It is a fact that even whilst we
are cocooned in this great city of ours, nature can make her presence felt. A
gale shrieked and moaned outside on this particular day that I write of. I
looked out of the window and was met with the sight of debris being picked up
and hurled down Baker Street as though they were children's playthings. The
windows rattled in their casement and the gas dimmed and lowered every few
seconds. Holmes was busy continuing research he had undertaken into Early English
Charters and appeared to be oblivious to the furious display of nature
outside. As I crossed the room to pour
myself another coffee, the wind shook the very fabric of the building so much,
that it felt like we were in motion.
Then, inexplicably, there was silence, followed by what seemed like an
explosion. Everything inside the sitting-room that was not held down securely,
jumped into the air.
"Good
Heavens Holmes, what on earth was that?" I asked.
"I
think, perhaps dear fellow, we should investigate and make sure no one outside
has come to any harm."
The
wind had died completely as had the normal street sounds we associated with
this busy thoroughfare. We descended the seventeen steps, opened the front door
to be met with quite an unbelievable sight. The house was surrounded by a great
deal of what I thought were children, but then I recognised them as adults
suffering from a form of Dwarfism. They
were pointing at us and gesticulating wildly and peering at the very foundation
of the house with looks of wonder and amazement. I feel I cannot do justice to
what we observed, everything we now saw. The road, houses and indeed these
little people were cloaked in the most vibrant hues; reds, oranges, yellows,
greens. The surface of the road was a garish yellow and radiated out from a
central point.
Holmes whispered to me, "Watson, I have a
feeling we are not in Baker Street anymore."
Before
I could answer we were approached by a most beautiful creature, who seemed
somehow illuminated from within. She pointed at Holmes.
"My
name is Glinda. Are you a good wizard or
a bad wizard?" she asked of him.
Holmes
took all this in his stride as though it was the most commonplace of dialogue,
"I am not a Wizard of any kind, my name is Sherlock Holmes and
this......"
"Oh
well, is he the Wizard then " she asked, now turning her attention to me.
"I
assure you, madam, that neither of us is a wizard, why on earth would you think
such a thing?" Holmes asked her.
"The Munchkins called me and said a new
wizard had just dropped a house on the Wicked Witch."
"Munchkins,"
I asked, "who or what are Munchkins?"
"Why, these are Munchkins," she
answered, indicating the throng of little people surrounding us," and there
is the Witch, under your house."
"My dear we owe you a thousand apologies,
we had no intention of harming anyone."
"There is no need of an apology; the
Munchkins have declared you both national heroes."
One
of the little people, the Munchkins as she called them, stepped forward to me,
"we'd like to thank you sweetly for doing it so neatly."
I stammered a reply and looked to Holmes,
"how on earth do we get out of here, Holmes?"
"We
will possess our souls in patience until we have gathered sufficient data to
enable us to make good our return," he replied.
A
piercing scream filled the air and an ugly looking witch, straight out of a
child’s story book descended on a broomstick.
There were cries of, " Oh no, the Wicked Witch," all around.
I turned to Glinda, "Have we not
destroyed the Wicked Witch?"
"This
is her sister, and she's worse than the other one was."
"Who killed my sister? Was it you?"
she screamed, fixing her eyes upon me.
"I assure you, madam, it was a complete
and utter accident."
"Well," she said, looking even more
threatening, "I can cause accidents too."
She
walked over to all that was left of her sister, "where are the ruby
slippers? Who has them? Give them back
to me," she cried, working herself into a veritable frenzy.
"There
they are," answered Glinda, pointing at me, "and there they will
stay."
I looked down at my feet to find that instead
of my normal footwear, my feet were now adorned with these ruby slippers; not a
shade that best suits me it has to be said.
The Wicked Witch became hysterical at this
point screaming over and over, "Give me back my slippers."
Holmes said to me, "Keep tight inside
them, Watson, their magic must be very powerful or she would not want them so
badly."
After
issuing yet more threats of dreadful violence against our persons, she mounted
her broomstick and was gone. Holmes took me to one side as the Munchkins
continued their unrestrained celebrations.
"I
am of the opinion, Watson that these slippers with the magic that is
undoubtedly contained within them may hold the key to our safe return to dear
old Baker Street." He stretched
himself out on the ground and examined them for several minutes.
Glinda
looked on, bemused, "Mr. Holmes, what are you looking for?"
"I
am hopeful of using the magic powers of these slippers to return my friend and
me back to our own life."
"Your
friend has that power already."
"I do?"
"Those
magic ruby slippers will take you home in two seconds. Now then, close your
eyes and tap your heels together three times.
Look at your friend and think to yourself, 'There's no place like home.
There's no place like home.'
"There's no place like home, Holmes.
There's no place like home, Holmes. There's no place like home, Holmes."
I
awoke to find Holmes standing over me, with a smile on his face.
"My dear Watson, you are especially
garrulous in your sleep today and surely only you could sleep with such a storm
raging outside."
I
stretched my limbs, got to my feet somewhat shakily and glanced out into the
street. I was relieved to see normality, no Munchkins, no witches, just a
resolutely ordinary Baker Street. Odd
how the mind can play tricks on you like that whilst asleep.
"Watson?"
"Yes,
Holmes?"
"Whatever
have you got on your feet?"
No comments:
Post a Comment