Fifty shades of purple
Apologizing greatly, I assisted the young lady bookseller to arise, struck (as she had been, by my precipitate entry) with one of the dozen titles fallen unshelved- medical texts, clearly. With trained, darting looks, I recognized characteristic diagrams of Gray’s Anatomy; a frontispiece etching of Florence Nightingale; and standard treatise, ‘On Gangrene: Its Occurrence and Treatment’.
My interest, however, lay with ‘Fifty Shades of Purple’- new to me. But how apt! Had not Holmes, only yesterday, been beating cadavers at Bart’s with a riding crop?
Smiling appreciatively, without quibbling I paid and, with my purchase wrapped, hurried back to 221B.
“Watson!” Holmes shot out (languidly flicking pages while I awaited grateful thanks), “Why you present me with a compendium of florid, wordy prose- collated evidently to deter such errant writing- taxes even my deductive powers. Do you hope to shine, relatively? Or were you again preoccupied by auburn hair?”
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