As we left Baker Street and headed towards the Edgware Road, Holmes enlightened me on Alli's Parlour, the hookah, tea and kebab emporium where he instructed the faithful on how best to procure 72 eager virgins, whilst in fact spying for Mycroft’
'It is modelled on those establishments we visited in Cairo's Islamic quarter, after our mishaps on Lord Brownsword's Shropshire estate whilst vanquishing the Skidmoor Skidder.'
I shuddered on recalling that grotesque affair and steeled myself for some equally unsavoury encounter.
We passed by reeking kebab outlets, decaying 'continental stores' and garish shops offering cheap mobile phones or beard trimmers, to the local Mohammedan youth lurking on every corner, clicking and whistling at any English girl foolish enough to enter their quarter.
'Notice Tony Blair's residence,' motioned Holmes, as we skirted a large and vulgar house, bedecked in EU flags and grinning images of the disgraced narcissist.
I was somewhat relieved to see one had been disfigured with an enormous penis and hirsute testes, alongside the words:
'Suck on these, shithead!'
'Somewhat lacking in wit yet one cannot fault the sentiment,' chortled Holmes.
'I fear the imminent attack on Parliament has been facilitated by another such, a notorious Labour Party funder.'
We entered Alli's Parlour, where Holmes now passed unrecognised. As said, he usually attended the place disguised as a Sudanese fanatic preaching Jihad and offering advice on gaining citizenship, council accommodation and any of the numerous grants available to enemies of this country.
Anyone who's ever visited the Islamic world will be familiar with its heady atmosphere. Hashish and other aromatic drugs were being openly smoked, the clientele having no need to worry about police attention under England's notoriously 'two-tier' justice system. Recent public executions of 'Far Right' rioters had only strengthened the correct impression that our Labour government both hated and feared the beleaguered native population.
Holmes motioned at the serving counter. A corpulent figure waddled over.
'Do you serve bushmeat skewers?'
'Plenty good, Mr Sammy himself eat Congo portion!'
'Ah, our distinguished Secretary for Foreign and Imperial Affairs is gracing you today?'
'Mr Sammy in thunder box!'
Groaning noises from the toilet confirmed what he'd said. Eventually its door swung open and a foolish-looking man emerged. It beggared belief that he represented this great country and its imperilled empire.
'Mr Sammy?' Holmes drawled. 'Might I have a word in your shell-like?'
Holmes then took himself off to his table, where large quantities of disgusting looking cuts were piled, half-consumed. Subtly inclining my head, I heard their every word.
'I understand that you enjoy lavish funding from a long-term Labour backer and confirmed bachelor of many years standing?'
'We are the party of change and England is back, following years of cronyism under Lord Salisbury!'
'Might I ask if this benefactor’s generosity extends to providing kebabs to be consumed at next week's State Opening of Parliament?'
'Donations are a private matter, Mr Holmes, but all the correct rules have been followed. Our distinguished Prime Minister insists on such propriety.'
Holmes roared with laughter at his humbug.
'I am more concerned with their explosive nature. Each one will have been smeared with enough nitroglycerine to blow yourself and the government even larger arseholes than you already appear to this nation.'
Not waiting for our befuddled Foreign Secretary to understand, Holmes beckoned at me to follow him out.
'Surely we cannot trust this blockhead to avert such an outrageous plot? That man can barely be trusted to find his own backside with both hands!'
'Have no fear Watson, I shall appraise brother Mycroft of the sordid details. Now, I fancy a few pints in the more wholesome environs of a Marylebone public house.'
I needed no prompting and we ended the evening at our trusty local, The Saracen's Head, mocking the Prophet and his followers with comic turns at the call to prayer - much to the delight of the solid English folk frequenting the place.
Holmes naturally received no thanks from his idiotic brother for averting the plot. Instead, Mycroft basked in how his ‘dialogue with community leaders' was vindicated and a nuanced policy of appeasement and prostration had triumphed.
Paul Sutton
(Linked below to Paul's SHERLOCK HOLMES AND THE JIHADIST PLOT.