Watson, I’ve got it, by Jingo, and I know where Q is!

“Watson, I simply must tell you, old man, the most extra-ordinary thing. You remember Moriarty dropped around yesterday, while I was at my pipe, poking around for information, as usual?”
“Why, yes, um, yes, I do Mr. Holmes (hurumph) That awful man.Was he trying to find out why that attractive lady visitor was here yesterday? (thinks, pretty little thing, smiling).”

“Yes, and while he was trying to get information from me, I noticed something flew from his pocket as he retrieved his handkerchief, to blow that large snout of his in. It fell in the fire, as bad luck would have it, but I managed to distract him by cunning means, which, as you know, I’m a master of, and pointed out some new slides I’d obtained of dancing Gibson girls, at a side table. While he was busy rustling about in my intellectual mess, I reached quickly into the fire with a poker, and rescued this!”

“Oh, jolly well done, Holmes. Um, ah, what does it say? It’s rather scrappy and why’s it torn up?”

“Exactly, Watson! WHY IS IT TORN UP? It’s quite clearly something he doesn’t wish to get into the wrong hands, Probably intended to burn it himself, but doesn’t have a Mrs. Hudson about the place, to clear the fire out and light it, and such. I mean, he doesn’t have my charisma, and charm, when it comes to getting ladies to do things for you, when you want.”

“He he. Quite, Mr. Holmes (clears throat). Will Mrs. Hudson be serving buttered crumpets and tea soon, incidentally?”

“Try to concentrate for a moment, my friend, while we await the afternoon tea. This is a bona fide mystery, and I have been furiously playing my violin trying to cogitate on it. I believe I have decoded the document, after carefully unencrypting the scraps, and piecing the information together.”
“Oh, really? What does it say, Holmes?”

“It’s an invitation, to a very secret affaire. That’s why he intended to destroy it. Allow me to read it to you.”

(Dramatic pause, while sounds of a teatray rattling downstairs can be heard)

“You are cordially invited to a “Portrait of Q” Art Auction Event, to celebrate Q’s favourite number, and the recent release of the new novel by Donna Emerald, “The Q Affaire”. This exclusive event has been arranged to thank customers who bought the book. Customers who bought the book are now eligible to bid on the only known portrait of Q in existence. Wish to own this beautiful Oil on paper portrait, signed by the artist, Donna Emerald? Then come along to the event where we officially party (and grift off Q) hard, via livestream, to open the one day bidding war in style, so you can start placing your bids on Etsy, and having fun in chat. This is your top secret Q clearance level invite, to the auction of the year, at 4.30pm GMT (check your coordinates, and synchronize your watches, for a zero delta) which promises to go down like an epic stQrm. Be there, or be square. Good luck, Q Patriots!”

“Goodness, Holmes. Q! Why the whole of London has been seeking him. They’ve been seeking him in Bankok and Mexico, too, with rumours of sightings from San Francisco to Moscow, and still he eludes us all, even Moriarty, who is not half so stupid as immediate appearances suggest.”
“Yes, Watson. Someone knows his whereabouts, and someone wants to meet in secret. I’m rather curious to get a look at this Q character, finally, aren’t you? Where are my dressup costumes?”

(Door bursts open, making Watson jump, and Mrs. Hudson appears, panting heavily from the climb up the stairs with the teatray, laden down with tea and buttered crumpets, little pots of jam and sugar cubes, tiny milk pitcher of floral design etc.).

“Mrs. Hudson? We need to borrow your best dress. And bring me some glue, immediately.”

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