Deviation Actions
Literature Text
My good friend Sherlock Holmes and I were in the midst of dining -
A treat from Holmes with money given by a royal client.
Although when it was offered, he was typically defiant,
But reluctantly relented when the gentleman implored
With such a strong insistance that it could not be ignored.
And so it was we found ourselves in Simpsons-on-the-Strand
Battling through a banquet with a knife and fork in hand.
My friend was in good humour, and he spoke of many things,
Of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings,
Their role in his deductions and the solving of his cases,
His telegrams and pseudonyms and myriad of faces -
When all at once he gave a cry and leapt up from his seat,
And bumped into a waiter who was knocked clean off his feet.
“Good Lord!” I said, as Holmes turned pale, and stood completely still.
“Whatever is the matter? You look awful – are you ill?”
“Watson,” the detective said, and pointed at his food,
“I know you'll think me mad or in a very funny mood,
You know that I'm no drunkard, nor a person prone to lie:
But I swear that oyster winked at me, and gave a little sigh!”
Speechless for a moment, I stood up and shook my head.
“I rather think you're overworked and seeing things,” I said.
“We should go home so you can rest - we'll talk about it later.”
“I must say I agree, sir,” said the disaffected waiter.
We paid our bill, apologised and swiftly hailed a ride.
Holmes kept peering anxiously into the fog outside.
“Is something wrong?” I asked without concealing my surprise.
“They're following the hansom!” Holmes exclaimed with wild eyes.
“Who is it?” I demanded. “Will you tell me who you see?”
I suspected Moriarty, now his name was known to me,
But he was not the villain in this story, it appeared:
“The oysters, my dear fellow, they are faster than I feared!
Their tiny legs propel them at a most alarming rate;
If the driver doesn't hurry it'll soon be far too late!”
“Holmes,” I said, in gentle tones, a hand upon his cuff,
“Consider what you're saying, don't you think that's quite enough?”
“But surely you can see them, Watson, swarming up the road?”
I was just about to answer when the hansom driver slowed.
Holmes gave out a frightful moan and writhed upon his seat,
But thankfully we stopped outside our home in Baker Street.
“They're coming round the corner, Watson!” Holmes cried out in shock.
“Of course they are,” I humoured him, and fumbled with the lock.
He nearly bowled me over as I opened our front door.
He slammed it shut behind us and slid gasping to the floor.
“Oh Watson, my dear fellow, I have put your life at risk
And all because I couldn't help but order Oyster Bisque.
Those tasty little molluscs are my culinary vice,
I've ordered them too often, now we both must pay the price.
I hope you will forgive me, if we live I'll set things right,
But I fear it's death by oysters on this cold All Hallow's Night.”
“Nonsense, Holmes,” I sternly spoke. “It's all inside your head.
You're clearly overwrought, and I insist you go to bed.”
Squinting through the keyhole with his hand held up for quiet,
Holmes described the scene outside - “a massive seafood riot!
If we could overcome them, what a feast we could consume!”
I took him firmly by the arm and dragged him to his room.
It hurt my heart to see him in this sad state of affairs,
As he babbled in the doorway, “They are coming up the stairs!
I don't know what to do! How does one stop an oyster army?”
“I really wouldn't know,” I said, “I think you've gone quite barmy.
Although,” I thought aloud, “if it's a case of fast digestion,
The Walrus and the Carpenter would be my first suggestion.”
My friend cast me a glance implying I'd now gone insane.
He raised a shapely eyebrow and intoned, “Pray do explain.”
I told him how they lured a mass of oysters to their table
And Holmes steepled his fingers as he listened to the fable.
“Well there we find our answer – bravo Watson! We can beat them!”
“I hope you're not inferring that we sit them down and eat them?”
Holmes stood tall with gleaming eyes and gave a little shrug.
“I shall play the Carpenter and nail them to the rug!
You must be the Walrus as you have a fine moustache.
You'll carry off a pair of tusks with enviable panache.”
He groped about beneath his bed and found a hammer there.
“I only have the one,” he said, “I'm sure that we can share -
Though in your role as walrus you should stab them with a tusk.”
I know that Holmes believed it, and I shouldn't be so brusque,
But I sighed and said, “Dear fellow, you are held in high esteem,
But I really cannot join you in this crazy little dream.”
“No matter,” Holmes said, smiling, “I shall lead the first attack.
Take care, my dearest Watson, as I might not make it back.
You can have my Persian slipper and the contents kept within,
And my chemicals and pipes and most beloved violin.”
Before I could protest my friend had slipped into the hall,
And I heard him shout a war-cry, a most frenzied caterwaul,
And thus began a frightful noise, of hammering and flailing,
Of banging, cracking, shouting, thudding, stomping, and loud wailing.
I listened to the rumpus with a sense of apprehension,
Which grew into a heavy lump of most unwelcome tension,
When all at once a silence fell, a deathly hush throughout the room.
I slowly turned the handle and crept out into the gloom.
Sherlock Holmes was sitting quite exhausted on the stair
With the hammer prone beside him and a vague exultant air,
And lingering about him was a faintly fishy smell,
And beneath my feet a carpet made of shiny oyster-shell.
“I finished off the job,” he said, his hair in disarray.
“Would you kindly call our landlady to sweep this mess away?”
I stood aghast, my mouth agape, my head began to spin.
“I'm not soft-headed after all,” Holmes chuckled with a grin.
“I think I'll give up oysters, and try eating shrimp instead.
And now I think some music, and a pipe or two, then bed.”
But despite my friend's intentions, quite within a week or two,
He was back in Simpsons-on-the-Strand, and eating Oyster Stew.
