" Dr. Watson," I adressed my companion," we have an elderly male lying on the floor in his rent subsidized apartment, dressed only in his blue, sailboat patterned pajama bottoms."
I took a puff from my pipe and scanned the room.
"Numerous large prescription bottles on the kitchen table lead me to believe this man has multiple medical problems."
I tapped the pipe on the kitchen table, lit a match and reignited the pungent tobacco, disguising the stale aroma of urine.
"The television is tuned to the Spanish Channel, I must surmise that this man speaks no English, thus the dull look when I asked him his name."
"Inspector!" Watson looked up from the patient, alarmed. "See here. A scar runs down the middle of his chest!"
"Elementary, My Dear Watson," I said, stepping toward the prone patient. "Look closely. The scar is neatly formed, perfectly placed and exactly six inches in length. This is no diabolical organ thievery, this man has had open heart surgery!"
"Of course! That explains…nothing really, why is he lying on the floor?"
I crouched lower, touching the patient, looking for more clues. His skin was cool and clammy. I gently shook him, he only moaned in response. Using my penlight I looked deep into his eyes. the pupils responded.
"Dr. Watson. Prepare a field glucose test. We need more information!"
As Watson drew a small droplet of blood from the mysterious man's finger I looked for more clues, first assessing his vital signs, then giving him some supplemental oxygen.
"Inspector! His glucose level is dangerously low!"
"Of course it is my good man. Prepare to solve the case!"
Now that the mystery was nearly solved, other clues became apparent. Diabetic medication was mixed with cardiac pills. A glass of orange juice, spilled next to the patient, an open and empty sugar package nearby.
Dr. Watson prepared an IV while I drew up some medication. We pushed the D-50 into the mystery man's veins and waited. A minute passed. Slowly, his eyelids began to flutter.
"I believe we are well on our way, Doctor,!"
I said, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the cramped apartment. "Well done!"
The patient regained consciousness, sat up and looked around. He spoke no English but was oriented.
"We have to take him in for questioning," I said as we cleaned up the scene. We helped him onto our stretcher and locked the door behind us as we left.
Another mystery solved, in a city full of them. Not long after we sat in my den on Baker Street ruminating. I swirled my brandy and watched the amber liquid briefly cling to the snifter's glass before reforming at the bottom.
"Cheers, Dr. Watson," I said as the glasses in our hands met with the sound that has warmed many a celebration throughout the centuries.
I drained the snifter as Watson sipped, and we sat amicably whist waiting for the next one.
It never takes long…