Boom Goes the Cannon
I was sleeping, quite peacefully really. I had finally learned to slumber without the frightening disruptions of old wartime memories. Though unfortunately this particular sleep was not to last, for then my dearest friend (and sometimes my own personal inferno) Sherlock Holmes awoke me, if that may be the correct phrase to describe it as. Well, no not quite…rather, he tore me from tranquil dreams and dropped me none too gently onto reality's hard unrelenting floor. I had awakened to find a gaping hole where a wall and a window should have been, my reactions were to be expected.
I flung off my bedcovers and sat straight up in my bed. Coughing and muffled swearing came from the sitting room but at the moment I paid them no heed. I swung my legs out of the bed and stood by the extensive hole. It stretched as wide as my arms and as tall as from my knees to the top of my head. Looking out I could see the street below with a crowd of people looking at the remaining bits of the wall. I looked down myself and saw what seemed to be a destroyed desk and an enormous cannon ball on the ground, the spectators looked from the disarray up to me, confusion written across their faces. Realizing I was still clad in my night clothing, I hastily withdrew and donned my robe. Before I took leave of my room I picked up my pocket watch out of habit and glanced at the time, six thirty it read. Annoyance and irritation flooded my veins, I turned to fling open the door only to find the top half swinging from a single hinge, as if struggling to hold on and continue its purpose. Through the widened door way I walked my mouth stuttering and sputtering half words, my eyes wide in bewildering astonishment. For there was a cannon, yes…a cannon of colossal magnitude sitting in the middle of the sitting room, the muzzle still smoking profusely, but how it did not fall through I could not tell.
Suddenly Holmes's head popped up from behind the cannon like some crazed gopher. The smoke had stained his face a dark black-grey, while his hair stuck out in its usual odd angles though looking slightly singed at the ends. Holmes was muttering to himself as he examined the cannon seeming not to notice me or the cavernous hole through the door and window. Then with out looking up he said,
"Good morning Watson! I trust you had a pleasant enough night. Would you kindly inform Mrs. Hudson that we shall now take our breakfast?" he moved towards me then proceeded to stick his head into the muzzle. Again he spoke, his voice distorted and echoing in the midst of the cannon.
"Do not stand there like a befuddled cod fish, go and be productive!" At this command I was able to overcome my initial shock.
"Holmes" I said "There is a bloody big HOLE in my wall!"
"Yes Watson, there is" came Holmes' reply whilst removing his head from the mouth of the great iron gun. "I do say Watson; your deductive skills are improving!"
"Holmes…" I said, my voice dangerously quiet "what have you done?! What will poor Mrs. Hudson think, the poor woman is probably cowering in her kitchen! How Will We, NO YOU PAY FOR THIS." My voice begun to rise as my frustration and started to pour out and the repercussions piled high in my mind. "DIDN'T IT OCCUR TO YOU THAT THE ENTIRE BUILDING MIGHT COLLAPSE?! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"
"My dear Watson" Holmes said calmly "do not fret, if Mrs. Hudson does find immense fault in our actions then we can simply find new lodgings else where!"
I closed my eyes, my right hand massaging my forehead, the other thrust deep in my pocket. Removing my hand and opening my eyes, I slowly walked to the door and retrieved my cane. I held it at arms length, pointing it threateningly towards Holmes.
"YOU" I said "will fix this" I then stepped forward. Holmes involuntarily took a step back, slowly raising his hands in a defensive manner.
"Now Watson…" Homes, his voice calm enough though laced with hesitancy, "think logically…" Swinging my cane casually, my reply was; "I think not, old boy!" With those words Ilunged towards him.