The Case of Wandering Detective

My dear Holmes,

It is your most humble petitioner, Inspector Lestrade. As you know it has been several years since I have last requested your assistance in the troubling matter of the disappearance of Lord Douchebag and over a year since we examined the obscene affairs of the odious Lady Chatterley and her grass stained lover. Today I must ask for assistance in an entirely different matter.

You will remember Inspector Bradstreet who so ably assisted your inquires in the matter of the Blue Carbuncle last Yuletide past. As I have previously noted the inimitable Bradstreet has become enamored with the discourse of a lowly penny dreadful publisher who is amazingly enough a solicitor! Inspector Bradstreet sends over notes and telegrams and posts every few minutes. He comments on the musings of every other person who contacts this somewhat pusillanimous prevaricator to the point of obsession that is most unseemly to a Detective of his stature at Scotland Yard. Inspector Bradstreet constantly touts the musings of this discourse and seeks converts and followers with the zeal of the most fanatic Spanish evangelist or an East End tart.

I must confess that this state of affairs has dumbfounded me as I had always considered Inspector Bradstreet as an estimable personage and fount of good common sense. It seems that he is obsessed with every single missive that comes in the post. He must provide a response to every such jot and tittle. Now it has become even more troublesome as it seems he has returned to the odious Salon of Lady Chatterley to post and riposte and otherwise act the fool and the jackanape. Even worse he has pursued a strange and revolting flirtation with a former nurse who has been banned from practice because of her habit of performing abortions and mercy killings of the elderly. I cannot prove it but I believe that she was originally solicited to the Salon by Lady Chatterley’s paramour to dispose of the addled chanteuse so that the gardener might inherit the estate. Inspector Bradstreet seems to have followed this soiled nightingale from Salon to Salon to continue their perverted intercourse. It beggars the imagination to determine what joy can be found in such foul doings but I am a simple man and rely on your vaunted sophistication and sublime intellect to provide some guidance in this most troublesome matter.

Please give my best to your brother Mycroft who I recall has moved to countryside of Yorkshire to work on his art. I know that he felt moving to the country would be salubrious and conducive to his health. I just hope that he can confine his attentions to farm animals and cease his attentions to young boys that has led to the unpleasantness with the Metropolitan Police. I do not know if I can smooth over another incident. Especially if it occurs in the countryside.  As you know goats don’t lie. Or speak. A word to the wise.

I remain as always,
Your obedient servant,
Inspector G. Lestrade
November 12, 1898