In London's East End, near Whitechapel, stood a pub named "The Lame Sailor."
The air was foul, reeking of cheap tobacco, stale beer, and sweat, a mixture that felt like a damp towel pressed over one's mouth.
But this did not affect its business in the slightest; dockworkers, peddlers, and even vagrants could all find the entertainment they desired here.
In a corner of the pub, a "reader" named Basil Horne stood on a makeshift wooden crate, spitting as he spoke:
"...Our Mr. Holmes, mind you, was tracking the mysterious Mormon elder, deep into the lion's den!
In that dark warehouse, a flash of fire! 'Bang! Bang! Bang!'—"
He abruptly made a drawing and firing motion, eliciting gasps and excited murmurs from the audience below.
"Now that's a hero! Not just talk, but action! Making evil tremble with gunpowder and steel!"
The drinkers burst into laughter and cheers, some banging their mugs forcefully on the tables.
A burly, red-faced man rudely shouted,
"Another piece! Basil, do that bit... hehe, with the little widow!"
This request drew a knowing, suggestive round of laughter.
Basil Horne cleared his throat smugly, a lewd grin spreading across his face:
"...And Mrs. Ruth, in a flimsy nightgown, her figure in the candlelight... tsk-tsk, like a ripe peach..."
He slowed his pace, elaborating on the titillating details with crude yet captivating language.
The pub fell silent, only heavy breathing and the sound of swallowed saliva could be heard.
The men's eyes glistened, completely lost in this fantasy of excitement and lust.
The pub then erupted in thunderous applause and wild howls—
"Excellent!!"
"That's the stuff!"
"Now that's a real man! A hero like Robin Hood!"
Coppers rained down into the tattered hat at his feet, and some clamored to buy him a glass of the strongest rum.
"Much better than that dawdling Holmes of before!"
"Right, the old one just stared at hands and pocket watches, like some old maid!"
"Now this is a story with flavor! Basil, come read again tomorrow!"
Basil Horne's face glowed red; he picked up the money from his hat and proudly accepted the drink handed to him.
Just then, the pub's creaking wooden door was suddenly flung open with a "bang."
A group of young men burst in, about seven or eight of them, all around eighteen or nineteen years old, dressed in student-style uniforms.
Leading them was a tall young man, who immediately spotted Basil Horne standing on the makeshift wooden crate, and in his hand, A Study in Scarlet.
The young man loudly announced:
"Gentlemen! Stop! What you are listening to is a shameless, illegal pirated counterfeit! It flagrantly alters and utterly defiles a great English detective!"
The pub fell silent for a moment, then erupted in even greater commotion.
"Hey! Where did these brats come from!"
"Go back and chew on your Latin!"
"What we like to listen to is none of your damn business!"
Basil Horne, enraged, retorted:
"What did you say? Lad, this isn't the place for you!"
The young man, unafraid, stepped forward:
"This is a trampling of the Anglo-Saxon spirit of gentlemanship! It should be scorned by all upright people! I advise you to behave yourself!"
A drunken worker scoffed:
"Gentleman? In 'The Lame Sailor,' I'm the gentleman! I love listening to this! What about it?"
Another student couldn't help but shout:
"You are aiding and abetting evil! The real Sherlock Holmes is the embodiment of reason, not a rogue who just shoots guns and dallies with women!"
"Who are you calling a rogue?!"
"You!"
"Beat them up!"
The verbal dispute quickly escalated.
It's unclear who threw the first shove, but immediately after, a glass shattered on the floor.
This was like lighting a powder keg; the workers roared and lunged at the students, who fought back fiercely.
Fists, tables and chairs, and glasses all became weapons.
Basil Horne, terrified, tumbled off the wooden crate and hid under the counter, clutching his head.
The pub owner screamed in vain, but his voice was drowned out by a cacophony of curses and fighting...
The next day, several major London newspapers reported on the incident—
The Times condemned the piracy, but more so criticized the reckless actions of these young men who called themselves "Holmes's Boys."
The Daily News's report was inflammatory, detailing the pub brawl and attributing the conflict's root cause to "class antagonism."
The Daily Mail, however, unceremoniously mocked the students, calling them "Holmes's Girls."
...
In the living room at 221B Baker Street, Lionel looked at the newspapers in his hand and asked,
"Why does public opinion seem to be rather against us? And what's with these 'Holmes's Boys'?"
Sitting opposite him was Arthur Conan Doyle, who helplessly covered his forehead:
"Do you... know about the sport of 'football'?"
Lionel paused, then replied,
"I know a little..."
Conan Doyle then explained:
"Good then—earlier this year, during a match between two teams, 'Aston Villa' and 'Preston North End,' there was a large-scale brawl among fans in the stands...
Since then, the London media has been very sensitive to such incidents and usually condemns the party that instigates violence.
As for 'Holmes's Boys'—"
He glanced at Lionel, and finding his expression still normal, continued:
"They are all students from St. Thomas' Hospital Medical School and Guy's Hospital Medical School.
They all know that Dr. Bell is the prototype for 'Holmes,' so they consider 'Holmes' to be 'one of their own,' and many worship him quite fanatically..."
Lionel frowned:
"That name is too suggestive, 'Holmes's Boys'..."
Conan Doyle didn't know why the name would be "suggestive," but he didn't ask further; his attention was elsewhere:
"Lion, that forgery..."
Lionel waved his hand:
"It's a temporary storm, no need to dwell on it. I came to London to talk to you about 'Holmes's' next case. Oh, and you'd better put out that cigar..."
————
While the repercussions of "The Lame Sailor" pub incident were still unfolding and London society debated piracy, forgeries, and "Holmes's Boys"...
The late October issue of Good Words magazine appeared punctually in the hands of subscribers and at newsstands.
Both supporters of the authentic work and readers who had purchased the forgery eagerly turned the pages of this magazine, which was at the center of the storm.
They wanted to see how Good Words would react in the face of such a surging wave of piracy.
Then, to their astonishment, they discovered that Good Words had, this time, pulled off a new trick that caught everyone by surprise.
(End of chapter)