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While leafing among some of the weightier tomes in the Baker Street library, the meditations of one Sherlock Holmes were about to be interrupted. Holmes was never a person who was fond of being interrupted once he had trained his mind on a subject. The fact that he was about to be interrupted, had he known that he was about to be, would have most often resulted in a fusillade repertoire of interrogatives which would no doubt, have the singular purpose of ascertaining why this interloping was presently necessary. The key to escape a certain tongue lashing was to be certain that whatever it was that breached Holmes’s concentration was more intellectually and immediately interesting than whatever it was that Holmes was presently engaged in doing.
Naturally then, as Holmes was first and foremost a detective, anything that smacked of mystery that was unsolved might qualify. Of course, if the mystery were something he could easily penetrate, then one had not overcome the threshold of interest required to escape the verbal thrashing that was concomitant in having distracted him. It was a gamble since the things that were quite obvious to Mr. Holmes were not obvious to everyone else. Sometimes something as simple as the person who dared make the incursion manner of asking the question was enough to solve the hitherto unsolvable conundrum.
“I say,” Holmes began, “I say Watson, I fancy that this Phylogeny study on big cats might help solve many an unexplained disappearance in the Savannas of Africa.” Presently Holmes sat in his leather sitting chair with its characteristic tall flair back and relatively high arm rests. “I do suspect, however, that in order to fully delve into this matter fully I shall have no other recourse than to puff on my pipe of which I presently and tragically have no more tobacco. Would you be kind enough to fetch me some Peterson’s from the corner Tobacconist?”
“Baker Street Tobacconists has Peterson’s now? I should have thought you would have settled into an Arcadia blend for such invigorating reading in parts of the world in which we typically do not travel?” replied Watson.
“One never knows, dear Doctor, where one might be, or when one might be called to a place hitherto unimagined.”
Eloquently elocutious, my good sir.
yeah, that's good.