, talking dog detective.

Result!

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