5 Minute Sherlock - The Case of the Shit-Soiled Trousers

              Sherman Holmes, thanks to a powerful trip on experimental drugs, gained the power to channel the deductive reasoning of his great-grand-uncle Sherlock for five minutes every day. These are the tales of how he utterly wastes that ability.

                “Mr. Holmes, I really wish you wouldn’t-”

                “Silence Watson! This is a mystery that must be solved, and only I can do it. I activate my powers of deduction with the ancient phrase to pique all deductive minds: A case is afoot!” Sherman’s eyes twitched as his pupils expanded, the processing power of his brain increasing exponentially. It would have been a far grander sight if he weren’t doing so in a small bedroom festooned with empty beer bottles, three bongs, and a jar of various substances simply labeled “Get Weird”. The image certainly wasn’t aided by the fact that he was wearing only a stained t-shirt and a towel that was wrapped loosely around his waist. Joe Watson stood nearby, dressed in a pair of khaki’s and a ice-blue polo, clutching his nose with his right hand to try and defend against the potent smell assaulting his senses.

                The source of the scent in question was what had prompted Sherman to use his power: A pair of faded jeans and boxers with a shocking amount of feces pooled inside of them. As Sherman’s body stopped tensing and he swept the room with newfound brilliance he let out a small tsk under his breath.

                “I see. It appears the lesser version of me awoke to find that some unforgivable vagrant had soiled our favorite pair of trousers,” Sherman said, taking a deep, like weirdly deep, whiff of the horrible smell. “Truly, a crime such as this is no small matter, but fear not, Watson, I shall unravel it, even with my limited time here. First, we must assess my own whereabouts last night, since I find my memory strangely blank of information.”

                “You went to a bar with dollar shots, that’s why you don’t remember anything,” Joe told him, choking the words out through his carefully gripped nose. It wasn’t helping as much as he’d hoped, the stink was so potent he could taste it.

                Mercifully, Sherman threw open the door to the living room, a much more fastidiously kept space, both allowing the horrible stench out and some much needed relief in. Joe would have to shampoo their carpets to get the rest of the house smelling right, but in that moment he was so thankful for even somewhat decent air that he wasn’t bothered by it.

                “There’s no need for you to waste breath with such details, I can gain all I need through the power of deduction.” Sherman walked over to the plastic bag containing his wallet, keys, and cell phone; also known as what could be salvaged from the wreckage that was his pants. Sherman went for the phone first. “According to my online credit card history, it seems I spent twenty five dollars at our local watering hole. See, Watson, from that amount we can deduce that I indulged in more than mere shots.”

                “No, you didn’t,” Joe said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “You drank all twenty five of them. You did ten, screamed at the bar that you weren’t backing down from this challenge, even though no one had challenged or talked to you, and then you did fifteen more.”

                “Did I now? Quite impressive, if I do say so.” Sherman continued to scroll down his phone, until he arrived at another entry. “It seems my quench for alcohol led to a pang of hunger, as I see I spent thirty more dollars at the fast food eatery Burrito Bell. Such a significant amount… yes, it all begins to come together.”

                Setting down the phone, Sherman turned his attention to the wallet, which he cracked open only to find a great surprise waiting. “By Baker Street, all of my cash is gone!”

                “Yeah, you started balling it up and throwing it when-”

                “What part of silence do you not understand, Watson?” Sherman demanded. “In these precious moments, you will learn far more by sitting silent and observing than by attempting to interject your own half-formed thoughts. It’s clear to me that I was using the cash to tip my bartender for the many rounds of shots I downed, your wasted words have done nothing more than piss away the small amount of time I possess to work in.”

                Joe clammed up as Sherman continued checking the wallet, pulling open a small pocket and grinning at what he saw inside. Sherman dropped the wallet back on the table, and as Watson moved it and the phone back into the plastic bag (they would both require extensive cleaning) Sherman walked into the center of the living room and took a wide-legged stance that threatened the integrity of his poorly secured towel.

                “Despite your interruptions, Watson, I have reached the solution to the case of ‘Who Shit My Pants.’ Thanks, barely, to your witness account of the bar, I know that I put on a primal display of fortitude and dominance by downing twenty-five shots in short order. No doubt, this endeared a member of the opposite sex to me, who then accompanied me for post-drinking food. You see, thirty dollars at Burrito Bell speaks to enough food for several people, which means I purchased late-dinner for my companion and myself, and perhaps you as well you useless tag-a-long. Once we were filled with food and liquor, we returned here, whereby my dame and I proceeded to make sweet love for an untold amount of time. This I can ascertain plainly from the missing condom in my wallet, you see. Then, and this is where it gets truly ingenious, Watson, while my lover and I slept, a fierce gorilla snuck in through the chimney, lured no doubt by the primal pheromones we’d been giving off, and it squatted over my trousers before kidnapping my lady-”

                “Just going to hop in real quick,” Joe said. “One, since you always suggest it was a runaway gorilla, I called the zoo this morning - they know me by name now, thanks for that - and confirmed that no gorillas have gone missing. Not anywhere in the state. Plus, we don’t have a chimney.”

                “No gorilla, huh?” Sherman tapped his hand carefully on his forehead, eyes darting to the clock. Time was running out, not much longer to solve the case. “Very well then, in light of that evidence, it shames me to admit that do to the effects of the liquor I must have delivered less than the biblical level of love-making my partner expected. Enraged at having been denied the legendary Holmes experience, she vented her frustration by squatting down and defiling my trousers before racing off into the night.”

                “Yeah, about that… there was no girl. You’re the one who ordered and ate thirty dollars worth of cheap Mexican food,” Joe said. “I watched you do it. Honestly, it was more impressive than the shots.”

                “But my missing condom…”

                “You wanted to see if you could get it around a burrito. You did, then you used it to hold that burrito together while yelling that condoms for burritos was the next billion dollar idea,” Joe explained.

                Sherman’s eyes went to the clock, less than twenty seconds now. His mind whirled as he processed the data, ruling out possibilities with the new evidence that Watson had presented. At last, with only ten seconds left, his face went pale as he reached the new conclusion.

                “Oh my… Watson, if all that you say is true, then it seems the only one capable of shitting my pants last night… was me.”

                The five minutes ran out, and Sherman flopped to the ground, suddenly unconscious as the toll from using his gift and the hangover from last night’s outing combined to tear his mind from the waking world. With a resigned sigh, Joe Watson went and got a broom from the nearby closet and started rolling Sherman back into his room.