3 comments/ 25274 views/ 1 favorites The Case of the Steaming Turk By: NoJo Sherlock Holmes filled his pipe languidly from the pouch at his side. "What is it this time," I asked somewhat irritably. "Morphine or cocaine?" "It is neither, Watson. It is a rather pleasant Acapulco Golden Shag, a gift from a grateful client, whom you may recall: Mr. Ignatius Mossleby." "Ah, yes," I responded enthusiastically. "The Curious Affair of the Dutch Rub. I have taken the liberty of writing up your doings in that case." "I have read it through, Watson, and can only reiterate my complaint that your constant embroidering of the facts do nothing to further the Science of Detection." "However," he added, "the royalties you will receive from its publication may be our only income for this month. Business is always a little slack during the summer months." I was a little peeved at his dismissive attitude towards my attempt at bringing to public notice the extraordinary deeds of my remarkable colleague. I felt it almost a duty to describe him to an interested public. His keen wit, aquiline nose, general manly demeanor and striking manner fascinated me. Moreover I had on more than one occasion had the pleasure of seeing him naked and my imagination had thereby been supplied with a vast store of descriptive superlatives. Holmes' last statement was, most atypically, directly contradicted by events just then, for the doorbell rang, an event invariably signifying that a client was about to call on him. Presently our landlady Mrs. Twuffet showed in a ruddy gentleman of about forty summers, but probably only thirty winters. He was dressed in the purple and lilac outfit of the Soho military, and his deportment matched his attire, in that he maintained that unbending erection that spoke of many years of service in Siam. "Good afternoon, gentlemen, my name is Major Rufus Huff", he announced as Holmes motioned him to an armchair. "State your business, sir," said Holmes immediately, pressing his fingers together and resting his chin on his ear, a habit peculiar to him. "My business, Mr. Holmes," said the man, somewhat gratified at the lack of formalities my friend displayed, "is this: Some time ago, while I was stationed at the Albany Street Barracks, I began to -" "Yes, yes, " said Holmes impatiently. You need not go on. All is patently clear, from little marks on the sole of your shoe, the scar above your right temple, and small particles of fluff adhering to your nose: You are married, with two daughters. One has a wooden leg, the other a strange inability to pronounce the word 'cufflink'. Three and a half weeks ago, your elder daughter vanished mysteriously while playing Frisbee with your pet Orang-utan in your orchard. The Frisbee had become stuck in the branches of a tree, and she was last seen by the gardener climbing it in order to retrieve the item. "Fearing the worst, you telephoned the Metropolitan Police. This was a serious error, Major, as telephones have not yet been invented. Moreover, as is often the case where our friends the police are concerned, the case is still open; your daughter is still missing, and you wish me to assist in finding her, using my usual discretion in the matter." So comically was our visitor taken aback by the accuracy of this analysis that I permitted myself a small cough of hysterical laughter. "'Pon my word, sir, you are correct in every particular! However I can supply one further detail you have omitted in your deduction: The tree in question was - " Holmes interrupted, and caught my eye. "A lemon tree, my dear Watson." * * * * * * * * * * * After Mr. Huff had left, I turned to my colleague, who was deep in thought, or simply stoned. "Well, Holmes, what is our next step? Do we search the garden for clues?" He stirred. "Eh? No, Watson, this case is proving more singular than I first supposed. I would say we might do better by beginning our investigation at the Peppermint Rhino Gentleman's Club." "But that 'gentleman's club' is little more than a den of lap-dancers and escorts!" "But think, my friend: It is not twenty minutes' brisk walk from Baker Street. And an evening stroll across Regent's Park is so conducive to analytical thought." * * * * * * * * * * * We arrived at the club in Tottenham Court Road shortly after nine. There was the usual line of limousines parked outside as we approached the entrance. A large and burly Negro barred the doorway. His fearsome scowl indicated that it would be no easy feat to gain access to the premises. But as my friend drew near to him, his features lit up in a broad grin. "Why it's Mr. Holmes, him what licked me all around the ring at Peckham not three months ago!" He laughed. "I 'ope you've not come to offer me a rematch, as I'm still stingin' from that left 'ook of yours!" Holmes laughed. "No, Marcus, my mission here is not pugilistically motivated. My friend here and I would simply like to visit the club." Marcus winked knowingly. "Certainly sir. I'd join you, were I not in trainin' for a big fight next week." Holmes and I were let through by the still winking Marcus, and we found ourselves in the dark, velvet-lined hallway of the club. We were shown to our seats. The show was already underway. Holmes seemed to be quite a celebrity there, as our table was perfectly situated close by the stage. An attractive young lady waved her breasts cheerfully at him in greeting, while still clinging upside down to her pole. "A friend of yours, Holmes, I presume," I chuckled, as another handsome lass took our order. "By no means, Watson," Holmes replied casually. "She and I have merely had sexual intercourse on a large number of occasions, which we have mutually agreed upon as payment for a small consulting service I rendered her, the details of which will be of little interest to you. Her name is Felicity Ferkham-Hall." Suddenly Holmes looked sharply at one of the dancers and stiffened. "Hello," he muttered, "a new girl seems to have been recruited to their ranks. See, over there, with her legs wrapped about the head of that Indian gentleman." I looked in the direction Holmes had pointed, and noticed a pretty girl of about the minimum age for sexual activity in Literotica. Something about her held my eye; she had a freshness and innocence about her, contrasting starkly with her scanty thong and thigh-length leather boots. Her raven hair fell about her shoulders, then to the floor. She picked it up hastily and replaced it on her head. "Gad, she's a comely wench," I cried, in spite of myself. "Yes, she's almost making me comely too," admitted Holmes. "But that is not relevant to our mission, Watson; something else entirely about her arouses me just now. Do you not notice something queer in her little tattoo?" I had to confess that I did not. Just then the girl rotated slowly about the pole, affording us with a clearer view of her behind. "There! See how the tattooist has misspelled 'testicle' with two 'c's. And the way that his needle slipped half way across her buttock as he attempted to dot the 'i'. A sure sign that the artist was educated in Bombay, and had at one time been bitten by a rabid dog on his index finger whilst wallpapering his bedroom. There's only one man who fits that description. You know, of course, to whom I refer?" "By George, Holmes, you are right! It can only be the work of Chin Wu, of Wu's tattoo parlor in Shanghai!" "Okay, there are only TWO men who fit that description. The other is Victor Intaglio, whose practice is right here in London. For reasons that will become clear near to the end of this story, I believe we made have found the Major's missing daughter, young Miss Huff. I think, Watson, we should pay this young lady a little visit after the show. Be a good fellow and hand me a bunch of five pound notes. I wish to attract her attention." However, no sooner had I fetched the notes from my wallet when there seemed to be a change in shift, for some of the ladies slithered from their poles to the ground, while the rest unhooked themselves from their various customers, most of whom became most vocal, not to say ungentlemanly in their protestations at this downturn in their fortunes. One by one the girls made their way towards the dressing room at the side of the stage. The girl with the singular tattoo passed close by us and seemed to become suspicious as she saw us, for she quickened her pace and hurried to join her colleagues. Holmes rose from is seat. "Come, Watson, we must make haste before our quarry eludes us. Quickly, man, to the dressing room!" I knocked at the door to the dressing room with my cane. Holmes, however, pushed me impatiently aside. "My dear chap, now is not the moment for decorum!" He opened the door and strode in. I followed at his heel, albeit somewhat disconcerted. We were confronted by a veritable seraglio of buxom women in differing states of undress. Among them was Holmes' acquaintance, Miss Ferkham-Hall. She approached him and stroked his cheek in a most forward manner. "Why Mister Holmes," she breathed in a husky tone, "Can it be already a fortnight since my last disbursement? Or do you now demand interest?" "No, my dear lady, it is not even five days since your last installment. And were you a consulting detective, you would surely have deduced this fact from my limping gait." "Well then," said Miss Ferkham-Hall merrily, "as you are here, might I suggest that I provide next week's payment in advance? Unless you are one of those who prefer it in arrears." "Miss Ferkham-Hall, I most heartily concur with your suggestion. We have so little time upon this earth: is it not therefore prudent to organize our hours so as to maximize their use? You see the efficacy, Watson,” he said as an aside to me, “I have here the opportunity to save myself a journey.” To my delight, he added, turning back to the lady, “ I trust that you can also find a willing colleague to entertain my good friend Doctor Watson." Both Holmes and I were then excellently entertained. Miss Ferkham-Hall promptly found two ladies to assist her in her attendance to Holmes, and with admirable fairness, three more for me. As we enjoyed the company of our hosts, Holmes waxed eloquently on the Science of Deduction, a subject of which he was the world's undisputed authority: "It is a remarkable thing, Watson," he began. "Here we are, two scientists; experts, I may safely say, in our respective fields. And yet are not these ladies our equal, or even our superior? Think: by the smallest twitch of your mouth and shiver of your skin they gain an almost uncanny understanding of your deepest desires. Within minutes they obtain knowledge of the most intimate aspects of your nature. You have witnessed me perform much the same sort of feats during my criminal investigations. Like us, they observe, deduce, experiment." I found it hard to confute my colleague. The two girls who attended to my nipples were most thorough in their explorations of my person, and as for the lady who investigated and researched my manhood with her fingers, breasts, tongue and teeth, she was as diligent as the most ardent pursuer of a doctorate of medicine. Holmes himself, being disproportionately large around his lower parts, had his three appendages dealt with individually by all three of his hosts at once. Miss Ferkham-Hall was certainly getting herself out of his list of creditors with alacrity. Just then, I spied the young girl we had been pursuing making for the exit. She had a dainty step that I found charming, and it thrilled me to see her soft rosy cheeks neatly cloven by her tight little thong. I must confess that the powerful attraction I felt was somewhat impure, indeed it completely eclipsed the pleasure I felt in being fellated , tit-fucked and ass-licked simultaneously by her three colleagues. "Holmes, the girl! Miss Huff is getting away!" I cried. "No, matter, old man, no matter," said Holmes placidly, adjusting his crotch to afford a better angle for Miss Ferkham-Hall. "You of all people should know that I always solve the case in the end." Irascibly I corrected him. "Not always, Holmes: Perhaps you care to forget the Affair of the Swollen Pudenda." Predictably, he was angered by this reminder of his rare fallibility. "You know as well as I that it was the fault of that fool of an officer, Inspector Lestrade, who insisted on poking his nose into it, just when I had discovered the hiding hole of that wily vixen, Mrs. Morrison." There was silence for some minutes, except for some gentle sucking noises. Suddenly Holmes let out a huge cry. "GREAT SCOTT! Of course! I have it! The solution is childishly simple!" So taken aback by Holmes' sudden ejaculation were the girls that they tumbled to floor; poor Miss Ferkham-Hall was thrown back a good five feet. Holmes rose and dressed himself with sudden energy, and bade me do the same. "Come, Doctor, I believe I shall have an opportunity to redeem myself for my failure in the case of Mrs. Morrison. Watson, To our lodgings! Adieu, ladies, and good day!" * * * * * * * * * * * We arrived, sweating and out of breath, at Baker Street some fifteen minutes later. "Now Holmes," I said as we seated ourselves, "won't you please tell me -" "Not yet, my friend. I may not record my cases with such finesse as do you, nonetheless I have a slight flair for the dramatic. You see, Doctor, it would 'spoil the story', as you would put it." Just then, the doorbell rang. It was none other than a complete stranger, who had pressed the wrong doorbell. Again the doorbell rang, and this time Mrs. Twuffet showed in Holmes' client, Major Huff. He nodded stiffly at me. Holmes motioned him to a bean-bag, as Holmes and I occupied the only armchairs. "Sir, I have come to ask you -" he began, but Holmes as usual, interrupted. " - to drop the case. That, I'm afraid we cannot do, Major Huff. Or should I say, HORACE McVITIE?" "No, 'Major Huff' is fine. But, how on earth did you know I came to ask you that? Once again you are perfectly correct!" Holmes laughed. "Because you are no more a major than I. You are in fact a gardener and general handyman, employed by the REAL Major Huff, who does not appear in this story, or any other. "You have looked after his two daughters since their childhood, watching them grow into fine young ladies. "Your affection for the elder daughter, Heather, soon burgeoned into love. However as a Christian you thought it a very poor show to take a shot at her, and restrained yourself, albeit with no little difficulty. "But one afternoon, your feelings towards her became somewhat less than virtuous, when you chanced to view her in what is vulgarly termed 'upskirt', as she climbed the lemon tree in your employer's orchard to retrieve a Frisbee. I myself can confirm that the lady invariably produces this effect in any man who is fortunate - or rather, lucky, enough to view her from this angle. "You made advances to her, sir, advances which, were they fully described, would put this story firmly in the non-consent category. "She ran away, to the only place that young girls brought up by governesses in the late nineteenth century will run, to a Lap-dancing club, this being her only skill, having been tutored in it, as have all ladies who hope to marry well. "Once there, she was protected by a sisterhood of kind-hearted and big-breasted young ladies, whom she begged not to allow anyone calling himself her father, or "Pops", or "Dada" to gain access to her. "So loyal were these ladies that they even distracted my friend Watson and I with quite obscene sexual favors, thereby allowing her to escape us. "But they did not realize that by then I had already solved the case: Her tattoo, you see, matched the tattoo on your arm, which, you will find, I have taken the precaution of removing from your skin, and placing in my desk drawer, alongside my revolver and a small pack of playing cards." Holmes opened the desk drawer to reveal our culprit's tattoo. Miss Huff, who had been let in by Mrs. Twuffet while Holmes was explaining all this, got up from the floor where she had fallen asleep and took my arm tenderly. I gently asked her to bring it back. She handed it back to me and smiled sweetly. I placed it around her soft shoulders, while fingering her fondly under her dress. "Well, Holmes, " said I, as Miss Huff tugged me towards the bedroom. "Another remarkable case solved. What now for you? A well-deserved rest?" "A rest, goodness me no! For me it’s a quick pipe, a stroke on my fiddle and then back to the club!"