Young Sherlock Holmes

Come on, boy!

Chestnuts!

Get some lovely, hot chestnuts!

Mr. Bobster, good evening.

How pleasant to see you again, sir.

Here we are, Mr. Bobster.

Your favorite.

Hmm.

Oh, ridings of...

Mr. Bobster.

Are you all right, sir?

Oh.

It was a cold, snowy day in early December.

Lack of funds had forced my old school to close.

I was being sent to a new one

in the middle of term.

I was accustomed to the open, relaxed expanse of the country,

and now I was in the heart of London

at the height of the Victorian Era.

The streets were teeming with every activity imaginable.

I was very taken by what I saw.

As I stepped from my carriage, the sight of my new school

filled me with fear and apprehension.

Yet, I was swept with a wave of curiosity.

However, nothing could prepare me

for the extraordinary adventure that lay ahead

or the extraordinary individual who would change my life.

There you are, sir.

Stop!

Isn't it valuable?

What's more important?

It's value of my sanity?

I should have mastered the damned thing by now.

How long have you been playing?

Three days.

Well... perhaps you should be patient.

You're the new boy.

Yes, I transferred from another school.

My name's...

Wait.

Let me.

Your name is James Watson.

You're from the north of England.

Your father is a doctor.

You spend a considerable amount of leisure time writing,

and you have a particular fondness for custard tarts.

Am I correct?

My name isn't James, it's John.

Oh, James, John, what's the difference?

A great deal.

Oh, very well, so your name is John.

How did I do on the others?

You were correct.

On every count.

How is it done?

Is it some sort of magic trick?

No. No magic, Watson.

Pure and simple deduction.

The name tag on your mattress

reads "J. Watson."

I selected the most common name that begins with "J."

James... or John... that would have been my second choice.

Of course.

Your particular style

of shoes are not made in this city.

I've only encountered them once before,

during a brief visit to the north of England.

The middle finger of your left hand is indented with a callus...

The trademark of a writer... And you were carrying

the Hunrer's Encyclopedia of Disease,

a handbook not available to the general public,

only to practicing physicians.

Since someone of your age

obviously hasn't been to medical school,

I concluded that it was given to you

by an older person, someone very dear to you

who is concerned for your health...

Your father, the doctor.

And the custard tarts?

Simple. There's a distinct stain of yellow custard on your lapel.

That particular color of custard

is used in the making of custard tarts, and, uh...

well, your shape convinced me

that you've eaten many of them before.

There's no need to be rude.

Come on, we haven't got all day.

But hang on. Where are we going?

You wouldn't want to miss chemistry class, would you?

By the way, what's your name?

Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes.

The deductive mind never rests, Watson.

It's not unlike a finely tuned musical instrument.

It demands attention and practice.

How does one go about

fine-tuning a mind, Holmes?

With problems of logic,

mathematical equations, riddles.

For example, Watson...

You're seated in a room with an all-southern view.

Suddenly, a bear walks by the window.

What color is the bear?

Red.

The bear is red.

Why on earth would the bear be red?

The southern sun is very hot.

The bear would be terribly burned.

That is the most absurd answer I've ever heard.

To successfully conclude the ex-experiment...

uh, uh, uh... the experiment...

uh, uh, uh, experiment.

To-to reiterate,

experiment 14...

"T-Throw a small piece

"of potassium onto some water...

"The liquid will be rapidly

"de... com-composed, and so violent will be the action

"that a large amount of light

and..."

Thank you.

He's being particularly boring today.

"The result is the production of potasi..."

"Oxide of pot ass... which will be dissolved..."

That was a girl.

Brilliant deduction, Watson.

Who is she, and what's she doing in a boys' school?

Her name's Elizabeth.

Following the death of her parents

a few years ago, she came to live

on school grounds with her uncle,

a retired Brompton schoolmaster.

"And such is modified by..."

Elizabeth was just admiring my new timepiece.

Would you like to see?

Hmm. Very interesting.

All of the stylish gentlemen are wearing them.

Expensive?

I bought it in Bond Street.

I find that highly unlikely.

I beg your pardon?

Had you taken a moment to examine the face,

you'd have discovered that it is notably French in style.

And yet according to this inscription,

the exterior was manufactured in Switzerland.

Yes, my suspicion was correct.

The works are obviously Italian in origin.

Congratulations, Dudley,

your stylish timepiece is a fraud.

Keep your opinions to yourself, Holmes.

I look forward to resuming our conversation...

when there's a little more privacy.

Why did you do that?

Dudley is a pompous ass.

He's very sweet.

Oh, really?

Is that why you were standing

so close to him?

Flirting with him, letting him dribble

all over your hand.

Do I detect a sense of jealousy?

Sherlock Holmes, jealous?

My dear, that word does not

enter my vocabulary.

And neither does "punctuality."

Oh, I see. You're angry because I'm late.

As always.

I'm sorry, but I can explain.

I understand.

You had something more important to do.

How can you say that?

I was...

Elizabeth,

let me introduce you to my new friend...

the honorable but clumsy Watson.

The, uh, ladder's a bit wobbly.

- Hello. - How do you do?

Nearly broke a bone.

Elizabeth!

Holmes!

I think I've solved all of the problem!

Who's that?

My uncle.

Rupert T. Waxflatter,

retired schoolmaster.

Degrees in chemistry and biology,

well-versed in philosophy, mathematics and physics.

Author of 27 books.

Incredible.

And most people think he's a lunatic.

Why?

Oh, my God.

Oh. Oh...

Oh!

A very hopeful sign.

Hmm.

Very hopeful.

Ah, let me see, that makes six...

six failed attempts.

Nevertheless, we shall not be defeated.

We shall conquer.