The continuing continuation comes to a conclusion. Conclusively.
"Come on then, let's see what you've got" Haversham chuckled, feinting to his left, and attempting to land a blow to Holmes' face. Holmes dodged this easily, manoeuvred himself behind Haversham and connected with a right hook to his kidneys. Haversham whirled around unsteadily, and tried an uppercut. Holmes ducked with the grace of a ballerina, causing his hat to dislodge itself, leant forward on one foot and punched Haversham squarely on the nose. He stumbled backwards, slipped on the chrysalis that had somehow found its way onto the floor, and tumbled over, his head cracking audibly against the hardwood floor as he went. I stepped over to his prone form and quickly checked his vitals, expecting the worst. Fortunately he was merely unconscious. I glanced over to see Holmes dusting off his deerstalker and replacing it atop his head. He then walked over to where Mrs Haversham lay, and, ever the gentleman, sat her up gently as she came to, explaining what had just happened.
“Oh Mr Holmes, I simply must apologise for my husband’s beastly behaviour. I just hope he won’t bear any grudge towards you.”
Holmes laughed at this. “Madam, if he so wishes, he may challenge me to a rematch, although I would attempt to dissuade him from this particular course of action!”
Finally, he bent down and kissed her outstretched hand, then shook it and stood up to face me. We left the building without a word between us, and it wasn’t until we were journeying homewards in a cab that Holmes turned to me and spoke.
"Watson, my friend, what I told that man was a lie. He wasn't the victim of a dastardly plot dreamt up by a vengeful tailor. He was the victim of something far worse."
I gasped, and swivelled to face Watson. In all my years of knowing him, I'd never been witness to him lying.
"It turns out, Watson, that there is a foe sweeping this city which even my quite brilliant powers of observation will be unable to stop. Sexual awakening. I read about it in a book or other many years ago, but thought it to be myth until just a few weeks previously. But now it seems more and more people are succumbing to this psychological succubus."
I reeled at the information Holmes was laying out before me, struggling to take it all in.
"People are slowly realising that they can have sexual intercourse for pleasure", he whispered, hissing the last word between gritted teeth. "And we're looking at a full blown sexual revolution on our hands. Still, there'll always be you and me, eh Watson? Watson?"
I heard not a word more of Holmes' diatribe, for at that very moment I leapt from the moving carriage and had it away on my legs up Baker Street. The reason, you ask? Why, to engage in the wanton act of consensual procreation with my wife, of course. I am a red-blooded male, at the end of the day...
I actually sent this story in its entirety to a Manchester-based writing collective who shall remain nameless. Apparently, it wasn't what they were looking for...