A/N: an answer to KCS's 221 b challenge. Dr Watson didn't know the extent of his audience. This is a piece about Victor Trevor.
Ipslore smiled the terrible smile of suddenly mad… - T. Pratchett
He would certainly say he didn't buy the journal intentionally; amazing, how randomly one wastes money when they come down to the Capital of Trade. Colours, smells, cries, all assaulting one's senses, striving for superiority; the notion of bargaining and choosing at one's leisure; the disorienting freedom of one in a throng after the void of plantation.
Well, he saw it accidentally, and asked the price accidentally; but no Bombay khonchavala would sell anything accidentally.
A month later he went down with malaria and remembered it.
Enteric fever he could well sympathise with. He saw plenty of veterans, even hired some. Broken men. What they thought misery in England would have been nirvana here.
The illustrations came as a surprise. So bald already…
Stamford's words… well, whoever this Stamford was, he never stood a chance against his own memory.
Test for haemoglobin… really, it was only strange that it took him so long to complete.
Vices… now that was more advertising then confessing. Modesty, thy name is I-need-someone-to-share-living-expenses-with.
The list was… priceless. Wonder what Mycroft said when his brother was painted an illiterate man-hunter?
The case… that sounded dangerous. Still, he never underestimated the fellow. 'I have it in me to make my name famous'…
He smiled again – a homesick, unseeing, late-in-the-night smile.
Doesn't Fate have a sense of irony?
Bull-pup.