Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 292 The Holmes Boys
A pub called "The Lame Sailor" near Whitechapel in East London.

The air here is terrible, filled with the smells of cheap tobacco, spoiled beer, and sweat, all mixed together like a wet towel covering your mouth.

But this doesn't affect business here at all; dockworkers, vendors, and even homeless people can find the entertainment they want here.

In a corner of the tavern, a "newspaper reader" named Basil Horn stood on a makeshift, dilapidated wooden crate, spitting as he spoke:
"...But our Mr. Holmes, he followed the mysterious Mormon elder and ventured deep into the lion's den!"
In that dark warehouse, a flash of light! 'Bang! Bang! Bang!'—"

He suddenly made a shooting motion, eliciting a low gasp and excited commotion from the audience.

"That's what a hero is! No talk, just real action! Using gunpowder and steel to make evil tremble!"

The patrons burst into laughter and cheers, and some banged their glasses on the table.

A burly man with a flushed face shouted rudely, "One more! Basil, that one... hehe, the one with that little widow!"

This request elicited a knowing, ambiguous laugh.

Basil Horn cleared his throat smugly, a lewd grin spreading across his face: "...That Mrs. Ruth, wearing a thin nightgown, in the candlelight, that figure...tsk tsk, like a ripe peach..."

He slowed his speech, describing the erotic details in great detail, using vulgar yet captivating language.

The tavern fell silent, save for the sounds of heavy breathing and swallowing.

The men's eyes gleamed, completely absorbed in this stimulating and erotic fantasy.

Thunderous applause and wild howls erupted in the tavern—

"it is good!!"

"That was awesome!"

"That's a real man! A hero like Robin Hood!"

Copper coins were thrown like raindrops into the tattered hat at his feet, and someone shouted that they would invite him to drink a glass of the strongest rum.

"Much better than the old, indecisive Sherlock Holmes!"

"Yeah, the one who used to only look at his wrist and pocket watch, was like a woman!"

"That's a really good story! Basil, come read it again tomorrow!"

Basil Horn, his face flushed, picked up the money from his hat and proudly accepted the wine glass offered to him.

Just then, the creaking wooden door of the tavern was suddenly pushed open with a "bang".

A group of young people, about seven or eight, all around eighteen or nineteen years old, barged in, all wearing school uniforms.

The leader was a tall young man who immediately spotted Basil Horn standing on the broken wooden crate, and the book "A Study in Scarlet" in his hand.

The young man loudly proclaimed: "Gentlemen! Please stop! What you are listening to is a shameless, illegal pirated copy!"

It has wantonly altered and utterly tarnished the reputation of a great English detective!

The tavern fell silent for a moment, then erupted into an even louder uproar.

Hey! Where did this little brat come from?!

Go back to studying your Latin!

"What we like to hear is none of your business!"

Basil Horn, enraged, retorted, "What did you say? Kid, this isn't a place for you!"

The young man stepped forward without fear and said, "This is a trampling on the spirit of Anglo-Saxon gentleman!"

He should be despised by all honest people! I advise you to think twice before you act!

A drunken worker scoffed, “Gentleman? In this ‘Lame Sailor’ place, I’m the gentleman! I love hearing that! So what?”

Another student couldn't help but shout, "You're encouraging evil! The real Sherlock Holmes is the embodiment of reason, not a scoundrel who only knows how to shoot and play with women!" "Who are you calling a scoundrel?!"

"I'm talking about you guys!"

"Beat them!"

The argument quickly escalated.

Someone shoved someone first, and then a wine glass shattered on the ground.

It was like lighting a powder keg; the workers roared and rushed at the group of students, who fought back fiercely.

Fists, tables, chairs, and wine glasses all became weapons.

Basil Horn was so frightened that he rolled off the wooden crate and hid under the counter, covering his head.

The tavern owner screamed in vain, but his voice was drowned out by curses and the sounds of fighting...

The following day, several major London newspapers reported on the incident.

The Times condemned the piracy, but it criticized the reckless actions of these young men who called themselves "the boys of Sherlock Holmes."

The Daily News' report was sensational, detailing the brawl in detail and attributing the root of the conflict to "class antagonism."

The Daily Mail, on the other hand, didn't hold back in mocking the students, calling them "the ladies of Holmes."

……

In the living room of 21B Baker Street, Lionel looked at the newspapers in his hands and wondered, "Why does public opinion seem to be against us?"
And what's with these 'Sherlock Holmes boys'?

Sitting opposite him was Arthur Conan Doyle, who helplessly covered his forehead: "You... do you know what 'football' is?"

Lionel paused for a moment, then replied, "I know a little..."

Conan Doyle then explained, "That's good—earlier this year, during a match between two teams, Aston Villa and Preston North, a massive brawl broke out among fans in the stands..."

Since then, the London media has been very sensitive to such incidents and usually condemns the party that instigates the violence.

As for the 'Sherlock Holmes boys'—"

He glanced at Lionel and, finding him to be fairly normal, continued, "They are all students from St. Thomas' Medical School and Guy's Medical School."

They all knew that the prototype of 'Sherlock Holmes' was Dr. Bell, so they considered 'Holmes one of their own,' and many people worshipped him fanatically..."

Lionel frowned. "That's a rather ambiguous name, 'The Boys of Sherlock Holmes'..."

Conan Doyle didn't know why the name was "ambiguous," but he didn't ask further; his attention was elsewhere: "Leon, that forgery..."

Lionel waved his hand: "It's just a passing thing, don't worry about it. I came to London to talk to you about the next case of 'Sherlock Holmes'."

Oh, and hurry up and put out your cigar…

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Just as the aftermath of the "Lame Sailor" pub incident was still unfolding, and London was abuzz with debates about piracy, forgeries, and the "Sherlock Holmes Boys"...

The late October issue of "Good Words" magazine appeared on time at major newsstands and in the hands of subscribers.

Whether they were supporters of the genuine article or readers who had purchased the counterfeit, they couldn't wait to open the magazine at the center of the storm.

They wanted to see how "Good Words" would react to such a massive wave of piracy.

Then, to their astonishment, they discovered that "Good Words" had once again come up with a new trick that surprised everyone.

(End of this chapter)