Mind those Books Holmes
Based on the creations of ACD and Hades Lord of the Dead's December Calendar Challenge of Awesomeness:
From cjnwriter: A stack of books falls over, resulting in catastrophe
AN ANOMALY which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of natural Bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very center of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous airs. Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions and of turning up in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places. - THE MUSGRAVE RITUAL, by Arthur Conan Doyle.
"For God's sake Holmes, stop stinking the place up with your chemical experiments and clean our rooms!" I insisted that morning. "You were heartless enough to burn my manuscript; kindly don't burn our lungs out as well!"
Holmes was bent over his chemical apparatuses. A collection of beakers and flasks were assembled on the table, as well as a dizzying collection of tubing through which colorful liquids flowed through. A tottering stack of books quivered dangerously close to the smoking, bubbling, fizzing chemicals. My friend had been at it all night, a disheveled mess with rolled up shirtsleeves and an unshaven beard. "Quiet my dear Watson, I am on the verge of a monumental discovery, a way to plasticize explosive so it will be safe for the common construction worker. Imagine not having to worry about the crystallization of dynamite, an explosive you could light or expose to a flame in total safety…"
"I had to take breakfast up in my room!" I snapped as I took my hat and coat out of the closet. "For God's sake stop smelling the place up and clean up this sty hole! If you're going to be experimenting with explosives, you could at least work in a safer environment! Your books and papers are everywhere! Take that stack of books on the table for example! All it would take is one strong vibration and it would come crashing down on your chemicals and bring your experiment to a speedy close!"
"Which is why I ask you to be quiet," Holmes purred without taking his eyes off his experiment. "As you said, one strong vibration is all it will take. Go on to your practice my good fellow. With luck I'll be done by the time you get home."
I snatched up my medical bag and took my walking stick out of the umbrella stand. "Don't think I've forgotten that you burned my only copy of The Adventures of Sherman Holm!" I warned him. "My first foray into the work of fiction and you burnt it!"
"It was a melodramatic fictionalization of my life," Holmes sniffed. "Please Watson, any idiot could tell that your book was about me. And they would believe that the nonsense you made up about my fictitious counterpart is true for the genuine article. When I asked you to refrain from publishing our adventures in the Strand I didn't intend for you continue writing about us under the guise of fiction. Leave your romantic fictions to your friend Doyle and contend yourself with the real world, there's a good fellow."
I glowered at him but his back was to me so I had to settle for donning my hat and storming out.
So incensed was I at my friend that without thinking I slammed the door behind me. I heard a thumping and crashing sound, followed by an explosion that sounded like a cannon shot. "Holmes!" I gasped as I opened the door to be assaulted by clouds of black smoke.
Holmes was standing before the smoking remains of our table, his front half covered in black soot. Of his experiment only the charred remains of the table and shards of glass glittering in the ceiling gave any indication that it ever existed. Holmes rubbed his eyes, coughed and turned in my direction, appearing as chimney sweep turned blackface minstrel. "Now that you mention it old boy, I suppose the place could use a bit of tidying up," he admitted, "preferably before Mrs. Hudson sees it. Rest assured by the time you get back you won't recognize it."
"I don't recognize it now!" I gasped.
"I'm sorry, what?" Holmes put a hand to his ear. "Sorry about that Watson. My ears are still ringing you see. Don't worry. With the place in the state it's in I'll find something to occupy my time."
"Holmes!" I shouted. "You've got to get a case before it kills you!"
END