Young Sherlock Holmes

Come on, boy!

Chestnuts! I've got some lovely, hot chestnuts!

Mr. Bobster! Good evening. How pleasant to see you.

Here we are, Mr. Bobster. Your favorite.

Mr. Bobster, are you all right, sir?

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.

And 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, its value or my sanity?

I should have mastered the damn thing by now.

-How long have you been playing? -Three days.

Well, perhaps you should be patient.

You're the new boy.

Yes, I've transferred from another school.

-My name is... -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.

James, John, what's the difference?

A great deal.

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 magic, Watson. Pure and simple deduction.

The name tag on your mattress reads "J Watson."

Watson. J

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 the 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 a Hunters 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...

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.

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?

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 burnt!

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

To successfully conclude the experiment--

The experiment--

The experiment...

To reiterate experiment 14...

"Throw a small piece of potassium onto some water.

The liquid will be rapidly decomposed

and so violent will be the action that a large amount of light..."

Thank you. He's being particularly boring today.

"The result is the production of potassium alkyl-- pot as--

Which will be dissolved..."

That was a girl.

Brilliant deduction, Watson.

Well, 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.

"...such is modified by circumstances.”

Elizabeth was just admiring my new timepiece.

Would you like to see?

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.

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's 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.

Neither does punctuality.

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.

How can you say that?

I was...

Forgive me.

Elizabeth, let me introduce you to my new friend...

the honorable, but clumsy, Watson.

The ladder's a bit wobbly.

-Hello. -How do you do?

Elizabeth!

Holmes!

I think I've solved all of the problems!

-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.

A very hopeful sign.

Very hopeful.

Let me see, that makes six! Six failed attempts!

Nevertheless, we shall not be defeated. We shall conquer.

I have made up my mind.

The conquest of the skies is well within my grasp.

He's done this six times?

I live here with Uncle.

After he retired, the school gave him the attic as a workplace.

It's incredible.

I've spent many happy hours here.

He's taught me more than ten schoolmasters put together.

Uncas. Say hello to Watson.

Say hello, Uncas.

Say hello.

Watson, he's not a parrot.

Have you found the weakness, sir?

I constructed the wings out of an inferior material.

I shall have to rebuild the entire machine.

The entire machine? Won't that be difficult?

Elementary, my dear Holmes. Elementary.

You'll have to excuse me.

Come on, come on, come on.

I've got it, Holmes. The bear is black.

What's that, old chap?

The bear in the riddle, it's a black bear.

Wrong again, Watson.

I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't disturb me

while I'm trying to concentrate on the lesson.

Are you all right, Penthurst?

I think I've sprained my ankle, sir.

Mrs. Dribb, will you attend to him, please?

Gentlemen, we cannot permit ourselves lapses in concentration.

We must work on technique, on rhythm, and on balance.

I can think of no better pupil to help me illustrate

proper form and technique than Holmes.

Study our stance, our movements and our style.

En garde.

Touché.

Touché.

My game, Holmes.

Now, gentlemen...

Mr. Holmes lost because of one important factor.

His emotions took over. He ignored discipline.

Never replace discipline with emotion.

Well played, Holmes.

Per Christum Dominum Nostrum, amen.

Amen.

I want to enlist in the army. A general.

Generals don't make any money.

I would prefer to be an author.