The Adventure of the Charred Trousers
Disclaimer: Not sure if I need this anymore, but as a force of habit no, I don't own them.
Author's Note: Upon reading of the real-life situation, I got to wonder about how the characters of Holmes and Watson would deal with the same predicament. Here is the hopefully humorous result. Please let me know what you think! Enjoy!
If there was one thing I know about Holmes, it is that he likes his tobacco.
I myself partake of the occasional cigarette or pipe, but my dear friend made smoking an art form. And while I was aware of its ill effects over time on the body, I thought it better Holmes indulge himself in several pipes over cocaine any day.
There is only one time in my memory that Holmes came even close to giving up tobacco, however, and it is a rather humorous tale at that. Which is, perhaps, why my friend made me swear to never let the scene that took place outside of our rooms, much less the Strand.
I write this merely for my own amusement in my private journal, so that one day if an heir should stumble upon this account little harm can be done. But, I digress.
Holmes was a man who liked his tobacco, and so it was no great occasion when on no particular night at 221b Baker Street he went to fill his pipe for an evening smoke.
He lit the pipe before moving to slump down in his chair before the fire, but seeming to forget something, he sighed dramatically and precariously placed the lit pipe on the arm of his chair.
"I wouldn't, Holmes," I advised, watching him from my own chair around my newspaper.
"Do not be so worried, Watson. The book that I was intending on reading is underneath my chair, so I hardly can keep my seat and my pipe at the same time to retrieve it."
"That well may be Holmes, but I am not taking the blame if Mrs. Hudson wishes to know why another piece of her rug is blackened to a crisp," I warned him as he bent with one hand to stable himself on the chair while the other reached under it in search for his book, wearily keeping an eye on his still balanced and lit pipe.
"Oh, pish posh. I have the book here, and all is still well. I have not tried to become an arsonist in searching for the offending article have I?" He gibed, settling back into his seat with a flourish and book in hand.
What Holmes did not account for, however, was that his sudden movement disturbed the delicate balancing act he'd left his precious pipe in.
For no sooner had he sat down then the pipe fell inward and the lit tobacco spilled into his unsuspecting lap, quickly lighting the crotch of his pants on fire.
I'm sure my face was priceless, but Holmes' in that exact moment was truly a sight to behold.
But just as quickly the moment was gone as Holmes started to really feel the impact of his actions.
"Dear God, put it out! For the love of heaven, I'm on fire!"
These exclamations, as well as several others I don't dare write even in my private journal, were joined with a frantic leap from his chair, the book he'd gone to all the trouble to get hitting the floor as he started to jump about, beating his hands on the fire itself in a futile attempt to put it out.
I started from my own chair, still stunned somewhat in disbelief before just as frantically trying to find some means of helping my friend.
And then my eyes set upon the flower vase that Mrs. Hudson had brought up that day to brighten our sitting room.
Before I had even thought it entirely through my hands had seized the vase in question, and I made a leap for the still flaming, squirming, wailing figure of my dear friend.
Water and several flower blossoms quickly found their way to Holmes' burning lap, effectively drowning the fire that had nearly made short work of something which any man, even Holmes, is protective of.
Crisis narrowly adverted, however, my dear Holmes and I seemed at a loss as to what to do next, staring at each other in amazement as we did for so long a time.
"Well," Holmes finally found it him out of the two of us to speak, "I believe I consider your advice concerning lit pipes more carefully in the future, my dear fellow."
He said this with more dignity than I thought a man with a soaked trouser front could ever achieve, which was why as I started to laugh right in his face I was unsure whether or not he would forgive me.
That is, until he started laughing as well.
Never have I to this day seen Holmes laugh so hard with so much enthusiasm as he did then.
That is why, I think, I look back on that day with far better feelings than Holmes. He is still embarrassed to this day by that particular incident, as only a man of his mammoth ego can be. Just the slightest mention of it has him blushing to the roots of his hair, and hissing vile threats against my well-being should I continue further. He continues to smoke his pipe as he always has, but is far more careful about where he sets it fully lit for any reason should he have to. As it stands the only other soul to know of his flaming indiscretion is myself, but perhaps one day that will change.
After all, who among us wouldn't want to read of "The Adventure of the Charred Trousers?"
Author's Note: Have fun? This actually happened to Mr. Robert Downey Jr. on the set of the latest Holmes movie. I withhold judgment about how good this movie will be, as the late great Jeremy Brett horribly biases me, but either way this plot bunny latched on and refused to let go. I will provide a link on my profile for any of you who are interested in the actual article about Downey's flaming nether-regions. :p And please do review and let me know what you thought!