Family Guy

Lovely day for a walk, eh, Holmes?

Yes, just look at our great city, bustling with activity.

Even the chimney sweeps are hard at work.

It's all dirty in here.

I don't care. Keep going.

Shouldn't I wear some sort of protective suit?

Why? Don't you trust me?

I do, but our friend Bartholomew went in lots of chimneys

in the '80s, and now he's sick.

Holmes, there's something I have to tell you.

- I'm getting married... - I deduce, Watson,

- that you're getting married. - I just said that.

Yes, but I had deduced it first.

That's what happened.

So, congratulations.

Thank you.

I thought you might be upset

because we won't be able to solve mysteries...

Solve mysteries together.

Elementary.

Crown Jewels stolen!

"Another one bites the dust," says Queen.

And coming up, Russia and Prussia

still named basically the same thing.

Ghastly. Who would have the audacity to steal the crown

off the queen's head?

Only one man, Watson.

Professor Moriarty, the Napoleon of Crime.

I've had him on the run for a year now.

His criminal empire is in shambles,

but he won't go quietly.

I say, look, there's hotshot 20-year-old comedian

Benjamin Hill.

Oh. That'll be funnier when he's older and slower.

Watson, this is the boat to America.

How do you know that?

Because Neil Diamond is on board. Look.

I really hoped he'd be singing "America."

Well, how will we know who Moriarty is?

We've never seen him before.

The science of deduction.

Hold it right there, Professor Moriarty.

Sherlock Holmes?

How did you know it was me?

When I see a man about to go on a sea voyage

and not wearing a topcoat,

with no watch fob, and whose spats are not fully buttoned...

And the jewels hanging out of my hat?

Yeah, and the jewels hanging out of your hat.

He's got a gun. Look out, Stew... Holmes!

God, this is gonna be so annoying.

Watson, the scepter!

Aah! Lucky shot.

There was no luck involved.

From the angle you were aiming the gun,

I extrapolated the path of the bullet,

and triangulated the deflection point...

Uh, is this... is this speech for me?

Because he's dead.

For the court's amusement,

we now present Sir William of Cosby.

Well, you see, the children of today are wearing

their pantaloons so low, gazoozle,

you can see the first three layers of their undergarments,

zazzle, zoozle.

I get away with this for another 122 years, you see.

Hello, Your Majesty, I have recovered the Crown Jewels.

Mum, may I say, it's been a pleasure serving you,

but I've decided to retire.

We are losing interest in this conversation.

It would be a wonderful cap on my career to have a knighthood.

Come, come, now, Holmes, you're not...

Sometimes the bigger ladies

take a little longer, you see.

Really, Holmes, why retire?

There will still be crimes to solve.

But with Moriarty gone, and with you, my biographer,

leaving me for marriage, there is little point.

Just gonna toss it in the old waste bin.

Yup. Good-bye, detective cap.

Yeah.

And you, old chap, are about to solve the biggest mystery

facing men of our time: The wedding night.

I know, I'm just, I'm just giddy with anticipation.

Lifting her nightgown, nightshirt, evening cape,

boudoir coverall, torso doily,

and the various corsets and trusses below.

Exposing her shame to God,

followed by brief missionary coitus with no eye contact.

And then, five months later,

a stillborn child the size of a digestive biscuit.

Constance.

John.

- Hey. - 'Sup?

So, my betrothed, how go the wedding plans?

Oh, John, my father is sparing no expense.

Boiled beef for every guest, fish head stew, old cheese,

and men's attire will be provided

by Gentlemen's Wearhouse.

You're gonna fancy the way you look, this I vouchsafe.

What is it, Holmes?

It's an urgent missive

from Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard.

Oh, darn, there's been a murder and he's begging for my help.

Oh, darn, darn, darn, this is embarrassing.

Now I've got to see if I can dig that hat out of the trash.

Come, Watson, the game is afoot.

"Afoot"?

"Starting," "beginning."

Well, then just say that.

Enjoying all the old-timey jokes?

Don't worry, next week, back to a normal episode.

Hmm, this is most curious.

It appears she was killed by our old nemesis, the Scottish Brute.

That's impossible, he's in prison.

I put him there myself one year ago.

Nevertheless, we can't ignore the evidence.

All his victims were prostitutes

whose names began with the letter "V."

This one's name is Veronica, as evidenced

by this satin softball jacket that bears her name.

These threads are from a Scotsman's plaid kilt.

The telltale locks of red hair.

But most significantly, the Scottish Brute replaced

his victims' intestines with bagpipes.

Want to give it a whirl?

How could he accomplish this murder from prison?

He couldn't.

There are only two possible explanations:

Either there's a murderer who has copied

the Scottish Brute's methods, or I put the wrong man away.

What are you in for?

Ah, I Rathboned somebody's Cumberbatch.

Well, well, well.

If it ain't me old nemesis, Sherlock Holmes.

Hello, Brute, I've got some questions for you.

Who did you tell about the murders?

Nae a soul, 'cause I dinna commit no murders.

I'm innocent, you nosy parker.

How can I believe you?

You're a common criminal.

All the prostitutes were killed by a left-handed assailant.

- So? - So, I was born with...

two right hands.

Dear God.

That means he couldn't have been the killer.

That's right. You ever seen a man with two right hand...

Oh, this... this thing was open.

That shouldn't be open, right?

No, no, I wouldn't think so.

I hope you will accept my sincere apologies.

Oh, you've done more than made up for it, Mr. Holmes.

I'm just happy to be free.

Ah, the world's changed since I've been in there.

That puddle wasn't here.

That cloud wasn't there.

That window was open.

That lady was four feet that way.

All right, well, I hope you make a go of it.

Good luck with your fresh start.

Oh, where'd that bird come from?

That's new.

Watson, I found some important new clues.

These red locks of hair I found at the crime scene?

They don't belong to the Scottish Brute.

They belong to a woman.

How can you tell?

It's hard to explain, Watson.

Women are mysterious.

But don't ask me.

Ask contemporary personality Oscar Wilde.

I prefer a man with a future and a woman with a past.

Oh, splendid.

Well said, splendid.

All right, let's get out of here before we're all arrested

for the crime of "bum-fancy."

And now I will disguise myself as a prostitute named Valerie.

What the devil is that?

It's my own invention.

A steam-driven mechanical exoskeleton.

Observe.

It's cutting-edge technology, Watson!

Exchange money

for sexual services, guv'nor.

Are you a bobby?

You have to tell me.

Mind the gap.

Astounding.

Yes. Now, I'll stroll around the block,

and you'll proposition me, loud enough so the killer can hear.

Love for sale.

Appetizing young love for sale.

Love for sale.

Lookin' good, honey.

No blacks.

Love for sale.

Race-contingent love for sale.

Did I hear your name was Valerie?

Yeah, guv'nor.

Uh, have we met?