Hawaii Five-O and Hogan's Heroes belong to CBS. No copyright infringement is intended.

While the majority of the Sherlock stories are in the public domain, portions of "The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes" are still copyrighted by the Estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in the United States. No copyright infringement is intended.


ELEMENTARY, MY DEAR WILLIAMS


Chapter 1: The Game's Afoot

"My dear young woman! I must see Mr. McGarrett immediately. It's the crime of the century!

Jenny Sherman calmly regarded the apparition crowding her desk: old-fashioned bowler hat, tweed wool suit, stiff high-collared shirt, antique pocket watch . . . . He looked like a character in a Sherlock Holmes story.

As if reading her mind, the perturbed visitor continued, "I am Dr. John Talbot Watson. You may know of my ancestor, Dr. John H. Watson, chronicler of the Great Detective. It is imperative that I speak to Mr. McGarrett at once. A priceless manuscript was to be introduced at the Sherlockian Society gathering this weekend. It must be found!"

Jenny could almost hear the capital letters adorning his words. "Mr. McGarrett is meeting with the governor on a very important matter. Would you care to speak with Detective Williams, his second-in-command?" She'd noticed the young officer trying unsuccessfully to bury his eyes in the stack of reports cluttering his desk. The smirk on his face was very readable.

Danny bowed to the inevitable. "Dr. Watson," he began, "I overheard (how could he not) your conversation with Miss Sherman. If you'll come with me, I'll be happy to assist you." He ushered the visitor into his cubicle and motioned for him to take a seat. He heard a stifled laugh from Kono's cubicle. You can work with me on this one, Bruddah!

o-o-o-o-o

"Good morning, Steve," Governor Jameson said as he rose to greet his visitor. "I have a rather unusual request for you and Five-O."

Steve noticed the book on Jameson's desk. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. "What can we do for you, sir?"

"I'm sure you're aware of the Hawaii Sherlockian Society gathering this coming weekend. Among other things, there is a display of important Holmesian artifacts, many of which are irreplaceable. Rumor has it that a newly discovered story is among them."

"And you'd like Five-O's assistance with security."

"You read my mind, Steve. I've been a Holmes aficionado since I was a boy and have been invited to address the conference at its opening evening dinner."

"Five-O will be glad to assist," Steve responded. What else could he say?

"The conference chairman is Dr. John Talbot Watson." Noting McGarrett's expression, he added, "Dr. Watson claims to be the great-great grandson of the original Watson. He's staying at the Ilikai. He'll be delighted to know Hawaii's own Sherlock is on the case. And thanks, Steve."

o-o-o-o-o

"How can Five-O help you?" the young detective began as he cleared away the papers from his desk and reached for his notebook. "You mentioned a stolen manuscript?"

"An original manuscript. Priceless," the agitated Watson answered. "You've read the accounts of Holmes' cases?"

"I read some of them when I was a kid."

"My dear Williams! Those cases are a compendium of the art of detection. They should be required reading for every officer. They are a training manual in proper police science by themselves."

Danny felt a headache coming on. "Could you describe the problem?" He tried to sound as Holmesian as possible.

"If you've read my ancestor's chronicles, you'll recall the mention of a 'battered tin dispatch box stored in the vaults of Cox and Company.'" He stopped just long enough to acknowledge Williams' nod. "That box was reported to contain several unpublished manuscripts. The box disappeared sometime during the late war and the manuscripts were presumed lost. One of those lost stories has now surfaced in the attic of an old building slated for redevelopment. The Giant Rat of Sumatra. I have seen it and can verify its provenance. It is in my ancestor's unmistakable handwriting."

"Pardon me," Dan interrupted. "I thought the Sherlock Holmes stories were written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle."

"A common misconception. Doyle was merely the agent for the original Dr. Watson. He had the audacity to claim the stories as his own after my ancestor's passing."

Dan sighed. He wished Steve would return from Jameson's office soon. "Do you have any idea who might have taken the manuscript? Who else knows about it?"

"Anyone, everyone," Watson responded. "Professor Moriarty, Colonel Moran, Irene Adler . . . The news of the manuscript's discovery spread like wildfire."

Danny's headache increased in intensity. "Aren't the people, uh, suspects you mentioned characters in the stories?"

"It is customary for Sherlockians, who wish, to come as their favorite characters. However, the organizers of the conference have provided a list of attendees." He handed a copy to Williams. A quick glance assured Danny there were two names he wouldn't need to check out. He knew those two altogether too well. It was the ones he didn't know that worried him.

"Dr. Watson? The manuscript?" Danny prompted.

"It was kept in a safe deposit box in a local bank. I placed it there myself. When I went to check on it this morning, it was no longer there. Bank officials seemed surprised to see me and reminded me that I had been in less than two hours earlier." He paused as he relived the experience then continued. "I do, however, have a transcribed copy for you. Under no circumstances should it leave your possession."

Williams asked a few routine questions then assured his visitor that Five-O would do everything possible to apprehend the thief and restore the missing manuscript. He invited Watson to wait in the outer office while he notified McGarrett.

o-o-o-o-o

Lewis Avery Filer, master of disguise, thief extraordinaire, whistled merrily as he returned to his dingy Hotel Street room. He secured the custom lock (he had installed it personally) and gloated as he examined his latest acquisition. It had been so easy. He'd picked up the rumor of a new Holmes manuscript. A little research and he had discovered that the document was in the possession of one of Watson's descendants and would be unveiled at a conference here in Honolulu. He hadn't been able to resist the temptation. Now, all he had to do was find a buyer . . . or maybe hold the manuscript for ransom. Better than having such a priceless artifact locked away is a museum somewhere. After all, a senior citizen had to support himself.

Filer chuckled as he remembered how simple the theft had actually been. He'd disguised himself as a security guard and entered the vault with the teller and the present-day Watson. The man had fumbled with the key, finally dropping it. All Filer had to do was palm it, making an impression on a small piece of wax hidden in the palm of his hand. He'd been careful to touch nothing but the key. His fingerprints on the small object would be easily explained away. No one would suspect a helpful bank guard, would they?

Disguised as Watson, he'd made a quick trip to the bank early this morning to retrieve the manuscript. He'd wait until the hue and cry died down and then he'd head for the Mainland and a comfortable retirement.

o-o-o-o-o

"Louis, this is the best yet!" Andrew Carter exclaimed as he finished the last of his Poulet Polynésien. "I'll bet Schultz would love this!"

"Merci, mon ami," the master chef answered. He picked up one of the flyers scattered on the table. "Are you and Pierre planning to attend this, this Sherlock Holmes convention?"

"You bet, mate!" the Cockney answered, his accent more evident than usual. "Holmes was England's greatest detective. Just imagine what he would've done back in the old Stalag."

"And we're even going as characters from the stories," Carter chimed in. "I'm the German spy Von Bork. He's from The Last Bow. Achtung! Raus! Raus!"

"You sound more like old Schultzie," Newkirk laughed. "I always pictured Von Bork looking more like Klink. All you'd need is a monocle and a riding crop."

LeBeau couldn't resist. "Et vous, mon ami? Does Frau Newkirkberger plan to make an appearance?"

"That'd be a bit out of character. I was thinking perhaps Inspector Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson. What about you? There's still time to sign up."

"I'm catering the first evening's reception. I have a wonderful menu planned, the finest French-Polynesian delicacies."

"Holmes was British," Newkirk snickered. I can make a few suggestions."

Carter stepped on the Cockney's foot. "Don't even think about it!"

o-o-o-o-o