The Gingerbread Detective

Once upon a time, there was an old woman named Mummy Holmes. She lived in a large house in the country with her husband. Mrs. and Mr. Holmes had one grown son, Mycroft, who rarely visited them.

On those infrequent occasions when he did come, all Mycroft was interested in doing was eating. In the hope of enticing her son to visit more often, Mummy Holmes purchased an enormous oven in which she could bake all of his favourite treats. This worked, but only after a fashion. Mycroft did, indeed, begin to come by more regularly, but he only stayed until the food was gone.

One morning, Mummy Holmes received notice that Mycroft would be dropping by the house later that day. Determined to ensure that he would remain as long as possible, she decided to bake something that even her gluttonous son would not be able to gobble up too quickly, something that might even tempt him into conversation.

Mummy Holmes gathered up the ingredients for gingerbread, mixed them thoroughly, and added a touch of magic. Then she shaped the dough into a man — six feet tall, perfectly proportioned, and anatomically correct. With a smile, she popped the gingerbread man into the oven.

Soon, the delicious scent of baking gingerbread filled the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes stood in front of the oven with their mouths watering, waiting for the timer to go off. The moment she heard it ding, Mummy Holmes opened the oven door.

As soon as she did so, a man leapt out — a six foot tall, perfectly proportioned, anatomically correct gingerbread man. He dashed toward the door.

"Stop him!" cried Mummy Holmes.

But her husband just stood there, gawping in amazement.

"Fools! Idiots! Your brains are defective!
You can't catch me — I'm the gingerbread detective!"

With that pronouncement, the gingerbread man threw open the door and raced out into the garden. After a beat of stunned silence, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes chased after him.

Mycroft chose this exact moment to arrive. He had just unlatched the gate when the gingerbread man rushed past him.

"Catch him!" cried Mummy Holmes.

Mycroft attempted to grab the gingerbread man, but years of overindulgence in everything edible had slowed his reflexes. The gingerbread man easily eluded him, racing away down the lane, and calling back over his shoulder:

"Fools! Idiots! Your brains are defective!
You can't catch me — I'm the gingerbread detective!"

All of this commotion had drawn the attention of several neighbours, who came out of their homes to see what was happening. Imagine their surprise as a six foot tall, perfectly proportioned, anatomically correct gingerbread man dashed past.

"Stop him!" panted Mummy Holmes, as she tried valiantly to keep running.

The neighbours joined in the chase, but they were no match for the fleet-footed gingerbread man. He laughed as he called out:

"Fools! Idiots! Your brains are defective!
You can't catch me — I'm the gingerbread detective!"

One by one, the gingerbread man's pursuers gave up in exhaustion, and went home. Soon, the gingerbread man was alone. He continued to run, though, for the sheer joy of being out in the fresh air.

Eventually, the gingerbread detective came to a crossroads. There he found a man, whom he immediately deduced was an army doctor, recently invalided home. The man leaned on a cane, and even though his limp was clearly psychosomatic, the gingerbread detective chuckled at the thought that this man would even attempt to catch him.

Stopping just out of arms' reach, the gingerbread man addressed the stranger:

"Fool! Idiot! Your brain is defective!
You can't catch me — I'm the gingerbread detective!"

"Who said anything about trying to catch you?"

"Everyone wants to catch me."

"And why is that?"

"To eat me up, obviously."

"Well, you do look delicious," the man acknowledged, licking his lips. "But I certainly wouldn't eat you without your consent."

To his surprise, the gingerbread detective found that he believed this man. "Why would I ever consent to being eaten, though?" he asked.

"The feeling of someone's mouth on your body can be quite pleasurable. I'd be happy to show you, if you'd like. Why don't you come back to my house, where we can explore this topic in privacy?"

The gingerbread detective surprised himself once more by agreeing to this offer. He followed the man, who introduced himself as John, back to a cozy home, quite isolated from any neighbours.

Once they were inside, John told the gingerbread man to lie down upon the bed. The gingerbread man complied.

"May I kiss you?" John asked.

"Yes," replied the gingerbread man.

So John kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him some more.

"May I lick you?" John asked.

"Yes," sighed the gingerbread man.

So John licked him, and licked him, and licked him some more.

"May I suck you?" John asked.

"Yes," gasped the gingerbread man.

So John sucked him, and sucked him, and sucked him some more.

"May I nibble you?" John asked.

"Yes," moaned the gingerbread man.

So John nibbled him, and nibbled him, and nibbled him some more.

"May I bite you?" John asked.

"Yes," groaned the gingerbread man.

So John bit him, and bit him, and bit him some more.

"May I devour you?" John asked.

"Yes!" cried the gingerbread man.

So John devoured him, until nothing remained but crumbs.

And that was the end of the gingerbread man.

The End

End Notes: I had a bit of a back-and-forth with myself over the ending of this one. It's the first story I've ever written without a traditional happily ever after. However, after much internal wrangling, I decided to stay true to the original folk tale, in which the gingerbread man is devoured by the fox. If it makes you feel better, you can imagine that the crumbs are magical, and when John wakes up the next morning, they will have become a real, flesh-and-blood Sherlock. Or, if, like somebody I know, you want John all to yourself, you can keep the ending as is. ;)