“Mr. Hudson!” I shouted as I burst through the front door of 221B Baker St.

“Yes Mr. Holmes?” I heard his voice ask meekly from a nearby room. I heard the shuffling of his feet as he came to greet me. Saw the look of surprise in his eyes as he saw me carrying the unconscious officer whom I’d quickly wrapped in a filthy coat that I’d purchased from a tramp so that I could pass him off as a drunken companion that I was escorting home. “Good heavens Mr. Holmes, it’s going to be one of those nights isn’t it? I’ll go and put the tea on.”

Watson, now hurrying down the stairs, could not help but overhear the exchange. As Mr. Hudson shuffled away to the kitchen, content that Watson would assist me with the burden I was bearing, the doctor stared at me peculiarly.

“Is this a habit of yours Mr. Holmes, bringing in unconscious...?” he paused and questioned me with his eyes.

“Yes, unconscious. He’s not dead.” I shook my head.

“Bringing unconscious fellows into the house at all hours of the night?”

“Let us just say” I smiled, “that Mr. Hudson is accustomed to my ways. Now then, will you help me get this gentleman into the basement?”

“What the devil for?” then, noticing the constable’s uniform, “Good lord Holmes is he an officer of the law?”

“Yes, either that or he is impersonating one. Regardless he not only attacked me but also revealed himself to be a form of your homo-monstrum that I have never before encountered.”

Watson perked up, his curiosity took hold.

“I will gladly relay to you the events of this evening once our guest is secured. Suffice it to say that I wish to question him about some of the goings on at Scotland Yard.”

“Fine.” the doctor let out a sigh, “But once we get him tied up can I at least be allowed a few moments to change into something decent?” he gestured to his pajamas.

“Of course Watson. Now please, if you don’t mind, this chap is beginning to get rather heavy. The feet Watson, grab the feet.”