THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION — Chapter 2 of 'Sherlock Holmes and the Scarlet Thread'
The second chapter of 'Sherlock Holmes and the Scarlet Thread' by Michael Chambers
Welcome to Sherlock Holmes and the Scarlet Thread, the first novel in the Sherlock Holmes: Thailand mystery thriller series. Each novel is a standalone mystery.
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Previously in The Scarlet Thread…
Dr. John Watson has been robbed. The thief stole an expensive necklace meant to be a birthday gift for Watson’s girlfriend, Ploy.
Unwilling to go to the police, John Watson hired a mysterious stranger named Sherlock Holmes to recover the necklace before Ploy’s birthday.
Sherlock Holmes refused to take the case at first, and only accepted because he’s interested in finding out why John Watson refuses to go to the police for help.
Holmes and Watson are traveling through Bangkok, on their way to look for clues at Watson’s apartment, 221B Soi Baker.
Chapter 2: The Science of Deduction
John Watson struggled to breathe. He tried to match pace with the man known as Sherlock Holmes as they moved through the narrow side-streets of Bangkok. Holmes led the way with determination, even excitement. They were headed towards the nearest SkyTrain station, on their way to investigate the robbery at Watson’s apartment at 221B Soi Baker.
“You really know your way around Bangkok,” Watson said, steadying his breathing to sound casual.
“Of course. Having a deep knowledge of my surroundings is an essential part of my work.”
The morning sun climbed the sky, baking the city below. They continued through the crowded sois, passing by haggling street vendors and busy shops, toward the SkyTrain station on Sukhumvit, one of the most famous roads in Bangkok.
A strange thought bounced around Watson’s mind. Did this stranger, this foreigner named Sherlock Holmes, really have magic powers? The idea was absurd. When his landlady and others in the neighborhood had made such claims, Watson hadn’t believed them. But things were beginning to change now that he had actually met the man.
Holmes had somehow known the unknowable. Upon meeting, Holmes had remarked that Watson had been near the Cambodian border, the place where his military career was ended ten months prior by a bullet through the shoulder. Later in the conversation, Holmes had mentioned that Watson was a doctor, despite Watson not even alluding to it. How had he known?
Watson couldn’t help it: his curiosity only increased.
Who was this Sherlock Holmes?
He was certainly eccentric. His appearance alone would strike the attention of the most casual observer. He was over six feet tall, but so excessively lean that he seemed considerably taller. He had a thin, hawk-like nose that gave his whole expression an air of alertness and decision. His hands were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals.
And those sunglasses. Tortoise-shell Clubmasters by Ray-Ban. Why had he been wearing them inside? The room was dimly lit as it was. Watson had only seen Holmes’ actual eyes for a brief moment when he lowered the sunglasses after asking Watson about his… relationship with the police. At that moment, it was as if Holmes had turned into some kind of computer; his eyes moved all across Watson sporadically, as if they were scanning him.
None of the eccentricities mattered, Watson told himself. All that mattered was Holmes finding the stolen necklace. Why exactly he needed to visit the place where it had been stolen from, he didn’t know. The others from the neighborhood had their problems solved during a brief conversation in Holmes’ room. There wasn’t time to dwell on it though. Time was short. It was Friday morning, and his girlfriend Ploy’s birthday was on Sunday.
What if they were actually able to get the necklace back? Watson could see it all play out in his mind’s eye. He would take Ploy to a nice dinner on Sunday. Well, as nice as he could afford on his small military pension. After dinner, they would go for a walk, probably through Benjakitti Park, and find a comfortable place to sit. As the sun set, he would give her the necklace. He could see her reaction now: the way the bridge of her nose crinkled when she smiled, how she always held a hand over her mouth when she was surprised, her cheeks turning rosy when at a loss for words. She would pull her long, black hair to the side and he would fit the silver chain around her neck.
She would be happy. She deserved to be happy. Ploy was a sweet, kind girl. She had been that way ever since they were in school together back in their village. Despite all the anxiety Watson had about getting the necklace back, he knew that she wasn’t the type of girl to obsess about gifts. If anything, she would probably say he spent too much money on her.
But Watson knew getting the necklace back wasn’t all about Ploy. It was about him actually accomplishing something, having something go according to plan, for the first time in what felt like forever. It had been a dark ten months since being shot. His recovery was torturous, slowed disastrously by contracting enteric fever while inside the filthy hospital. His body had changed so much that he still had trouble recognizing himself in the mirror. The necklace was a symbol of him getting his life back together, but apparently the universe had other plans.
The entire day still had a dream-like, unreal feeling. It was only a few hours earlier that he had woken up, opened his bedroom dresser drawer, and realized the necklace was gone. He knew it was the tourist that had stayed in the spare room the night before. The big, loud, drunk. But the man had disappeared, and Watson had nowhere to turn.
He knew that going to Sherlock Holmes, the “foreigner with magic powers,” was a sign of desperation, but it might actually be paying off. Holmes certainly had some power to know the unknowable, but there was more to it. He displayed a deep, somewhat startling, knowledge of science and crime history, and he navigated Bangkok like an expert tour guide. The man was intelligent, no question. He might really be able to help.
Watson felt something he hadn’t for a long time: hope.
“Here we are, doctor. It’s just a short walk to the train station.”
Emerging from the network of narrow sois, they joined the steady flow of pedestrians on the wide sidewalk of Sukhumvit Road. Considered one of the main arteries of Bangkok, Sukhumvit was a site of controlled chaos, and a showcase of contrasts. The road itself was stretched to fit several lanes and always jammed with weaving traffic: rusty tuks-tuks, luxury sports cars, roaring motorbikes, and yellow-and-green taxi cabs. On the street-level, the logos of famous brands popped out everywhere in sight: McDonald’s, Adidas, 7-Eleven. They shared the sidewalk with independent vendors with shoddy booths, selling everything imaginable from mango slices to fake designer purses to more… lewd items. High above, luxury buildings of glass and steel loomed over all the action. In between these towers and the sidewalk below, there was an elevated walkway that seemed to hover in space, but was supported by enormous pillars centered throughout the length of the seemingly-endless road. Above this elevated walkway was the BTS SkyTrain rail network that ran throughout the city. Asok was in the distance, the nearest railway station where they could buy tickets and board a train.
They pressed on, passing by every type of person imaginable, Thai and foreigner. It was a clear, boiling day, but Thai women walked with open umbrellas, protecting their skin from the bright sun. At a street-food booth, an Arab man was counting out coins to pay for his squid-on-a-stick; the vendor accepted the payment happily, further perpetuating the country’s nickname of “the land of smiles.” There was a group of young men huddled beside an ornate portrait of Thailand’s king, Rama X, set in a golden display. They looked out at the chaos of Sukhumvit, awestruck. Watson thought they looked American, two of them were wearing American football hats, and his thought was confirmed when he heard one’s accent while passing by.
“They have everything here! Did you see the guy handing out flyers to go shoot AK-47s?”
Watson grinned. No matter how much research tourists did before visiting, they were always shocked at the true amount of freedom in Thailand. They usually didn’t know that “Thai” translated to “free,” so Thailand was then the “Land of the Free.”
Several strides ahead, Sherlock Holmes abruptly stopped. As Watson caught up, Holmes looked back at him, slowly lowering his Clubmaster sunglasses. His eyes did that thing again: they traveled round and round and up and down, as if taking in every possible detail.
Watson realized why Holmes had stopped. They were approaching a Thai police officer on the sidewalk, buying a coffee from a street vendor. He was dressed in the typical khaki-brown uniform and hat.
Holmes stared as Watson approached. “You’re nervous, Doctor Watson.”
Watson feigned a smile. “Not at all.”
Holmes replaced his sunglasses, spun on his heel, and continued towards the SkyTrain station.
As they walked alongside each other, Watson felt the strange sensation that Holmes eyes, despite being hidden behind sunglasses, were still drilling into him, studying. He wanted the attention off of him. He tried to think of something to say.
“You said you left London ten years ago? And have been traveling ever since?”
“Yes, doctor. Are you trying to prove that you were listening? I assumed you were.”
Ten years ago would have been 2016, Watson thought. He searched his mind, trying to think of something an intelligent man like Holmes would enjoy talking about. What was happening in the world back then? The world cup was in Brazil… Donald Trump was elected president of the United States… Britain voted to leave the European Union…
“Interesting. Were you still there during the Brexit vote?”
“The what?” Holmes asked.
“Brexit. That happened about ten years ago, right?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Don’t you remember? When Britain voted to leave the European Union.”
“I don’t follow politics, doctor.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Watson stopped speaking, but his mind raced. Didn’t everyone from Europe know about Brexit? The vote itself was a huge international story, and had ramifications for years afterwards.
Strange.
As they neared the SkyTrain station, a stairway rose from the sidewalk and up to the elevated walkway that ran above the road. They ascended and continued along the walkway, the activity of the sidewalk looking small and distant from over the railing, until they finally reached the Asok SkyTrain station. Ticket machines sat in the center of the open space. Ahead, there were turnstiles, and a steady stream of people scanning their tickets and continuing on, up another flight of stairs to the train platform. Another stream was coming from the opposite side, exiting the train station and continuing on the walkway toward Terminal 21, the nearby nine-floor luxury shopping mall.
Holmes and Watson stepped up to the ticket machines and each bought a ticket for the green line. As he pressed the buttons on the touch screen, Watson kept thinking about their brief conversation regarding Brexit. He began to wonder if he had offended Holmes in some way by bringing up a political topic. Had he come across smug? He didn’t consider himself a news junkie, but maybe the topic was too niche. Maybe he could try a more approachable topic. Back behind the Terminal 21 shopping mall, there was a famous soi that a certain type of tourist frequented. Watson had never been there himself, but it was widely known because of a very famous movie that was filmed there. He finished purchasing his ticket and regrouped with Holmes.
“Mr. Holmes, you may find this interesting. Do you see that side-street over there? That’s Soi Cowboy, where they filmed The Hangover Part 2.”
“The what?”
“The Hangover 2. The second one takes place in Bangkok, remember?”
“The second what?”
“Movie. The Hollywood comedy with Bradley Cooper and the guy from The Office.”
“A coworker of yours was in a film?” Holmes asked naively.
“No, I mean The Office TV show. The American version, not the British version. And he wasn’t my coworker, I’m talking about an actor.”
Holmes shook his head lightly, as if he had no clue what Watson was going on about.
“Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”
Silently, they scanned their tickets at the turnstiles and proceeded up another flight of steps to wait for the train. The sidewalks below felt far away now. The platform was crowded, but it almost always was. At least it wasn’t morning or evening rush hour, Watson thought, when you would be packed shoulder to shoulder with the other passengers. The platform was open-air, with a large gap between the opposite sides for trains going in either direction. There were signs on the ground to indicate where the train would stop and where to wait, creating a space in front of the doors to allow riders to exit the train before new riders boarded.
The overhead screen showed that they had a few minutes until the next train. They waited in silence. Watson kept thinking about their past two interactions. Not knowing about Brexit was one thing, but how had Holmes never heard of The Hangover 2? Or The Office? They had been some of the most popular pieces of entertainment in the world. He began to wonder if it was an issue of age. Watson had assumed that they were similar in age, late twenties, but maybe Holmes was younger, so he wouldn’t understand the references.
“Mr. Holmes, I’m curious, how old were you when you left London?”
“Nineteen.”
“Okay, I see.” So it’s not a question of age, Watson thought, because they were nearly the same age. For some reason, and for all his apparent intelligence, Holmes just knew next to nothing about politics or popular culture. “So you’ve taken twenty-nine trips around the sun? You’re a year older than me.”
Holmes stared.
“What?”
“Around the sun?”
Watson blinked. “You can’t be serious. You don’t know what I mean?”
Holmes shrugged.
“The earth… goes around the sun…”
“Hmm.”
“Once a year…”
“I see.”
Watson hesitated. “You didn’t know that?”
Holmes shook his head.
“How could you not know that??” Watson’s voice was a shout. Others waiting for the train began to glance in their direction.
“You appear to be astonished,” he said, smiling at Watson’s expression of surprise. “Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it.”
“To forget it!”
“You see,” Holmes explained casually, “I consider that a man’s brain is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in everything he comes across, so that knowledge which might actually be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so it’s difficult to find. Now the skillful workman is very careful as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He only takes the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that your brain-attic has elastic walls and can expand forever. There eventually comes a time when for every piece of knowledge you gain, you forget something that you knew before. It is therefore of the highest importance to not have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.”
“What are you talking about?” Watson protested. “It’s the solar system!”
“What the deuce is it to me?” Holmes interrupted impatiently. “You say that we go around the sun. If we went around the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work.”
Watson was about to press him further when a chime sounded around the station. Their train had arrived, stopping exactly where the signs on the ground noted it would. The doors opened, separating from the center, and in typical polite Thai style, everyone waited for those inside to get off before boarding themselves. Also in Thai style, the inside of the train car was nearly silent, despite being crammed with passengers. It was not the place to argue about the earth going around the sun, so Watson held his tongue.
The train began moving and a terrible feeling grew in the pit of Watson’s stomach. He began to question everything he knew about Sherlock Holmes.
📚 If you love the novels, there’s more!
Side Quests are monthly short stories that expand the world of the Sherlock Holmes: Thailand novels.
Phantoms of the Amazon takes place BEFORE the events of the Sherlock Holmes: Thailand novels, following Sherlock Holmes on his mysterious ten-year journey around the world.
In this story, Holmes searches for a lost treasure deep inside the Amazon rainforest, and stumbles onto a danger that locals believe is supernatural.
As the SkyTrain glided above the city, John Watson fumed internally, stewing on how much of a fool he was.
This Sherlock Holmes, if that was even his real name, was obviously some kind of con artist.
Less than half an hour before, the man had claimed to have developed a groundbreaking chemical formula from laundry detergent and Coca-Cola, but didn’t even know that the earth went around the sun.
Watson gripped the hand-hold above, his knuckles turning white. The inside of the train was quiet, save for the rush of the car against the tracks. The aisles were filled with passengers: a mixture of locals and tourists. A sign above the hard-plastic seats along each wall indicated that the seating priority was for Buddhist monks, the elderly, the injured, and little children, in that order. Sherlock Holmes’ interest was occupied; he was happily looking out the window, which infuriated Watson.
This whole day was probably some kind of pre-arranged episode, Watson thought. He wasn’t buying the magic act anymore. Holmes probably knew about Cambodia from Mrs. Hudson. She most likely mentioned it when she went to him for help. Or, she told him directly… and they were playing some kind of trick on him… because they were both in on it… it was them that stole the necklace!
Watson took a deep breath. Calm down, he told himself. Mrs. Hudson had a habit of getting under his skin, but in an innocent way, like an annoying relative. She would never steal from him, it was out of the question. That didn’t change the fact that Holmes was a questionable character. He could certainly be some kind of con artist.
What kind of person didn’t know that the earth went around the sun?
A feminine voice spoke through the train speakers: “Next stop, Ploen Chit station. Please take your belongings before leaving the train.”
They had arrived at their destination. Watson quickly joined the flow of passengers disembarking, trying to decide what to do about Holmes. Like Asok, the Pleon Chit station was also suspended above a busy road. Holmes led the way down the stairs, through the turnstile, then down another flight of steps to street-level.
“It would be faster to cut through the park,” Holmes said, and marched ahead.
Watson rolled his eyes. Holmes was right, but even the sound of his voice was enough to irritate him at this point.
Lumphini Park always felt like walking into a different world. Skyscrapers surrounded the 140+ acre park that was roughly the shape of a square. Once you were inside the park, however, the traffic and hustle of the city were forgotten. Vibrant trees and lush foliage were interspersed with walking paths, playgrounds, covered seating-areas, and small lakes. The flowers and bushes were expertly cared for by teams of Thai workers in sun-protective clothing. Many visited the park to run or bicycle, but others just to lounge and enjoy the scenery. Some even came for group exercises, dancing in group formation as a leader stood opposite and led everyone to the sound of Western pop music playing from a portable speaker. Tourists and locals alike were always fascinated by the monitor lizards, reptiles the size of small dogs that roamed freely through the park.
As they neared one end of Lumphini, Holmes pointed towards an exit. “We’ll be at your apartment soon, Doctor Watson. Soi Baker is this way.”
“You know what, Mr. Holmes? I think this is where things come to an end for us.”
“I beg your pardon?”
All of Watson’s pent-up emotion was unleashed in a stream of bitterness. “I’m not buying it anymore. I don’t know who you are, or how you’ve convinced everyone that you’re some kind of wizard. But I’m not buying it. I know you’re a con man.”
“I can assure you, Doctor Watson, that I am not a con man.”
“Oh yeah? Tell me this, then. When we met, you said that I’d been near the Cambodian border. How did you know that? How could you possibly have known that?”
Holmes sighed.
“You were told, obviously.”
“Doctor—”
“Did Mrs. Hudson mention it? Have you been spying on me somehow? And don’t say you have magic powers. You didn’t even know the earth goes around the sun. You might have been able to fool everyone else, but not me. So tell me, how did you know about Cambodia?”
“Not magic, doctor. Science.”
“Please don’t insult my intelligence, Holmes.”
Holmes spoke clearly. “A method of thought I’ve developed myself. I call it the Science of Deduction. No one told me you were in Cambodia. I knew it. Almost instantly, just by looking at you, I could tell. From long habit the train of thoughts ran so swiftly through my mind, that I arrived at the conclusion without being conscious of the intermediate steps.”
“By looking at me? What are you talking about?”
Holmes assumed the tone of a frustrated teacher having to explain basic concepts to a lost student. “There are two components to my method: observation and deduction. By a man’s finger nails, by his coat-sleeve, by his boots, by his trouser knees, by his forefinger and thumb, by his expression, by his shirt cuffs—by each of these things a man’s calling is plainly revealed.”
“You’re lying. There’s no way that’s possible.”
Holmes calmly removed his sunglasses. His eyes moved rapidly, studying Watson. “The train of reasoning ran, ‘Here is a gentleman who stands with the upright air of a military man, but with clinically clean, trimmed fingernails and inflamed skin from excessive washing. The kind of hand-washing technique taught in medical school. Clearly an army doctor, then. He has undergone hardship and sickness, as his haggard face says clearly. His left shoulder has been badly injured. He holds it in a stiff and unnatural manner. When could a Thai army doctor have seen hardship and been wounded? Clearly during the border conflict with Cambodia last summer.’ The whole train of thought did not occupy a second. I then remarked that you had been near the Cambodian border, and you were astonished.”
Watson was stunned. He could only stare.
Holmes smiled. “To the uninitiated, the results of one trained to observation and deduction can appear so startling that they consider it to be magic.”
“So it’s not magic powers, it’s some kind of parlor trick? Wait. You didn’t know about Brexit. So how could you possibly have known about the Cambodian conflict?”
“That detail can be attributed to life experience.”
“You were in Thailand at the time?”
“No. I was in Cambodia.”
Watson’s eyebrows shot up.
Holmes continued: “Away from the border, in Phnom Penh, the capital. Anyone can observe, but it takes special knowledge to deduce. In that case, it was from life experience. But most of my deductive success is a result of deep-study into topics that the average person would consider meaningless. Can you distinguish between seventy-five perfumes by scent alone? I can. Have you studied different soils from regions around the world to distinguish one from the other when they splash upon a person’s trousers? I have. And it’s no parlor trick, doctor. My methods are so practical that I depend upon them for my bread and cheese. It’s how I’ve funded my lifestyle for the past ten years. I go wherever my interests take me, whatever country, whatever continent. I’ve been all over.”
“So what is your ‘work’ then? You travel and help locals like me with their random problems?”
“That’s more of a hobby. I have a trade of my own. I suppose I am the only one in the world. I’m a consulting detective, if you can understand what that is. Around the world there are lots of Government detectives and lots of private ones. When these fellows are at fault they come to me, and I manage to put them on the right scent. They lay all the evidence before me, and I am generally able, by the help of my knowledge of the history of crime, to set them straight. There is a strong family resemblance about misdeeds, and if you have all the details of a thousand at your finger tips, it is odd if you can’t unravel the thousand and first.”
Watson hesitated. “And the Bangkok police? Do you work with them?”
“It doesn’t take someone trained in observation and deduction to note your nervousness whenever the subject of law enforcement arises, doctor. I myself find police all around the world to be incompetent and in constant need of guidance, but can’t relate to your particular aversion. Regarding my relationship with the Bangkok police, I have no history with them. So you can relax.”
“What about the other people, the locals? How do you help them?”
“They are all people who are in trouble in some way, and want a little enlightening. I listen to their story, they listen to my comments, and then I pocket my fee. In your case, there is no fee because while you want to find your stolen necklace, I want to uncover why you have this incredible aversion to the police. You see, I crave problems to occupy my attention. I can’t bear the dull nature of existence.”
Watson paused for a moment, taking in everything he had just heard. “You say you know all these things about people just by observing them? Prove it.”
Holmes smiled. “How would you like me to do that?”
Watson scanned the park. “I’ll pick someone, and you do your little method. We’ll see if you’re telling the truth or not.”
“A test, then? Fine, doctor. Go ahead and choose someone.”
Watson scanned the park. They were near a less-frequented exit, so there weren’t many people to choose from. A woman in professional attire sat on a bench, but she had a badge around her neck with a company logo. Too easy. Under a tree, a man ate in the shade, but he was wearing a yellow vest. He was obviously a construction worker. Looking in another direction, Watson saw a good candidate. An older-looking white man was jogging toward them, dressed from head to toe in workout apparel. It would be difficult to tell what he did for a living.
“That man,” Watson said, pointing rather crudely. “Jogging towards us.”
Holmes replied instantly. “You mean the retired United States Marine Corps officer?”
“Oh, shut up!”
“Ask him. He’ll tell you. ”
As the man got closer, Watson got his attention. “Excuse me, sir.”
The man stopped near them and removed an earbud. “Yes?” He had an American accent.
“I’m sorry to bother you. I’m settling a little disagreement with my friend here. He says he can tell a person’s profession just by looking at them.”
“Huh,” the man said. “I’ve never heard of anyone being able to do that.”
“May I ask what your profession is?”
“Sure, I’ll play along,” the man said kindly. “I’m retired, actually. But I had a long career in the U.S. Marine Corps before settling in Thailand.”
Watson stuttered. “The Marine Corps?” He glanced at Holmes. “And may I ask, were you an officer?”
“Yes, sir, I was. Retired as a Lieutenant Colonel.”
Watson couldn’t speak. He blinked rapidly, his cheeks flushing red. The world around him was suddenly spinning and he felt like he was going to faint. Did Sherlock Holmes really just do that?
The man turned to Holmes and spoke with concern. “Is he okay?”
“He’ll be fine. Sorry to bother you, sir. Enjoy this beautiful day. ”
The man nodded, replaced his earbud and continued jogging along the path.
Holmes adjusted his sunglasses. “Are you okay, Watson? You look worse than usual all of a sudden. Let’s keep moving. That necklace is not going to find itself.”
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Next: Chapter 3 - 221B Baker Street
Holmes and Watson arrive at 221B Baker Street. Watson’s girlfriend, Ploy, unexpectedly drops by and Watson must distract her while Holmes looks for clues regarding the stolen necklace.
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Michael Chamber’s Author Diary is a weekly series that gives you a behind-the-scenes look at how the Sherlock Holmes: Thailand series is made.
Yet another chapter that's beautifully written! I can tell there's a deep passion for these characters and the world they inhabit. Bravo on yet another stunning chapter!
Coming along well. One thing caught my eye. American football hats. I'm not sure what you mean. Maybe Baseball hats?