Sherlock Gnomes but I’ve never seen the movie, have no intention of seeing the movie, and am making up this story on my own: A Sherlock Holmes Pastiche

I did not see all the events leading up to or comprising this case myself, and yet I shall attempt to convey them without bias nonetheless. In fact, some of these events took place before I met the man that I can now hardly imagine my life without, one Mr Sherlock Gnomes. Mr Gnomes was a rather uncreatively named garden gnome who made his home one house over from my residence, and spent his days solving the mysteries that the other residents of the garden and patio area brought to his attention with the use of his extensive knowledge of all the various variables and constants that made up his world, which he had gathered through his years of experience.

The day that our story begins on began exceptionally (in that it did not fill the normal boredom-tinted pattern) for Mr Gnomes, with the news that the kiddie pool had broken and begun to flood the yard, and with the various residents of the yard calling foul play, pointing fingers left and right. Now I myself was not yet present that day, still residing in the neighbor’s yard, but my sources have told me that Mr Gnomes’s voice boomed over the ruckus, and that all the unruly parties quieted as he began to speak.

“Now there, I cannot tell why you all insist on throwing such wild accusations, when the truth of what occurred is so clear before your eyes,” he stated, and then paused for a moment, waiting to ensure the eyes or eye-adjacent features of the residents of the yard were on him, waiting to ensure that everyone else was waiting with baited breath, hanging on his every word. “Quite clearly, Mr Pink has no motivation to burst the pool, but what he does have is the means. All he need do is simply dip down for a sip of the water, and if something were to have moved his base back without him noticing, his sharp beak would puncture the pool, leaving it to deflate and flood the yard as we clearly see.”

At this statement, a ruckus broke out. “Now listen here sir! You may know many things about this garden, and you may think yourself all knowing, but I had no reason at all to do such a thing, as you yourself admitted! How dare you throw such unfounded accusations at me, sir!” the Flamingo, also known as Mr Pink, interjected, audible above the buzz.

“Indeed, sir, as I said, that is the case,” Mr Gnomes calmly responded, powering on. The others quieted as soon as they realized he was speaking again. “In fact, I said myself that you have no motivation whatsoever to do so. But what interests me is that you yourself said so, when we first began this discussion before I stepped in. You said that you have no reason to have done so, and were the first one to bring up a need for motive. So that would lead us to believe that someone had positioned you in such a spot in order to frame you. But such a sloppy attempt at framing would never have worked with me present, and any prospective criminals here would have been aware of that. So there would have to be multiple layers to this. And this leads to our final question, how would any one of us go about moving Mr Pink without his knowledge, in such a way that he would not question it?”

Here Mr Gnomes paused again, and a faint murmuring picked up amongst the assembled crowd, as they tried to puzzle out this latest mystery. “It’s quite simple,” Mr Gnomes finally answered, “you couldn’t. One could not have moved Mr Pink, so it is quite clear that he must have moved himself! Any criminals here would know that they would have to try something clever to get by me, and what is more clever than making it seem as though the true criminal has tried to frame you, with the knowledge that I would surely discard the most obvious suspect! But not so, as I have clearly proven that it was, in fact, Mr Pink who popped the kiddy pool, flooding our fair lawn, and—”

At that very moment something very unexpected happened. Imagine a photograph, as I believe this is the easiest way to convey all the small details that Mr Gnomes noticed in this moment, which he later shared with me. All the various residents of the yard were facing Mr Gnomes, intent on hearing the resolution of his deductions. The water from the pool was still seeping across the grass, forming muddy puddles like moats between many of the residents. Mr Pink was looking down, ashamed at being exposed in such a public manner. Above Mr Pink was the tree that carried over the fence at the end of Mr Gnomes’s garden into my own, with a large branch offering Mr Pink the only spot of shade that was to be found in the blistering midday sun. Now that photograph fades into reality, as time begins to progress again, as that large, leafy, and healthy branch falls. It falls directly downward, plowing through the slightly rotten tall white fence that it crept over, and continues falling until it impacts the ground with an earth shattering thud. That thud is what awoke me that fateful day, that thud and the suddenly changed horizon of the neighboring yard, and the sturdy tree branch that had fallen directly onto the deflated pool and one bright pink flamingo.

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In all of his years, seated comfortably with a clear view of the garden before him, Mr Gnomes had never encountered something like this before. The second that the shock had worn off, the denizens of the increasingly decrepit yard turned to him for answers, and for the first time in his life, I imagine, Mr Gnomes found himself without a simple answer. It was very lucky indeed that I chose that very moment to step through the remnants of the fence (nearly tripping over the discarded shovels on the way), the first of the occupants of my yard to gather the courage to venture into this new and unfamiliar landscape.

“And who might you be, sir?” Mr Gnomes asked me, none of the fear or worry that I would have been feeling visible. In fact, he seemed so calm that I checked the other fences to look for any sign of this having happened before, only to find nothing there.

“John Watson,” I introduced myself, a slight quiver in my tone. “I live in that garden over there, beyond—”

“Beyond the fence, yes,” Mr Gnomes interjected. He was silent for a moment, before seeming to remember the need to introduce himself with a start.

“My name is Sherlock Gnomes, and it is my job to determine what could have caused such a tragedy to befall the fence. And our dear Mr Pink,” and at that I gave a start, as I noticed the vibrant pink flamingo that had been crushed by the branch’s descent. I gasped, and those members of the congregation that were able to move under their own power flocked around the branch, dragging their more stationary peers with them. I hung back with Mr Gnomes, as he sat, and turned his gaze directly to me. His eyes were a startling shade of blue, and I could not bring myself to turn away.

“So,” he started, and there was a tone in his voice that I could not discern, “what happened?”

“Why sir, what makes you think I would have seen a thing? I awoke at the sound the branch made as it abruptly fell to the earth, so I have no idea what may have caused its descent,” I explained, confused as to why a man that I would later learn for certain knew so much was asking for my opinion.

“Well there must be a reason that this tragedy has taken place, and from your reactions I can assume that this is not a common occurrence in your yard. As you are a primary source as to what may have occurred to lead to this happening, and as I cannot move back and forth to see any evidence myself you may convey it to me. As such we can figure out what truly happened while the masses are occupied.” As Mr Gnomes explained this, I at once wondered how I could not have noticed this myself as it seemed so obvious, and also found myself marveling at how this came so naturally to him.

I conveyed to him all of that I had seen take place over the last few days, and from me he pried the smallest details and labeled them important evidence. After I had told him all that had happened over the past few days he nodded, and fell silent for a minute before I asked him if he would do me the favor of telling me the same. He obliged me, and so I came to learn the details that I have listed above as to what Mr Gnomes spent his morning doing.

“So, although it pains me to say it, I think it is clear to say that the culprit must have been on my side of the fence, as those are the only people who cannot be accounted for right before the branch fell,” I said after a pause, and looked to him for approval.

“Well, of course you would think that to be the case, but that is not in fact the detail that stands out most to me. You see, you mentioned that right by where the branch fell on your side was a bright green shovel. Now would you say that shovel is the brightest thing that could be moved in your garden?” he paused, and waited for me to nod before he continued again. “And on my end was placed Mr Pink, who was undoubtedly the brightest in this yard. This leads us to the final question: who moved Mr Pink?”

“But didn’t you say that you had deduced that he had moved himself for the purpose of deflating the pool earlier this morning?” I asked, recalling the story that he had told me.

“Indeed that is what I said, but I now find myself wondering if that really was the case, or if perhaps both your green shovel and my Mr Pink were moved in order to mark where the tree branch would fall. Which means that the true target was in fact the fence!” He declared this, and paused, as if he believed that explained everything. In his head, I expect it did, but I needed more guidance, and when I indicated this to him he sighed, but a gnome with as vast an intellect as his becomes used to explaining his genius to others.

However, he would not explain the rest of his solution to me until I moved him towards the neighboring garden, so that he could determine the evidence with his own two eyes. So I slowly and carefully dragged him over to the gap in the fence, and he smiled, for he had apparently proven to himself that his theory was correct.

The other denizens of the garden began to approach, having determined that there was nothing they could do for Mr Pink, hoping for an answer. Mr Gnomes was happy to supply one, which I have summarized but not transcribed exactly here, as I could never hope to truly capture his eloquence. In fact, I found myself so enraptured by his story that the words themselves eluded me.

He explained the important similarities between the two yards: the two brightly colored items, the tree branch, and the children’s toys. In his yard was the kiddie pool, and in the one I represented, clearly visible from the fence, was a sandbox (which the shovel usually resided in). Two children lived in the house connected to his yard, and one in mine, and they had decided that if they were to knock down the fence it would be easier for them to move between the two. As Mr Gnomes concluded his story, I found myself in awe, and in that moment decided to work with this man in the future to solve any mysteries that we may come across, for as long as I could find a way to cross the fence that no longer separated us.