Sherlock Holmes: The Army of Doctor Moreau

JOHNSON

Only went and got myself bitten by a bloody sharktopus, didn’t I? I mean, seriously, the bloody thing went for me like a cross between a Chinese dinner and my mother-in-law. Would be me, wouldn’t it? Not Rover or Professor Gob, nah … “Shinwell Johnson, have a bit of that! What’s that, piece of your leg missing? Oh, yeah, that will have been me.”

I shot it, of course, right in its pie-hole. Only it didn’t think the bullet was filling enough, obviously, as it were still hungry. I knew a woman like that once, never met something wrapped in pastry she didn’t like. Big girl. We used to call ’er … well, never mind what we used to call ’er, it’s not a turn of phrase you’re likely familiar with, though you’ve obviously had a pie in your time too if you don’t mind me saying. No offence. You’re a big lad though, like your school dinners.

Anyway, so it’s bearing down on me and I shoot it right between the gnashers. I’d have aimed for somewhere more painful but, my eyes, I couldn’t see nothing but mouth and teeth.

I reckon it were dead by the time it took a piece out of me, probably didn’t get to do much more than swallow. Still, not much consolation to me is it? A bit to the right and it would have had more of a mouthful and I’d have been Sheila Johnson for the rest of me natural.

What’s that? Where are they? Oh yeah … I was getting to that. Down there, turn right, keep going until you hear the sound of screaming. Hole in the wall ain’t there?

Better get a bloody move on and all! You haven’t got time to be hanging around here gassing all night ’ave you?