Sherlock Holmes
and the Demon Barber of Fleet Street

The Miracle Elixir

I do not usually accompany my friend, Sherlock Holmes on his walks around London. But today he insisted that I came with him. We left Baker Street at around ten O'clock and began our venture.
"Where exactly are we going?" I asked my companion curiously. For a moment he did not reply and we continued walking.
"We are simply walking my friend!" Sherlock replied with a curious smile.
"Has Lestrade contacted you?" again my companion did not speak. This time it remained that way and we kept walking. He was looking at each house as we walked by them, clearly adding them to his fantastic memory. I on the other hand remained confused as I knew there was an ulterior motive that my friend was hiding from me. After roughly twenty minutes we arrived at a street unfamiliar to me. At a rather ordinary looking market. Sherlock stopped at a stall selling supposedly 'fresh fruit'.
"This is not fresh at all" complained Sherlock as he picked up an orange with a sickly green tinge. The overweight balding stall owner glared at him with displeasure.
"Not this again" he groaned.
"It is simple my friend, get a better supplier and I shall not complain!" Sherlock replied, placing the tainted orange back in its previous position.
"You gonna buy somethin'?" questioned the portly gentleman, looking at me.
"I think my friend would rather take the dreaded scurvy good sir" Sherlock replied before I could say a word.
"Bugger off!" growled the stall owner.
"Until next time!" Sherlock nodded and approached a massing crowd.
"Who was that?" I asked.
"His name is Mark Doyle, not the most pleasant human being" Sherlock answered.
"I suspect you know much more about him?"
"More then he does I believe" Sherlock looked back at the man. "But that's neither here nor there" we moved further into the crowd until we got to a large traveller's caravan. At the sides of the caravan I read the words 'Pirelli's miracle elixir' and at the top it said 'Adolfo Pirelli' clearly this Pirelli was a travelling salesman of some sort. Suddenly a young boy appeared from behind the velvet curtain leading into the caravan. He was banging a drum and began to sing.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! May I have your attention please?" he began, instantly getting the crowd's attention. "Do you wake every morning in shame and despair? To discover your pillow is covered with hair. Wot ought not to be there?" several balding men nodded in agreement. "Well, ladies and gentlemen. From now on you can waken with ease. You need never again have a worry or care, I will show you a miracle marvellous rare, Gentlemen, you are about to see something wot rose from the dead!" he paused and removed his hat revealing long blond hair. The crowd gasped. "On the top of my head!" I must admit the song he sang was rather catchy. He handed out a few samples of this so called elixir. It moved from person to person, each examining it briefly. Finally it reached my friend and I. He removed the cork from the bottle and inhaled.
"Excuse me!" Sherlock Holmes called, holding up the bottle, blocking out the voice of a man and a woman nearby also complaining about the elixir. The boy stared at Sherlock like most other people did. The crowd parted and we were now the centre of attention. There was a muttering among the crowd. "Your so called 'elixir' is nothing more than pig's urine!" the crowd gasped, disgusted, a man who applied the concoction to his head began franticly rubbing at it with the sleeve. "And a mix of absurd herbs" Sherlock concluded. The velvet curtains burst open again. This time a well kept flamboyant man emerged. His slicked black hair and moustache was trimmed neatly, and a top hat rested on the top of his head. He wore a very foreign looking blue outfit with a gold trim and white ruff. A red cape was draped on his shoulder and an expensive cane was in hand. The man introduced himself to the crowd as Adolfo Pirelli and then questioned who called his elixir 'piss'. Sherlock moved even closer to the caravan.
"I did, Mr. Pirelli" he said with a charming grin. He placed the bottle down on the edge of the stage which Pirelli was standing on. "I am afraid this is nothing more than a cheap gimmick to trick these people out of their hard earned money!"
"Bloomin' hell!" I heard Mark Doyle groan.
"I, the great Pirelli am the king of the barbers and the barber of kings! You dare accuse me of being a fraud?" Pirelli said angrily. Sherlock moved to the side of the caravan and walked up the stairs and approached the young boy. The boy flinched as Sherlock moved his hand towards the boy's head. He gripped the boy's blond hair, and with one swipe the hair and the boy were separated. The crowd gasped as Sherlock threw the wig down to the ground. Pirelli muttered something under his breath. Sherlock got off the stage and walked over to me.
"Any particular reason for you doing that?" I asked.
"Indeed there was" Sherlock replied. He was not looking at me; instead he was looking near a stall where I saw an overweight man, dressed in rather upper classed clothing, complete with a bowler hat, with dirty blond hair which went down his neck. He also had a short cane in his hand which he held above the ground. To me he looked like a greasy overweight rat. He approached Sherlock with a smile on his bloated face.
"Good day Mr-" he began.
"Holmes, Sherlock Holmes" Sherlock said, taking the man's hand. "And you are Beadle Bamford" the man smiled another grotesque smile.
"You are correct sir, you must have heard about me!" he said arrogantly.
"To an extent yes, you see I have seen you come here, every week for the past five weeks. Every week you speak to young Elizabeth Harker over there" he pointed at a young woman. "In a most flirtatious manor. Even though you are well aware that she is married and with child" the grin was steadily fading from Beadle's face. "On several occasions I have seen you with Judge Turpin; you often appear to be hanging onto his every word, as a lackey would!"
"Lackey?" Beadle muttered in disbelief.
"Indeed!" Sherlock replied casually.
"Perhaps I shall take back my proposal Mr. Holmes" Beadle replied, with a sharp glance from his beady little eyes.
"Ah, but you won't!" Sherlock told him. "I am assuming the Judge needs my assistance and until now you were unsure as to weather I was capable or not for such a task. My display here today has proven that I am"
"It has sir" Beadle growled. "The great and honourable Judge Turpin would like to see you this afternoon, if you don't mind"
"I shall be there, you can count on it!" Sherlock assured him. Beadle turned on his heels and walked away. "That was easier than expected" Sherlock looked to the stage, Beadle was called up to judge a contest between Pirelli and an odd looking, thin man. With skin as pale as that of a Bram Stoker character. His hair was bushy and black with a long white streak through it; despite his bizarre appearance he managed to use his barber's blade with poise and elegance as he shaved the facial hair of the willing participant (this was in fact a contest where the two each had to shave a volunteer's face). "Fascinating" Sherlock said, examining this mysterious second barber. He turned to me quickly. "We best be off home, we must get dressed for are meeting with Judge Turpin!"
"Of course!" I replied with a grin.