I met Shirley Holmes (Sherlock’s younger sister) in the spring of 1891 at the Eccentric Club in Soho, London. She had long dark hair, a gorgeous face and an amazing smile. I bowed and kissed Her hand while Her blue green eyes took a walk all over me.
That you are gullible, ignorant and not particular intelligent is of course obvious, She said.
I beg your par-
She slapped me twice. Not hard, but twice.
Do NOT interrupt Me! She paused a moment. Now then. You were born in a shed with two cows, one of which was lame … you broke your arm when you were five years old … mother a seamstress, father an accountant. You like kippers, not sprats. Beans, not carrots. Sherry, not port.
I stood there with my mouth open wide, because She was bang-bang-bang-bang on.
How on eart-
She punched me hard on the mouth. My head was spining, my teeth falling. But before I could say anything She grabbed my hand, turned it over and stared at the palm.
Ah! The calloused hand shows signs of lifelong manual labor. Masturbation, I presume. You are the possessor of a fine dick, which I should describe roughly as being larger than a matchstick and smaller than a flagpole.
How dare Y-
She kicked me in the shins and I howled.
Take him to My dungeon in Baker Street, She said to a big man standing in the corner. There’s something fishy about him. Mackerel perhaps. Cod maybe.
I was never to be heard from again.
That you are gullible, ignorant and not particular intelligent is of course obvious, She said.
I beg your par-
She slapped me twice. Not hard, but twice.
Do NOT interrupt Me! She paused a moment. Now then. You were born in a shed with two cows, one of which was lame … you broke your arm when you were five years old … mother a seamstress, father an accountant. You like kippers, not sprats. Beans, not carrots. Sherry, not port.
I stood there with my mouth open wide, because She was bang-bang-bang-bang on.
How on eart-
She punched me hard on the mouth. My head was spining, my teeth falling. But before I could say anything She grabbed my hand, turned it over and stared at the palm.
Ah! The calloused hand shows signs of lifelong manual labor. Masturbation, I presume. You are the possessor of a fine dick, which I should describe roughly as being larger than a matchstick and smaller than a flagpole.
How dare Y-
She kicked me in the shins and I howled.
Take him to My dungeon in Baker Street, She said to a big man standing in the corner. There’s something fishy about him. Mackerel perhaps. Cod maybe.
I was never to be heard from again.
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