by Cristiano Caffieri
Information that Moriarty was operating his evil empire out of a Scottish castle prompted Sherlock to catch the 3.54 out of Euston Station for Edinburgh. Little did he know that in less than 12 hours he would find himself stripped naked and tied to a sturdy oak chair in the North Tower.
Watson, who was suffering from an attack of gout, was not able to take the trip, and so as Sherlock tugged at his bonds he knew that it was unlikely that the gun toting doctor would suddenly burst in and rescue him. Perhaps the most ego-sapping part of it all was that he had been tricked into taking this trip – not by James Moriarty himself but by his devilish daughter Ailish.
This woman, who had built a fiendish reputation as a temptress, had literally f**ked her way across Europe. Her s*xual repertoire made the Kama Sutra look like the boy scouts handbook. She had sucked off princes, politicians and almost half of the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders. The information she extracted from her victims was then sold to the highest bidder. But it was not information she wanted from Sherlock – it was sperm.
Ailish wanted to combine the evil genius of the Moriarty family with the genes of the most celebrated detective in the world. Their offspring would not only possess an unimaginable criminal mind but the power to deduce what steps law enforcement practitioners might take to counteract his or her dastardly deeds.
She was not an unattractive woman – in fact, she had a great ass and a pair of tits that Hugh Heffner would have sold his soul for. However, she was dealing with Sherlock Holmes – a man who had considerable control over the function of his s*xual organ. And as she purred sweet nothings in his ears and stroked his hairy chest it lay there all floppy and unaffected.
“What’s wrong with you – are you gay or something?” she asked, frustrated that he was not responding like her average conquest.
Normally one touch of her long slender fingers would send their d!cks shooting up like a Nazi salute but Sherlock was different. His looked more like at a little pink worm in the process of hibernation. She grabbed hold of his foreskin and stretched it like a rubber band. “Am I not attractive?” she stormed, pulling on it so hard it made his eyes water.
“You have a gorgeous body,” he cried, “And there’s nothing I’d like better than to f*ck your brains out but your evil intent prevents me from developing a boner.”