Funny how the Spectator competitions run into pages, but the NS ones remain empty - presumably because they rarely invite verse, and it's much easier to be amusing in 16 lines of verse than in a Scrooge-like 150 words of prose. Still, here's my 'shot'.
It had been a tough day in Kingsmarkham, but he had finally cracked the case. His assistant was full of admiration. “It beats me how you do it, Chief. How on earth did you spot that the poor old one-legged beggar was actually Professor Moriarty in disguise?” Ignoring the “No Smoking” signs everywhere, Holmes puffed contentedly at his meerschaum pipe as he replied: “It was elementary, my dear Burden. My suspicions were aroused when I saw a blind cripple getting into a Mercedes, and I simply asked to see his driving licence.”
Now, home at last, he picked up his violin and played a few notes, but it didn’t have its usual soothing effect. He needed something stronger, and was just preparing it when his wife Dora appeared. “Sher!” she expostulated, “I’ve asked you time and again not to shoot up when the children are in the house!”
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