Search for the Sunlight

Suffice to say, their frivolity was short lived. A vigilant Peckwood had spotted Harry lying face down in the dirt with his trousers round his ankles and his bare rump poised precariously in the air.

“On this earth, a more vulnerable state does not exist!” The Constable cried out, and in less time than it takes to strike a spark on a tinder box, he was over the parapet and racing to Harry’s assistance.

In the sky above, the determined predator sliced through the fog like a sabre, with its sharp beak aimed directly at Harry’s bare arse!

When the Constable looked up and saw the fiery avenger, he quickly unhooked his truncheon from his belt and launched it, with all his might, at the descending villain.

The well aimed cosh spun through the air and struck the diving monster hard on the face. The impact of the blow shattered its beak into tiny fragments and wrenched its head back with such ferocity that the vertebrae in its neck snapped with a series of loud cracks. Hopelessly paralysed, the limp giant fell from the sky like a stone. Now it was time to deal with Harry…

Temporarily securing the lad’s trousers, Sherlock helped him to his feet. “You alright, boy?” he enquired. But Harry was so traumatised, that he was unable to speak.

With no time for counselling or the more gentle approach of calming psychology, Sherlock simply adopted the same harsh treatment as before and slapped his trembling friend hard about the face with his big leather gloves.

The blow was such that Harry’s jaw fell slack and his drooping eyes popped out like a fish. He glanced up briefly at the officer, nodded once to acknowledge his presence, then, turning on his heel, he faced in the direction he’d been travelling and continued on his way as if nothing untoward had happened.

Once again,

Sherlock’s tried and trusted method of battlefield resuscitation had proved its worth.