For Caersmane
“Uhm, Sherlock?”
“Yes?”
“There's a cake in the bath tub.” John stepped into the living room to find Holmes in his usual thinking position stretched out on the sofa, his fingers steepled in front of him.
“It's a Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte or black forest gateau to be precise.” Holmes said.
John narrowed his eyes. “Okay... Why is there a black forest gateau in the bath tub?”
“Evidence.”
“Evidence,” John echoed.
Holmes swung himself into a sitting position. “Yes. It was sent to me this morning from Wales by a man called Rhys. He is asking my to use my deductive skills to find out if the baker who made this cake is really a baker. It's quite an easy case, if amusing.” He waved his hand towards a piece of paper lying on the sofa table.
John picked it up and read through the letter. “This doesn't make any sense.”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows.
“He clearly says that he knows the guy to be a professional hitman and yet asks you to confirm that he's a baker. This man is either insane or playing a game with you.”
“My dear John, do try to use your imagination. This man obviously has the full use of his - admittedly mediocre - mental capacities and is quite serious in his request.”
"Then how do you explain this letter?" John waved the offending piece of paper.
Sherlock grabbed the letter from him. "Judging by the oil stains and smell on this paper, it was send by someone who works in a fish-and-chips shop and is over the age of fifty. I already mentioned that it was sent from Wales and you so astutely observed that the writer of this letter already knows that the baker in question used to work as a paid assassin. As far as I am aware the United Assassins Of Britain And North Ireland have only one safe-house in Wales in a village that also has a fish-and-chips shop. Which leads to the conclusion that there is currently an assassin hiding in said village. From the - admitedly, rather convoluted - phrasing of the letter writer's request, we can conclude that this assassin has given up his former profession and is now working as the village baker. The letter writer in question is simply asking me to determine whether this change in profession is genuine or just a front."
John blinked. "Okay. And is it?"
"Is it what?"
"Genuine."
"Oh, yes. Obviously. That cake is the worst black forest gateau I have tasted in my entire life. Which is why I have banished it to the bathroom." Holmes flopped back onto the sofa. "Now, if you would be so kind as to grab some paper and a pen and sit down at the desk, I would like to write an answering letter."
John sighed and did as he was asked.
IDEK?!
“Yes?”
“There's a cake in the bath tub.” John stepped into the living room to find Holmes in his usual thinking position stretched out on the sofa, his fingers steepled in front of him.
“It's a Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte or black forest gateau to be precise.” Holmes said.
John narrowed his eyes. “Okay... Why is there a black forest gateau in the bath tub?”
“Evidence.”
“Evidence,” John echoed.
Holmes swung himself into a sitting position. “Yes. It was sent to me this morning from Wales by a man called Rhys. He is asking my to use my deductive skills to find out if the baker who made this cake is really a baker. It's quite an easy case, if amusing.” He waved his hand towards a piece of paper lying on the sofa table.
John picked it up and read through the letter. “This doesn't make any sense.”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows.
“He clearly says that he knows the guy to be a professional hitman and yet asks you to confirm that he's a baker. This man is either insane or playing a game with you.”
“My dear John, do try to use your imagination. This man obviously has the full use of his - admittedly mediocre - mental capacities and is quite serious in his request.”
"Then how do you explain this letter?" John waved the offending piece of paper.
Sherlock grabbed the letter from him. "Judging by the oil stains and smell on this paper, it was send by someone who works in a fish-and-chips shop and is over the age of fifty. I already mentioned that it was sent from Wales and you so astutely observed that the writer of this letter already knows that the baker in question used to work as a paid assassin. As far as I am aware the United Assassins Of Britain And North Ireland have only one safe-house in Wales in a village that also has a fish-and-chips shop. Which leads to the conclusion that there is currently an assassin hiding in said village. From the - admitedly, rather convoluted - phrasing of the letter writer's request, we can conclude that this assassin has given up his former profession and is now working as the village baker. The letter writer in question is simply asking me to determine whether this change in profession is genuine or just a front."
John blinked. "Okay. And is it?"
"Is it what?"
"Genuine."
"Oh, yes. Obviously. That cake is the worst black forest gateau I have tasted in my entire life. Which is why I have banished it to the bathroom." Holmes flopped back onto the sofa. "Now, if you would be so kind as to grab some paper and a pen and sit down at the desk, I would like to write an answering letter."
John sighed and did as he was asked.
IDEK?!