Perfect Crime
Without realising how or even that he'd done it, Sherlock Holmes had planned the perfect murder.
Your story about the frozen leg of lamb is not half bad, Mr Dahl, so you will excuse me for borrowing from it. Frozen mince moulded into a sharp point is my weapon of choice. I will lock up the victim in his canteen kitchen at night. His body will be found surrounded by a mess of spilled foodstuffs, and nobody will pay attention to some soggy mince.
Oh, it is perfect, so perfect! The irony! This is more than a crime; this is poetic justice; this is a work of art! Meat Dagger will die by a meat dagger. You will lie dead on the ground, Meat Dagger, and Molly will be mine! Molly will be miiiiiiiine, mwahahahahahaha!
Sherlock jolted into excruciating wakefulness.
"Good Lord!" he groaned.
