Originally published in Quadrant, September 2019
On consulting the reams of manuscript in which I have chronicled the second return of my dear friend Sherlock Holmes, I find that no pages encompass more activity than those devoted to the year 2019. Perusing my notes for that twelve-month, I see that this was the period in which Holmes resolved the crisis of the Hackney micro-aggression, and brought a soothing termination to the hideous incident of the Unsafe Space. But no case of the time so severely tested my friend’s powers of deduction, or so thoroughly quenched his appetite for adventure, as the puzzle of the phantom tweets. My own affairs having taken me abroad during the first weeks of this cause célèbre, I remained quite innocent of the matter until my return to our lodgings in Baker Street, where I found Holmes seated before the fire, with his gaze fixed intently upon the contents of his tablet.
“Welcome home, Watson,” murmured my friend after a minute or two, without having glanced up from his device. “I perceive that your journey was a busy one.”
“Remarkably busy, Holmes,” I answered. “But how the devil did you know?”
Holmes at last laid aside his reading matter, and fixed his languid gaze upon me. “Because, Watson, you have sat silent in that chair for two minutes now, offering neither comment nor conjecture regarding the celebrated affair of the unvirtuous tweets." [keep reading ...]