This was my Descriptive Essay on Sherlock Holmes (2009)
The scene where Sherlock and John inspect the Ginger Midget’s apartment.
I fixed up a few errors that were brought to my attention (I had got a 99/100 because of them). So this is the “Perfected” version.
Hope Ya’ll Enjoy!
At the Ginger Midget’s Flat
“I have to go see Mary,” Doctor John Watson hastens to say while giving his companion the look that reads “as a matter of fact.” He quickly fidgets with his walking cane with his gloved hand; the black leather fits tightly around his palm and fingers. The townspeople chatter away with glee and ambition, gambling their life’s savings in board games and moving large bales of hay around. The consultant detective Sherlock Holmes turns back to Watson, and, with a bothered look on his face, replies, “Give her my best.” Holmes looks forward to his goal, an old black wooden door which seems re-painted and polished, and then turns back to Watson. “And her family, as well,” he concludes, as he reaches the door that leads to the Ginger Midget’s abode.
Sherlock reaches an older, beaten black door, with the black paint chipped at several places, and knocks on it four times. When no one answers, Holmes opens his side pouch and reveals an abundance of lock-picking paraphernalia. As he picks the lock with determination only a child could have in putting the circle block in the square hole, Watson kicks the door down like the annoyed mother who decides to show the child where the block really goes. Holmes, at first startled, looks up at Watson as if stating, “Yeah, I knew that.” A victorious smirk shines in Holmes’s face as he prophesizes, “It does make a considerable difference to me having someone with me on whom I can thoroughly rely,” a slight sarcastic ring hits at the end of the sentence. Holmes and Watson enter a dull room where the only light source is received from the open windows. The smoked, dark grey walls, brick on one side of the room and wood on the other, are tagged in markings, some lines and curves forming various shapes and shades of white. Other markings seem to be made of scratches, claw marks perhaps, and from various sharp objects. Watson glances at the floor and disarms a rusted bear trap as if it is something he does on a daily basis. Various nick-knacks hang from the ceiling, just out of reach from the two men’s hat-covered heads.
A slightly foul stench surrounds the room, masking the alluring perfume that only Holmes could unravel. “Ah! Putrefaction,” Holmes deducts as he names Irene Adler’s Parisian perfume with nostalgic tone as he inhales the aroma. As Holmes struts further into the flat, an ample amount of glass containers cover the counters, many holding unknown substances and objects inside of them. Various other objects cover the counters, wires hanging from the edges and burnt powders placed on test tables. A rotten ram skull lies on the floor, attracting flies to the flat and releasing a deadly odor. Holmes names two of the scents, “Phosphorous. Formaldehyde,” and as he states them with a knowing expression on his face, he finds a peculiar, burnt powdered substance on a flat rock. Watson locates etches on a window, which is splattered with dried-up liquids, equations filling up the center of the glass. Holmes notices a few burnt pages on a scalded old barrel, ashes covering the top of the barrel’s cap. The detective and the doctor name off two substances which will allow them to see any markings on the shriveled pages as long as the burn is not severe. As Watson works on his endeavors, Holmes eyes a small glass bottle and sniffs it, a peculiar, slightly acidic scent rising from the inside of the bottle. He notices a couple of dried honey combs in a bowl— a butter knife penetrating the middle of the comb sitting up. The detective notices two leaves set up on a tin can as well, the leaves being held up by four sticks. Finally, a copper can which is filled with a liquid substance and deceased frogs is found by the detective.
As Holmes sniffs an off-white rag he uses to wipe the edge of the container, Watson finishes his project, the Blackwood crest mocking them as it lays sprawled on the blank page it was etched on by Watson’s chemical formula. The crest confirms Holmes’s suspicions that the Ginger Midget works for Lord Blackwood, but now only wonders to what extent. The two friends enter the next room, more wooden counters covered in many more glass flasks and containers. Cobwebs cover the ceiling, hanging down towards Holmes’s face as he proceeds into the room. While looking at a few more articles which lie on another counter, he smells an unusual sweet scent which he cannot put his finger on. Watson turns to notice a couple of men munching on a toffee apple. Holmes realizes that the two men are there to burn down all helpful evidence which resides in the apartment. The two men glare at them with remorse, which can only be seen in the glint of their eyes. “Just one minute, boys,” teases the man to the right as he calls a rather tall, burly man named Dredger.
“Meat, or potatoes?” asks Holmes to Watson, Holmes pointing to Dredger and the two slightly lanky men respectively. Holmes sighs with the knowledge that soon they will all destroy further chances of obtaining more evidence. Content with what he now knows, they all proceed to a brawl inside of the flat, breaking the flimsy wooden poles which mark the ends and beginnings of countertops. As they pummel the contents of the apartment to dust with the brawl, the detective and the doctor lay waste to the two enemies before they leave to follow the muscled Dredger. Through the limited time he has in the flat, Sherlock Holmes confirms what he already suspects of the Ginger Midget’s association with Lord Blackwood.
No one can use this as their own property. This essay was written by, and own by me— Gerardo Correa. Originally written June 19, 2012.