I looked at my watch. It wass one of those

I looked at my watch. It wass one of those binary gadget things, so it took me while to figure out the time, but there were still a few hours left. Good. I crept carefully through

the hallway and into the office. I saw a man in the chair, waiting. I brought up my light. "Kalle Frackin' Blomqvist! How?" I croaked. He smiled and pointed past me to

a 2nd man smoking a pipe sitting across from him."Sherlock Holmes? What gives?" Sherlock removed his pipe & gestured at a third person sitting in a rocker. "Mrs. Marple?" Blomqvist

was no Marple, but he did hope Dame May Whitty might play him someday. The maelstrom of his musings took him far from Holmes' and Watson's parlour, but Cigarette Smoking Man

-or was the estate where the Duke of Marlborough lived. And that's where he went because he loves cigarettes. Holmes was a pipe man, which quite frankly, was the bane of all

is all business. Point A to point B. But a pipe has some travel to it. A few curves and opportunities for observation. For instance," Holmes continued "did you happen to notice

this small scratch here?" Holmes pointed to a minute mark on the pipe."That happened when Jimi Hendrix & I were sitting around one day..." Holmes just rambled on while we pretended

to fry eggs on each others heads. Why had Holmes been invited to speak at the Jacques Cousteau Mime Academy? Us grunt mime artistes weren't privy to that info. Holmes rolled up his

sleeves and hefted out our television set. He instructed his erstwhile sidekick to make off with the copper from the walls. This wasn't Sherlock Holmes! This was Sherlock Homeless!