Chapter 14: The End of the Motherfucking Story.

WE HAD all been asked to appear in court to give our motherfucking testimony, but when we got there they told us it wasn't even motherfucking necessary. A higher Judge had decided to summon Jefferson Hope so he could beat the shit out of him, but it was too late. On the very night after his capture he activated the bomb, blowing the jail sky-high and killing fourteen motherfucking people. All they could find was his decapitated head somewhere down the block, and he had this creepy-ass smile on his face. Gross!

"Gregson and Lestrade are going to be soooooooo pissed hahahaha," Holmes remarked, as we chatted it over next evening. "They wanted all the credit but they aint gonna get it I am! Biatch!"

"Why would you get any credit, you didn't do shit," I answered.

"What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence," returned my companion, drunkenly. "The question is, can you convince the world that staring at shit as motherfucking hard as you can is an act of genius?" he laughed. "Whatever, this case was so motherfucking easy I didn't even have to solve it I just knew all the answers."

"No you fucking didn't!" I ejaculated.

"Sure I like totally did," said Sherlock Holmes, smiling at my pissed-offedness. "I solved this mystery in like a couple of days and didn't even need all that much fricken evidence dude that's like the quintessence of knowing all the answers."

"I don't think that word means what you think it means," said I.

"You just gotta, like, analyze shit, John Motherfucking Watson. Everyone wants to not analyze shit, but I do, because I'm analytical and crap."

"I confess," said I, "that you are a fucking douchetastic bitchderriere. Your sentences don't even mean anything."

"Whatever dude, you just don't understand because you're a fucking idiot. Like, if most people see stuff happen, they can, like, predict what else happens after that shit. Like I can predict that you won't understand a single fucking thing I say because you're stupid as hell and I am awesome. But like I don't have to do that crap you can just tell me something and I will know everything about that thing because I am analytical."

"One of your predictions was correct," said I, "Why don't you explain your motherfucking reasoning in this case so I can write it down and get you committed."

"Okay, so like, I went to the house, and stared at it a whole fucking lot. I also stared at the road and was like, hey, there was a carriage here but it was probably a cab because carriages are stupid cause their wheels are all fatass and shit.

"How did you know the cab belonged to the killer, though?" said I.

"Shut your fucking mouth I just knew. So anyway then I stared at the ground for a while. Did you know that I'm like an expert ground-starer hell yes I've taken CLASSES I know what stuff is on the ground. So then I was like, hey there were a bunch of fucking guys walking around here but one was probably the murderer and one was probably the victim, you know?"

"How did you know?"

"Because I'm fucking smart stop interrupting you asshole. So then I entered the house, and voilà, the victim was there. See I knew that one of them was the victim and there he was dead, I'm smart. So then there's gotta be a murderer, right? And then I saw the body and saw that he had like no wounds, but his face had this fugly expression, so I knew he had known he was gonna die from something like poison because people who have heart attacks never know that it's a heart attack they just fall to the ground and die instantly THAT'S HOW IT WORKS."

"Um, no," said I, "Often victims of heart attacks and similar ailments know that-"

"WHAT DID I FUCKING TELL YOU BITCH CRAM IT. So then I sniffed his lips, and his breath was like, really bad, so he must have ingested some kind of pill."

"What if he just didn't brush his teeth?"

"It was a breakdancing pill! He had been forced to breakdance and got stuck. As you could see, no other hypothesis would meet the facts."

I walked to the side of the room and immediately began banging my head against the wall for a good five minutes. After that I sat down quietly again.

"So anyway I'm a total genius so far, right?" said Holmes. "So, since nothing was stolen, the murderer clearly wasn't a burglar."

"HOW DID YOU FUCKING KNOW THAT NOTHING WAS FUCKING STOLEN THAT'S WHAT I'M ASKING-"

"Now, aside from robber, there are only two reasons someone would kill someone else. Over politics, or over a woman. Since we found a ring it was clearly over a woman."

"What if it was, like, his mother's ring or something, and they had fought over something completely different?"

"So I examined the room and was like, hey, blood didn't come from the victim, so the murderer had to have had a nosebleed!"

"Or it was a dog. Or a cat."

"And people who have nosebleeds always have red faces."

"Jesus Christ."

"So then I sent a code comprised of 0s and 1s to America, asking them if some guy wanted to kill some other guy over a woman. And they were like, dude, there's one guy in Europe named Jefferson Hope who wants to kill another guy who is also in Europe! So I was like, sweet, thanks for doing all the work for me suckers!

"So then I was like, it would be hilarious if the murderer was also the cabby. Because like, the horse wandered away and shit, so clearly nobody was in the cab controlling it."

"The cabby could have been asleep," I said, becoming increasingly bored with his bullshit explanations.

"Where, then, could the driver be, unless he were inside the house?"

"… Somewhere not in the house?"

"That's totally absurd! Besides, you don't murder someone with someone else around to see it."

"Unless they're an accomplice… because there's some other motive than love…"

"So then I decided that Jefferson Hope was one of the cabbies here haha. It's totes obvious. So then I was like, he was a cabby before, so LOGICALLY he was a cabby now, too! And there's no way he'd use a different name that would be dumb. So then I sent the little Arab children to find a cabby named Jefferson Hope. And they did, see, I was right."

"You were lucky."

"So then I had them bring him here, because there's no way he'd suspect a thing being summoned to the exact same house that had previously tried to catch him with the ring, right?"

"You are a fucking hack!" I cried. "I swear to God, I'm putting this shit in a book in order to show people what an insane douchebag you are."

"Whatever, Doctor," he answered. "You're just jealous that I solved the case while stoned." He handed a paper over to me, "Read this shit to me."

"The public," it said, "doesn't give a shit about the murder of Mr. Drebber, because he's just an American piece of shit. The details of the case will probably never be known now, except that it was committed by a dirty Mormon who assaulted the victim with his Mormonism. Clearly our police officers are awesome for solving this case, now maybe they can move on to solving importanter cases, like ones involving British people. Lestrade and Gregson are awesome and deserve all the credit and shit. Also, there was this one guy, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who is asked to return the massive amounts of coke he stole from the evidence room. We know you did it, Holmes. We're not stupid."

"Hah, see?" cried Sherlock Holmes with a laugh. "My name got in the paper, I'm motherfucking famous now."

"Never mind," I answered; "I have all the facts, bitch, and the public shall know what a motherfucking hack asshole you are soon enough. In the meantime I will quote the brilliance of some weeaboo on the internet–

"Holmes and Watson wa totemo kawaii desu!

Kono story wa full of kurappu desu ne! Domo arigatou ^_^_^_^_^_^_^ Kawaii!"