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The Adventure of the Missing Oscar
The Adventure of the Missing Oscar
The Adventure of the Missing Oscar
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The Adventure of the Missing Oscar

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Holmes and his partner John Watson might have thought that their efforts in solving their friend Carlos' death had gone un-noticed outside their immediate circle. But they are soon to discover how wrong they were!
Jeremy Burrell is a wealthy and successful interior designer with a big house in Notting Hill, a new young plaything to help him with the plastering and plenty of friends who he met at his Summer holiday home in Mykonos. Over dinner back in London however, one of those 'friends' has stolen his prize possession - one of Edith Head's Oscars.
A chance meeting with Holmes leads him to convincing the lawyer that he and Watson should interview the guests and find out which one of them snaffled it. But what looks like a simple case of theft turns out to be much more complicated as every one of the dinner guests proves to have lots of ulterior motives for being ‘friends’ with Jeremy. And of course it doesn't take too long for the investigative talents of Holmes... and Watson too... to discover there are other items that Jeremy is reputed to own that people might have wanted to steal.
Can Holmes and Watson recover the Oscar in time before the real secrets of Jeremy Burrell's past become public knowledge?
And who does the mother of Inspector Pomfrett's new detective think she's living with? Is there anyone in London that Dr Martin didn't meet at University? And what will happen when John Watson and Mrs Hudson finally meet?
All these mysteries... plus that pesky missing Oscar will be solved with the aid of good food, good drink, a dash of sex and some of Holmes' unique interview techniques.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherRichard Saw
Release dateOct 5, 2015
ISBN9781502964137
The Adventure of the Missing Oscar
Author

Richard Saw

Richard Saw is a long time London resident who fell in love with the city when he fled his native Australia in the vain hope that he’d land a real job. Author of ‘From Breakfast to Whenever: The Eating Guide to Soho’ and a struggling media executive, he started writing the Holmes & Watson novels as a love letter to the city, the men and the lifestyle he’d fallen in love with.

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    Book preview

    The Adventure of the Missing Oscar - Richard Saw

    The Adventure

    of the Missing Oscar

    A Holmes & Watson Mystery

    Kevin James

    Copyright © 2004 by Kevin James

    First published as an ebook in 2012

    The moral right of the author has been asserted.

    All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

    That being said, some famous people do turn up in this and subsequent novels to add flavour or perspective.

    All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binging or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.

    ISBN-13: 978-1502964137 ISBN-10: 1502964139

    Thank you to all those people who got slightly tipsy over lunch with me and told me stories which are included in one way or another in this book. I was serious when I told you …that’s going in my next novel.

    Stay in touch with the author on Twitter @authorofholmes, search for Kevin James on Facebook or if you’re looking for something a little naughtier, check out Todd Mitchell’s twitter account @gayjockgeek or the Tumblr account The Erotic Side of Holmes & Watson by searching for ‘authorinsearchof’.

    Prologue

    He had enjoyed his holiday to Mykonos. He’d gone over to spend the time with friends, though he quickly found himself a third wheel to their intense physical relationship and therefore he wisely chose to make the most of the spare time he had on his hands. At first he’d been concerned that being alone would be dreadful but instead he found that there were plenty of things to entertain a single man during the day. And plenty of men to entertain a single man during the evening.

    It was a random occurrence that led him to be introduced to Jeremy. He’d been trying to chat up a boy on the beach who had presumed Jeremy, standing behind him by pure accident, was his partner. He didn’t get any further with the boy but he did get an invite to a party at Jeremy’s luxury apartment. He’d dressed in casual cotton clothes and arrived carrying a bottle of wine, which seemed like the polite thing to do. If they were back in London he probably would never have bothered to associate with Jeremy, he certainly wasn’t his type. But some of the hot guys from the beach had also said they would be going and as unlikely as that seemed, he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity.

    The party turned out to be quite the unexpected sensation. And despite his early indifference he was quite happy to accept an invitation to come and ‘hang by the pool’ the following day. In fact he found himself – over the remaining days of his holidays – drawn back there each day. Like he had said, Jeremy really wasn’t his type. But there turned out to be a good crowd of regulars who dropped by the apartment and the pool every day – at least when the day’s activity on the beach had come to a conclusion – and there were plenty of attractions. Plus, even he had to admit this, that Jeremy had plenty of interesting stories from his past. And in those interesting stories, he saw plenty of opportunities for himself. He knew other people wouldn’t, but generally other people were stupid.

    So here he was, back in London, heading off to Jeremy’s house for a post-Mykonos get-together. Ever since he had heard Jeremy’s stories, he had been plotting. He had known for years that there was only one way to get ahead in this town. And it was to take advantage of every skill you had and every opportunity that came your way. And Jeremy was a huge one. He had taken to studying the other individuals that he’d subtly coerced Jeremy into inviting that evening for he was certain he’d need to exploit their selfish desires to get what he wanted.

    Chapter One

    It was a brisk half past the hour as John Watson strolled along Wimpole St. He paused to purchase a copy of The Times, smiled tightly in response to the vendor’s daily chatter and then turned to traverse the short distance to where Holmes awaited him. Climbing the stairs, Watson perused the newspaper, searching for anything of interest. By the second floor however, Watson was so intrigued by an article, he stood on the very last step for a good few minutes in thought before carrying on. Shaking his head to clear his mind, Watson folded the paper neatly under his arm and walked to the door of Holmes’ apartment.

    Using his own key, Watson entered the pristine flat cautiously. Holmes? Watson called out in greeting, softly at first and then again a little louder. When no reaction greeted him, Watson tip-toed into the sitting room, then the kitchen but alas, still no sign of life. He headed towards the bedroom, pushing the door wide open with his foot and decided that a positive tone was best.

    Good morning Holmes! I say, have you seen…

    Fuck orf, the voice mumbled from the bed. Hidden under a mess of immaculately dry-cleaned Ralph Lauren sheets, a Donna Karen duvet bought at extortionate cost during a coke-inspired Bond St shopping trip and a lavish 100% Australian mohair throw that he had brought home after Mardi Gras, Holmes voice struggled to be heard.

    ***

    But Holmes you’ve got to read this article! Watson pleaded, standing in the doorway and failing to hide his exasperation. You wouldn’t believe…

    Holmes turned his head to one side so that he could speak clearly. John, his voice remarkably crisp. I will tell you this only once because I have no intention of repeating myself as you well know. I gave you a key to this apartment as proof of my undying love to you, because as you often tell me, I am incapable of expressing that love verbally. Not so you could come and wake me up 30 minutes after I’ve gone to bed on a Saturday morning. Now fuck off! And with that, Holmes fell instantly back to sleep.

    Watson’s shoulders sagged a little at the lecture. He was about to walk out, cowered as he usually was when Holmes lost his temper. Then something occurred to him and he brightened at the thought. He quietly placed the paper on the floor, un-did his thick coat and gradually undressed as quietly as possible. Naked, he tip-toed to the far edge of the bed, as far away from Holmes as he could get. He carefully lifted the duvet up and slipped under. The bed was King-size, the mattress so well built (and ludicrously expensive – of course) that each spring was individually wrapped in silk. In the drug addled state that Holmes was in, he remained unaware that Watson had slipped into bed with him.

    Until that is, Holmes felt a poke in his back and a pair of lips softly sucking on his neck. Fuck OFF, Holmes said more forcefully this time.

    In a couple of seconds I am going to stick my tongue in your ear and then I am going to jump your arse, Watson said, enunciating each word. And we both know that you squirm at the thought of the first and you can’t stand the idea of me fucking you when you’re not into it. So why don’t you roll over and kiss me like the nice boyfriend you are?

    Holmes moaned. He rolled over and looked right into Watson’s eyes. Hello handsome, he whispered. Hard night?

    Mmm, Watson mumbled as he leant over to kiss Holmes. Don’t worry, I worked the nightshift and all I want to do is sleep.

    Good, Holmes replied and made to roll back onto his chest.

    But, John said, catching Holmes before he had the chance to disappear under the sheets, I’m also as horny as hell.

    Holmes moaned to give the signal that he just wasn’t up for it. Watson however was having none of that. He knew the groan was only a delaying tactic. And stop pretending you don’t have some chemical assistance handy.

    The great investigator – the man who many in The City feared – rolled onto his back and looked at Watson, who despite his tiredness was wearing his ‘excited puppy dog’ look. Well, I tried, he protested as he rolled over so that he could reach his bedside table.

    Watson lent against the wall, panting to try and catch his breath. Oh that was good, Holmes mumbled as his sweaty hands clawed down Watson’s chest. Now what was I supposed to have read in the paper?

    What? Oh, umm… stumbled Watson trying to remember anything that had happened prior to the last half an hour. Oh right. You remember that interior designer we met in Paris a couple of months ago. At the George Cinq? Jeremy Burrell. He did the re-fit of Fortnum & Masons or something. Well he got burgled a couple of days ago.

    That was in The Times? Holmes asked, only half-surprised and only a little curious.

    Apparently so, Watson informed him as he slowly slid down the wall until he was lying next to Holmes, whereupon they both promptly fell asleep.

    ***

    The news of Jeremy Burrell’s burglary, such as it was, did not resonate with Holmes any further that weekend. He enjoyed a very drug-fuelled Sunday evening but still arrived at the office at his usual time on Monday morning, feeling particularly energetic. Even though he had stepped away from the fast-paced lifestyle of the Golden Circle law firms to work for Fothergill, Patricks & Havers, it hadn’t resulted in his lifestyle resembling anything less than that of a powerful City boy. Not that Holmes saw himself in the same category of the over-paid, over-pleasured and emotionally retarded traders. But even he – possessed as he was, of remarkable self-denial – was not deluded enough to believe that his hedonistic habits didn’t resemble that of the despised bankers.

    Seated comfortably in his office – behind a firmly closed door – Holmes always began Monday morning by re-writing a detailed to-do list in his messy handwriting – it was not to be referred to as an ‘objective list’ because Holmes always, always finished the tasks he set himself. After that was completed and he had prioritised all the tasks, he would throw himself into the most important one with a focused intensity that was his signature. He was flummoxed that other people were either not able to compartmentalise work or even when they did, would act illogically and complete tasks out of order. He shook his head in wonderment at the foolishness that he saw all around him.

    Mrs Hudson – his personal assistant of many years – knew better than to interrupt him until at least 1pm. At which time she would attempt to re-organize his

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