“When the genius fucks up, that’s when I step in,” she told me.
Her workplace was an insignificant nook of Scotland Yard, hidden between the broom closet and the exit sign. It contained an ugly grey desk, a dial telephone, an early nineties computer and a wall of dusty filing cabinets. For 23 years she had been the Yard’s best kept secret. Now, she was about to blow the lid off its most famous consulting detective.
Read the rest of the tale and 100 more stories in 300 words or less in YOU’RE GETTING SLEEPY, THE HYPNOTIST’S APPRENTICE YAWNED.