“It’s a puzzle,” I said as we looked up the victorian wall. “There was something there, before, and the artist…” But I realised my companion was not listening, rather he was looking closely at the colours, and delicately taking small samples of the paint he carefully saved in an envelop. “I wish I could take a picture…” Holmes said finally. “I am sure this has been copied from somewhere.”
Later, at no 221B, as we lit our pipes after dinner, Holmes suddenly declared:
“You were right, Watson, it’s an allegory, and of course you have recognised the pavots, your “artist” is a drug dealer, who advertises his ware locally, and the allegory is about the Nirvana of the opium smoker…”
I sat back, and reflected.
Elementary…. 😉
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Ooh, Holmes always knows.
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From what I hear Holmes should not be one to talk! Excellent write!
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Well done!
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Was it painted on a brownstone?
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Reblogged this on anita dawes and jaye marie.
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Reblogged this on Of Glass & Paper and commented:
I sat back, and reflected.
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