Associates of Sherlock Holmes

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Thank you for the new muffler and fingerless gloves – you’re dead to rights in supposing a promotion calls for a fellow to look smart, and right to consider that I should have my hands free to boot! You worried over the colour, but it’s just the ticket. A nice, dignified navy will do very well with my brown ulster.

How strange and freeing it is to be out of blue livery and stalking the shadowed streets in neat tweeds! The lads from H Division hooted over my plainclothes at first, saying I looked a smug breed of pigeon, but there was no malice in it and they toasted me plentiful times calling out, “Three cheers for our own Inspector Hopkins!” down at the Bull’s Head last week. (I didn’t myself join in enough to mar the solemnity of my new station, I promise you.)

My musty cubby at the Yard is well-outfitted now, with maps and reference volumes, plentiful ink and paper, and a flask of brandy should any females be forced to consult me in a state of distress – you understand I’d never hope for such a thing, but we live in a dark city, and I mean to shed some light on it. My resolve has impossibly redoubled since the news came down I was to shed my uniform, and when I’ve already thought of nothing else since… well, you know best of anyone to what I refer.

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