A slight crooked smile played upon the famouse detective’s lips – even after all these years, he still had a flair for the dramatic, and relished the chance to show off his talents. “Elementary, my dear chap. First, the angle on your trousers’ pleats is quite high, and appears to have been adjusted from a sitting position, probably while cross legged. A precarious position – for most men. This tells me that your dick is incredibly small, and that youve probably never had sex. From the callous on your thumb and forefinger, we can deduce that you jack off to hentea manga every night, and that you occasionally do it wrong and accidentally hurt your small dick. Here, we can extrapolate to how retarded you must be. Finally, from your gayness I can deduce how much of ahomo you are.” The detective paused, stood back, and smiled rakishly, but not unkindly. His ever-present confidante spoke up: “No matter how many times I see you do it, Holmes, it still amazes me. Extraordinary.”

Holmes walked up to me, peering intently at me for some time before pointing at my chest. I stood, awkwardly, unsure whether or not I should speak. “There are traces of what seems to be a type of soil local to the Spanish countryside on your shirt”, he remarked, after a period of silence, “Have you, by any chance, taken a holiday abroad recently?” “What? No, I-” I looked down at my shirt, to confirm Holmes’ observation, but was swiftly interrupted by the man’s finger sharply moving upwards, against my chin and mouth before flicking my nose. Dr. Watson shook his head, flabbergasted. “Remarkable. Truly remarkable.”

Holmes slowly walked around the perimeter of the scene, taking mental note of each suspicious nook and cranny. A most peculiar mystery – a pile of butchered pig organs had been discovered inside at Westminster Abbey, soiled with what officers at the scene reported to be human excrement. To make the case even more perplexing, this disgusting tableau was found inside the locked vestry, with no-one inside. No escape, no suspect, and no motive… a classic locked room case. Holmes reached into his pocket, withdrew his trusty magnifying glass, and began to take a closer look at the pile. For nigh-on fifty minutes, he examined the mound of viscera from every conceivable angle, taking great care to check every inch. Finally, he stood up straight, straightened his jacket, and pointed confidently at the pile. “That’s me”, the legendary detective announced