How Bizarre, How Random, How.....

Chapter

Their boss meanwhile,Sheriff H. was really out looking for clues. The prototypical detective he became, Sherlock Holmes, and even went looking for fingerprints with a magnifying glass and a cigar in his mouth.

That was another of the methods he'd learnt, and this he'd taught himself. It worked. The trick was to put himself in the mind of the master, the man who could solve all. Because Sherlock was imaginary, it was better for him. He'd have found it harder to live up to the reputation of a flesh and bones detective, but since his hero existed only in the imagination, he could be twisted and torn as befitting the situation. Very convenient.

He could ask, could Sherlock do that and if the answer was yes, he'd go on, but if it got to being too tough, he could always turn around and say no he couldn't. That was the thing with using fictional heroes, the main thing. Since fiction lived in the mind of its creator, it was easier to pretend that he was new creator. Fiction was less serious than real life, so it hurt no one in the least to use it for a little while, twist and turn it, and then discard it. Fictions were good in that way, with real life heroes he always had the feeling that he was being watched. Worse if the fellow in question, the hero, was long dead. Then channeling him into his thoughts would be akin to asking his ghost to enter him.

Picture a bearded fellow, whose end tapered into nebulousness like a genie released. Picture this fellow, who was the ghost of some famous detective whose help he'd sought, scratching his beard and squinting his eyes in careful examination of what M had done. Picture this fellow, who in his life was as rigorous about his job as anyone, and who expected everybody around him to be the same, picture him forced to endure someone bungling and stumbling, in his name.

Therefore, much better to channel someone like Sherlock, who really wasn't a real fellow, and who therefore wouldn't feel offended if, in his name several mistakes in succession were commited. Nope, Sherlock had no ghost, no spirit that would feel tormented if anyone so much as used his name in the least foolish of ways.

Well, this Sherlock, this Holmes, wasn't telling him too much lately. He wasn't sure what to do. Should he continue waiting on Holmes, hoping that finally he would deliver, or should he try other ways? But what other ways were there? The old orthodox ways he didn't quite like. Quite? He didn't like them at all. They were gone, history. Only the sloths used them anymore.

He lifted his cap lightly to allow a hair that had been irritating him to pop out. Sherlock Cap, yes, Sherlock dress, natty, checkered pants, shoes all black and glossy. As for the pipe, well yes, not to be forgotten, that never, no no. He looked at it and chuckled. It was smooth, and from it, tobacco came out smooth. He'd bought it for twenty bucks in a Chicago flea market years ago and it was dollar for dollar one of the best bargains he'd ever had. It too had a gloss, and its curve was perfect, like a scimitar. It was one of those few things that was a pleasure just to look at.

So out of it he inhaled, and let the blue-black cloud out. It moved slowly, the smoke, against the light, and then disappeared.

Well, Sherlock my man, he told himself, what do we have here?

Oh, nothing, so answered Sherlock.

What do you mean oh nothing, said he. Oh nothing's no good, you must have something, Sherlock, my man, you're good, you're the man, you're the best, you're the finest, when you say oh nothing, that's, that's not good at all. Come on then. What do you have?

Nothing, absolutely nothing.

Sherlock, Sherlock, that's bad. That's real bad Sherlock. You've got to have something.

No I swear. I don't have nothing, absolutely nothing. Come on, even Sherlock must at times have nothing. Life woudld be entirely meaningless if Sherlock had something all the time.

But its not the question of life's meaningfulness or lack of. Its the matter of solving a murder, my murder case, and I brought you to help, and now you're just giving up. Absolutely not.

But....am I a genie? Am I to do everything you command me to do?