audio books ad-free early access adventures mailbag episodes case file episodes AMAs behind the scenes micro adventures authored by Watson himself a discord channel with nearly 2,000 chatter little members merchandise discounts exclusive events and yes done yeah miss the most important bit mate oh patreon.com forward slash Sherlock and co thanks Hi. Yeah, it's me. This adventure isn't very good, to be honest. Not the adventure I wanted, but the adventure I deserve. And what you deserve too, apparently. Gonna upload this, then probably turn my phone off just in case. Goal hanger. Dunno, annoyed? I did a case entirely from a bookshop. swearing in this mentions of a corpse and murder but don't get too excited yeah, bye oh, holders books in here crime scene to get to Mariana, bloke found in bushes strangled to death with a dog lead dog poo bag over his head no, I know, I know, but I'll be so quick Sherlock, tell her mate Oh, they sell antique books. I wonder if they have Carth and L. Munley's practical compendium of cordage rope-making entwined. Oh, sounds thrilling. Yeah, I can feel my heart racing already. Wait until you see the price. Ever heard of the expression money for old rope, mate? I haven't. Mm, clearly. My name is Dr John Watson, once of the British Army Northumberland Fusilier Regiment, Now, a true crime podcaster based in central London. I don't have much experience in criminology, so this is mostly a record of how I met possibly the most brilliant and bizarre person I have ever and will ever know. Join me as I document the adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Hopkins is saying the dog poo bag is lavender scented. I could explain the blemishes on the face of the corpse, but not the blue dye on the neck. Mariana. Mariana, the dog poo bag on the bloke's head. Yes, I heard you. Please shush. Oh, can we please just get this book and go? What happened to you going to the library every week? The library doesn't have the book I want. What book? Exactly, the theoretical history of table legs from 1804. What? Just hurry up. It'll be here somewhere, I think. Can you see up there, on the top shelf? Ah, ha ha ha, very funny. Here, try these. Fuck, where did you find High Heels? Right on the shelf, behind this book. Books and High Heels, good luck with that business model. They've been left here, and I should put them back. So, you gonna reach up there, or...? Okay, goodbye. Where are you going? Um, you know, I think I'm gonna go and see if I can strangle myself with Sherlock's new rope-making skills. I'm so dramatic. Oh, steady there. Excuse me. Sorry. Yeah, no, head through. Hey. Hmm. Can we pick up the pace? Hmm. I mean, the only people not rushing around in this bookshop are you and Mariana. The same people that, oh yeah, have been asked to get to a crime scene as soon as possible. Hmm. Great. Is it a good one? Is it, mate? Manly's work is the best. Well, you should probably buy it. The shop owner looks pretty stressed over there. Right, Hopkins now saying that the dog is called Muffin. It's a zoo poo. Guessing that's a shih tzu poodle? Zoo poo? I suppose they're not going to call it a shit poo, are they? Oh, what you got there? He's a lovely little fluffy thing. What is he? What is he? Oh, he's a shit-poo. Half shih tzu, half poodle. You want to give him a stroke? No, thanks. Shh. Sorry. Hopkins was saying that the body twitched earlier, kicked the leg out and got Gregson right in the face as he was inspecting it. Sir. Basic assault of a police officer. That's six months if he's not careful. Eh? I find this corpse guilty. Shh. Yes, all right. Sorry. Sorry. Okay, let's go. All done. Buy the rope book. Come on. It's £2,000. Come on. What? Will you shush? Oh, you're not even reading anything, mate, and you've got a hearing aid. Just turn it down. The book is £2,000. OK, right. Well, put it back. Go and solve this crime, get paid, come back, buy your book. I'll even shell out five quid for the holder's book's tote bag for you. Oh, oh, can you get the tote bag with the bike and flowers on it, please? It's super cute. Sorry, we're not going to shush her, mate, or... It is important for a detective to familiarise himself with thorough works such as this, Watson. Yes, right. But it is also important for a detective to visit the dog poo bag crime scene. He wasn't killed by the bag. He was strangled. You can tell from the original photos Hopkins sent. Yes, we've seen the photos. Great. Lovely. Now it's time for the real thing. OK? Chop, chop. Uh, excuse me? Ah, all right. I get it. It's a bookshop, mate. I'll keep my voice down. You know, it's not the Sistine Chapel. No, no. Did you say you were a detective? I am indeed. Yeah, and a bloody good one, aren't you, mate? Oh, well, that's fantastic news. I require your services immediately. Do you now? No, wait, I mean, he's crap. Terrible. Worst detective ever. Best detective ever. He's fictional. Fictional, but the best. Right, Michelle? Absolutely right. How can he be the best if he's fictional? He even has a statue in Primrose Hill, where he resided and solved over 120 crimes. Hmm. We should probably save statues for real people who do real things, really. It's just my opinion. Huckton Bruce and the Escapade of the Cannon Street Cracksmen. Oh, one of my absolute favourites. I remember reading his cases when I was a boy. I rather enjoyed his steely approach to even the most tragic and heart-rending of crimes. Yeah, it's quite... it's iconic, isn't it? Michelle, could you get your father? I think he's had quite enough of me battering him today. Get him for what? We will need... Oh, well, the detectives here will need him to understand what has happened. I think we should wait, Francis. You never know. Michelle, please. You must. Okay, okay, all right. All right. One second. That's Michelle Holder. Bookshop manager. Oh and she owns the place Her father does You meet him shortly She done an amazing job in here and so many followers Yeah she killing it Yes, she's very talented. Very driven. I love the detail she's put into every part of the store. The suggestion notes, and the stories behind the stories. It's so cool. So, how many Detective Huckton-Bruce stories are there? Well, that is the prescient question, Dr. Watson. Is it? You're going to need a plaster for that. Hmm? You've bitten your nails so thoroughly you've drawn blood. Right there. Oh, goodness. Here, I've got a tissue. Sorry, you gave me a name and I... Francis. Francis Prosper. Francis, yes. There you go, mate. Thank you. This is... The whole thing is some nightmare, you know. Some nightmare. Goodness gracious me. Everything all right, Mr. Prosper? Well, it's more of a waking day, Mayor. In a way, I... Well, last night, right here, there was a moment when I glanced at it, and it was totally gone. So what was totally gone? Totally and utterly gone. But I... It... It returned. Well, in part. Mr. Prosper. Michelle, I really... Please. Here. Ah, Alex. Alexander, this is... Not now, Francis. I'm... I think George is on his way in and I'm fucking bricking it, to be honest with you. God almighty! No, no, no. This is... Sherlock Holmes. Apologies, yes. Sherlock Holmes. And John and Mariana. Hey. Everybody, this is Alexander Holder. Yes, hello. Hi, nice shop. Yes, thank you, madam. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm either going to throw up, shit myself, or all of the above. The forewarning is much appreciated, Mr. Holder. Dad? Dad? Let's just breathe. Just breathe. Yes, I'll breathe in the laboratory. Thank you, Michelle. Alexander, just hold on one moment. Can we give my dad some space, Francis, please? Exactly. I have just lost literally millions of... He's a detective. Francis! This man. Here. Sherlock. He says he is. He's not police or anything. Would you just lay off the escapades for a while, will you, Francis? This is a profoundly serious matter. I'm being serious. Mr Holder, you are missing something. If you had any idea, sir. I have more than an idea. Not quite something. No, you are missing part of something. But what missing piece could cause you such terror and bowel activity? Well, I'd venture, or rather like the mighty Huckton Bruce would say in his famous escapades, have a jolly good punt and say that it has something to do with that 8 inch by 8 inch glass case atop that plinth behind you, lit up as part of a presentation by the back wall. I still see what looks like a manuscript inside, but the glass case, although identical on all sides, is the wrong way round. What? The plated side, that should forward face, has a magnification of around 1.5 times that of the other pieces. It allows for observers to pick out, often intricate and decayed, wordings from aged papers, such as what I can see housed ever so proudly in there. How can you see that from here? Francis here, who doesn't usually bite his nails. You can tell by his front teeth, no worn enamel at all has chewed every single one down to a nub. In between bites, he has got us all rather excited about the works of Huckton Bruce. My companion, just this moment, asked how many Huckton escapades there are, and he described that query as prescient. Did he now? I think we could go for one more final punt, couldn't we, Mr Holder? There are not, as is well known amongst literary fans, 48 Hutton Bruce stories, but there are in fact 49. And the 49th story is sat right there in its highly secure, alarmed and reinforced glass case. Hmm. Now, I would say in its entirety, but that would not explain the tension in the room nor the misaligned viewing glass and the smudged prints on its surface, would it? Wow. There it... Oh my goodness. Eh? Don't, just... Oh, come on, this is just like... Don't touch me! This, this is serious! And this is a serious detective? Yes, yeah, that needs to be a serious crime scene. Ah, Alexander! Shit, shit, shit, triple shit! Dad, Dad, I can speak to George. I'll speak to him. Sorry, who's this guy coming in? He's right, OK? He's bloody right. Shelford is right. Sherlock. Yes, sorry. You're right. We have a lost manuscript by Sir Edward Gorman, accredited and verified literally 46 hours ago by Anthems. The real deal. Absolutely. There's a BBC thing coming out about it. We've had a special meeting of all the Huckton groups around the world just last night. And that man there... Ha! Afternoon, George! Is George Burnwell. And he is here to give us three million fucking pounds. For what? For the manuscript in that glass case. The lost manuscript, now found, Huckton Bruce and the Escapade of the Beryl Coronet, written in 1892 by Sir Edward Gorman in his own hand, but never published. Bugger me. Shh, for God's sake. How strong do you reckon a shit poo is? I mean, thinking zoo poo. Because could the guy have been bending down to pick up poo or whatever? And Muffin the zoo poo comes over all fluffy and innocent. Then bam, the lead gets wrapped around his neck. By accident, dog freaks out, tries to leg it across the park, which tightens it, right? Then it's, you know, he's trapped then. He's being strangled. He's like, Fuck! Then Muffin's freaking out, right? But it's making everything worse. He's like, Yeah, then he dies. And they find him in the bushes. An hour later. What a lovely story. Well, come on. It's, you know. Do we then suppose that Muffin untied one of her waste bags and placed it over her owner's head as a mark of respect? No. ah good to know you haven't completely lost your mind the dog poop bag people tie them to the leads don't they so they'll always have them in the chaos it comes loose and gets over his head remarkable work of fiction watson i impressed well at least i thinking about a real case this is a real case too See Glass case Very funny This is not urgent Murder is urgent And you ignoring it I thought it was a chaotic accident. Not murder. You know what I mean? Hopkins messaged me, by the way. And I know he's messaging you as well. The victim is a vicar, Sherlock. A vicar, mate. Church warden. What's the difference? He's a volunteer. Oh, right. So church volunteer, strangled to death. Yeah, sod him. He's not even on the payroll. next. John. What? There are many, many highly stressed individuals in this antique bookshop. If we could reduce that mass by one, I would greatly appreciate it. I am following the gruesome circumstances of Charles Ryan, I assure you. All right? Who the hell is Charles Ryan? Our dead church warden in Lambeth. So you can stop calling him the dog poo bag man now, can't you? Mr. Holder? Yes, yes, yes. What can I do? How is your buyer? George, He's, um, he's doing all right. Michelle is just stalling him, showing him some of our other collections, but he has to leave at five with this. Well, you'll be bitterly disappointed. He's missing 7.69% of it. What? If you were listening, Watson, you'd know that three of the 39 pages of this fabled lost manuscript have been stolen. Just... Three pages? Yes, that's right, yes. What? Ones? It was, uh, let me think... Pages 3, 18 and 35. Anything particularly important about those pages? There is a rather ingenious moment on page 18, actually, where the Inspector of Birmingham Police... No, Watson, nothing important. Right, OK, but Alexander was just saying to us that there was an ingenious moment, or... Yes, I know, but Alexander Holder here is a fan of the original work, as is Francis, and it would seem Bichelle too. We are surrounded by adoring enthusiasts of Huckton Bruce and the works of Sir Edward Gorman. They are blinded zealots. Bit harsh. It's a reference to when Huckton solves the St James affair case, and he refers to a blind zealot who doesn't realise that... That's quite enough. My point is illustrated, and I must return to the cold facts of the case. Francis? Yes? Yes. Did you find the pages? No. Tell me, the method of our great hero detective, what steps would he have taken at this point? At this point? Yes, we have met the problem at hand. Where, then, does the impeccable Huckton method take us? The, um... Oh, well, the exactments. The exactments, yes. Could you take us through them, Mr. Holder? Um, from... from what point? Sorry, exactments? It's what Huckton would call the facts of a case. Its first meant to... The exactments, Mr Holder. From the last time you saw this glass case, in its correct state, with all 39 pages held inside it. Oh. Okay. That was... There was a special reading. Last night, for the Hucktonians. God almighty. They paid good money. I don't doubt it. Some flew in from the United States. even China and Japan. It was an amazing group. We had Jeffrey Moore read it. He was, well, in 1971, he played Huckton in, yeah, okay, he read it. He finished. We had arranged for some refreshments afterwards in the reading nooks and the seating area by the front window by the door where you came in there. We, I, put the manuscript back into its glass case. There was drinks and mingling, and we took photos. Didn't see or hear anything untoward. Had a great night. I locked up, and all the pages were there when I did. Stop. You're certain you spotted nothing untoward? Absolutely certain. Absolutely, 100%, without a doubt, certain. Continue. Um, that's it. That's the last time you saw it? Last night? Correct. You okay, Sherlock? Bring your daughter in here. She's rather busy keeping George Burnwell company, and he's yet to be informed. In here, now. Why exactly do we need to speak to Michelle? Because if I can't get the truth out of you, I'd rather hope she can. Excuse me now, just you... Fine. Watson, we have a murder to attend to. Finally. Let's go, big man. See you, Hucktonians. Hey. No, no, no. Turn around. We're leaving. Oh, OK. Goodbye. Best of luck. Please, this is... God, you have no idea how valuable this is. I have an exact idea. Three million pounds. No, no, no, no. To the, well, to our community. To our, well, to the people who would give anything for more of these stories. These characters. People give much more for truth. And Alexander Holder here won't grant us that. Yeah, and if you're going to lie to my friend, you can huck off. Eh? All right, come on, T. Alex! Alex! Is everything all right? What's going on? God above. George, could we? We would like a little more time with the barrel coronet. Just to ensure... What? What are you talking about? I'm picking it up today, aren't I? Please, we... The banks. The banking. Banking? What are you talking about? Bye-bye. Bye. I really hope it all gets sorted. The transference needs to be... They're not... You see, well, in order to... You can't let them leave. All right, fine. Fine. Fucking fine. Dad. Please, Mr. Holmes. Please, pretty, pretty, fucking pitiful, pathetic, please. Please stay. Please. Sorry, baby. Give me the truth. You know what? Email it. Yeah, okay. Come on, guys. My brother. There. Thank you. What the hell? Was he here? Our mother would read Huckton's stories to us when we were boys. Was he here? Last night, Dad? That criminal? You came, didn't you? You watched the reading. He never once did anything. Where was he? Where was Mike? He watched from upstairs on the mezzanine balcony. You actually hid him from me. This is... You are unbelievable. You said, no, I'm the manager. And I... No, I'm done. Miss Hel, Miss Hel, wait. The lady is not that young, said I. She is four and twenty years old. What are you doing? Reading, seeing what all the fuss is about kicking off with the escapade of the Lord Mayor's Mayor. Can you read in your head? Do you think they actually spoke like that in 1894 and 20 years old? Oh, your birthday's in May. Is it John? How old are you going to be? Me? Ah, yes, seven and thirty years, you. I like it. Yeah, I like the way the words shift around and take on different meanings. I like that not everybody spoke the same Where that shush now Exactly I mean I get shushed for clearing my throat and it What the f Sherlock, I know that was you. It's not funny. Hi, hey, mate. Hi, hi. I didn't get a chance to properly meet you. Oh, John, this is Mariana, that's Sherlock over there. Hi. George Burnwell. So, the detectives, right? You're the pros. Yeah, no. Well, yeah, we are. Yeah. I mean, the real detective is Shell. Oh. Block. Hello there. The guy crawling around by your feet. Excuse me. I just need to get a book at the bottom of his shelf. Oh, oh. So sorry. No, no. Stay where you are. I'll reach past your crotch, waist, I mean... Sherlock, why are you on all fours sniffing? Ah, got it. All done. Just needed this. Book. Guide to phrenology. Yep. Thank you. I, uh, wow, okay. Um, somewhat dated concept? Ah, yes, well, I prefer to study our ancestors, not judge them, Mr. Burnwell. So, um, I assume it's all a passion of yours, George? Phrenology? No, no. Um, no, not remotely. No. No, no, no, sorry. Detective stories. I should hope so, for a three million quid purchase. Ah, right, yes, I see. No, actually, no, no, not really. No, they never really did anything for me. Oh. I admire the works, don't get me wrong. It's preservation. I run a trust, you see, a philanthropic trust that ensures, well, I suppose what we would call a significant cultural asset, doesn't end up in some billionaire's bank vault, but actually for everyone to see and enjoy from any background. That's... good for you, George. Thank you. So, yes, I... Perhaps I'll get into it after this little investigation, won't I? Right, that's it. Alexander and Michelle Holder, please get down here right now. Hey, mate, you okay? Just accelerating matters, Watson. Oh, now you're talking. Right! Nobody is leaving this shop. We have a mystery, ladies and gentlemen. Three pages of the Beryl Coronet are missing. Here we have Alexander Holder, the proprietor of Holder Books, an antique bookshop that acquired a long-lost manuscript of a significant literary figure. We must remind ourselves Alexander Holder is a man we just caught in the act of lying. Excuse me now, hold on a second. Hardly surprising, Mr Holder, when you acquired a possibly priceless manuscript for... £18. It is my job, however, to... £18? Goodness me. What did you tell the old woman who had it in her attic, by the way? That it would be worth nothing and you'd selflessly take it off her hands? Yes, thought as much. We have Mr Francis Prosper, the keenest of Hucktonians, co-chair of the fan club, chairman of the Hucktonian Society, a fellow bidder for the manuscript unusually wracked with nerves this afternoon, and, rather curiously, I noted, the owner of a counterfeit watch, suit and glasses. I beg your pardon? Don't pull on the breast pocket fibres, Mr Prosper, you're only making it worse. Hmm, no. And we have the offspring, the next generation of holders, Miss Michelle Holder, a young woman, keen enthusiast for the original works, a proud manager of this shop, hired, of course, by her father, but perhaps her life would be more successful outside of these walls. Ambition drips from every welcoming sign to every furnishing, every online flourish, every presentation, event planned, tours, pop-ups, readings, signings, and even romantic interests. What is that supposed to mean, exactly? A little delayed, but there it is. It means you sprayed your wrist with a very particular magnolia and sandalwood eau de parfum. Yes, and? And the scent seems to have migrated from your wrist to Mr Burnwell's crotch. Jesus Christ. Just sorry, this is so inappropriate. You were sniffing my eyes. Then there's the brother, Michael Holder. Conspicuous by many things, least of all his absence. From the family feud we were all subjected to, we know he is in debt. He's a gambler, petty crime, and has long been suspected of even stealing the late Mrs Holder's engagement ring. And now we know that he too was present last night. Yet in this moment, he is not. Then there's George Burnwell here. George Burnwell OBE, excuse me. That's... that won't be necessary. Multimillionaire, philanthropist, charming, handsome, broad, masculine frame, but with delicate cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. Yes, Mr Perfect, but... Ah, I see he's vain. Not so much as a prickling of rouge on his cheeks after all those compliments I've put his way. Vain and dishonest. Not an unusual combination, but far from desirable in his charitable field of work. But why is he dishonest, my dear companions? Because he knows about the case. He knows about the case. What? Sorry? You haven't yet been informed that your purchase is missing, Mr. Burnwell. What? The father and daughter have been arguing in the storage room. Francis Prosper hasn't said a word to you. In fact, he won't even go near you. You have simply perused a few titles, then spoken to my friends. How did you find out that three pages of the Beryl Coronet are missing? Ha! Look, no, no, no, no. You just said it when you shut the door and started this announcement. Remember? You said it to us, George. You said you might get into the crime novels after this little investigation. You even asked if we were the detectives. Will that be all, George? Marvellous. Ladies and gentlemen, you all, the absent Michael Holder included, count yourselves, in one way or another, as the victims of this singular crime. But I am here to tell you, you are all, in fact, suspects. What? Suspects? I didn't call myself a victim. I'm not going to stand here and listen to this. I shall embrace my fictitious forbear and we will embark on an escapade of our own. Or as Dr John Watson here would call them, adventures. So, welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the adventure of the Beryl Coronet. End of part one. What does end of part one mean? To binge this adventure in full and without ads, go to patreon.com forward slash Sherlock and co. We'll be right back. Outro Music
