WATSON: I say Holmes, are you all right?
HOLMES: (groans) Not really, Watson. I rather pigged out on the mince pies and sherry, I fear.
WATSON: Pukus vulgaris in extremis?
HOLMES: It would appear thus.
WATSON: Coupled with squidgylitis acuterus?
HOLMES: Indeed, my Hippocratic old chum.
WATSON: I did try to warn you.
HOLMES: For once, Watty, I must bow to your superior knowledge. Hand me that volume of Dr. Fraud's Extraordinary Tails, will you, old bean?
WATSON: Certainly, Holmes, but I fail to see how reading that will solve your present predicament.
HOLMES: (clutches stomach) It won't, but it may just explain what happened to the Walter Egos.
WATSON: Incredible. There you are, bent double, dried Vindaloo spattered all over your chops, emissions from both orifices, yet still you possess the unquenchable thirst to solve Scotland Yard's outstanding cases and make Dear Albion a safer place for people to live in. I tell you, Holmes, I take my hat off to you.
HOLMES: Good thinking, Watson. Now hold your hat just below my chin, will you? I may be needing its services shortly. It really is most perplexing that nobody actually saw the body of Walter Ego Jnr at the crime scene. Oh, dear... Watson...
WATSON: Hat in place, poised for action, what what what.
HOLMES: Elementary, my dear Watson. Oh...
TO BE CONTINUED...