Tag Archives: holmes

William Sherlock Scott Holmes? (QUESTION)

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here with a question for my 3.5.

I’m writing a Sherlock Holmes book, but with my sense of humor. Briefly, Holmes and Watson time travel to modern times and their take on everything modern is funny.

There is a scene where Sherlock’s brother Mycroft, who has been posing as a modern day American for quite some time, saves Sherlock by helping fit in with a bunch of unruly yanks, slapping him on the back and calling him “Billy Boy” – from there on when they are in private, Mycroft calls Sherlock, William.

I thought this was his full name but after doing more research, apparently Sir Arthur Conan Doyle never called Sherlock this. The best I’ve found is that it comes from a 1962 book from another author about Holmes and apparently it has been passed down throughout fans over the years.

And it has been popularized by the famous BBC show with Benedict Cumberbatch setting Sherlock in modern times.

I guess the question is should I 86 the William Sherlock Scott Holmes and just leave him as Sherlock? In my version, he introduces himself as Sherlock Holmes. Watson always calls him Holmes. Mycroft is a double agent, sometimes posing as an American and thus refers to his brother as “Billy Boy” but when they are alone and Mycroft becomes British again he calls him William.

Writers have free reign to write about Holmes now given the 2014 copyright ruling. But I’m nervous about the William Sherlock Scott Holmes thing. If it is something passed about by fans over the years, perhaps its fine to use it. If it is more modern and created by new sources then maybe I shouldn’t touch it.

Maybe I can give him my own name like his name is Fred Phillip Sherlock Holmes or something.

It’s hard to explain. It’s just there’s a sibling rivalry in my book where Mycroft and Sherlock are constantly at odds and Mycroft calls him William to piss him off.

Overall, in my research it has been difficult to sort out what was invented by Doyle and is this fair game (Sorry Doyle) and what has been invented by more modern adaptations and thus isnt.


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Bookshelf Battle Cast – Ep. 004 – “The Hound of the Baskervilles” by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – Chapter 1 – “Mr. Sherlock Holmes”

BQB almost missed podcasting this month because he was enjoying a vacation in sunny Orlando, Florida, hobnobbing with Mickey Mouse and eating pineapples under palm trees and such.

But he came back just in time to entertain his 3.5 listeners.

Here, the world renowned poindexter reads the first chapter of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s work, “The Hound of the Baskervilles.”

Who would think that a simple stick left in a waiting room would lead to so many deductions?  We learn Holmes’ investigatory process, namely, how he can observe an item and find details and information everywhere, where others would not notice anything.  Simple little clues about the stick tell Holmes so much about its owner.

Watson believes he has received a compliment from Holmes, i.e. that the great investigator has applauded the good doctor’s observations about the stick but rather, as the chapter moves on, we learn that Holmes says that Watson is not a genius, he is not a source of light but rather, a “conductor of light.”

So…that’s a really nice way of telling Holmes that he was wrong but by being so wrong he helped Holmes figure out what was right.

Talk about backhanded compliments.


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BQB and the Meaning of Life – Part 16 – Blandie All Over Again?


Dead on the can.  Back to life in search of the meaning of life.

Read Parts 1-5 here.

BQB talks to his bookshelf characters.

Read Parts 6-13

BQB leaves on a jet plane to Pango Tango in search of the Great Guru.

Read Part 14

BQB learns he has a ridiculous amount in common with his new female acquaintance.  Also, we learn BQB’s real name.  What a bombshell.  The press have been calling nonstop.  Or is it nonstart?  Oh, and Holmes and Watson are stowaways.

Read Part 15

“What the hell are you two doing here?” I asked in a whisper to the pair of sleuths.

I let them out of the bag and they hopped out onto my tray table.

“I wonder if someone will make this character I’ve worked so hard on become a Pootie Tang fan.” – Thought that never crossed poor Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s mind

“Mr. Battler,”  Holmes said.  “You’re undertaking a dangerous journey, one that Watson and I had a hand in pushing you on.  We could not in good conscience allow you to go alone.”

The stewardess tapped me on the shoulder.  The detectives froze into position.

“Complimentary beverage sir?”

“Yes,”  I said.  “Generic brand cola please.”

She poured me one and then smiled at my stiff gumshoes.

“Cute toys,”  the stewardess said.  “You should really leave them in the box though.  That’s the only way they’ll appreciate in value.”

“That’s good to know,”  I said, hoping she’d move on.

“My son’s a big toy collector,”  the stewardess continued.  “Never plays with them.  Just keeps them in the boxes.”

“Doesn’t sound like much fun,”  I said.

“Not really,”  the stewardess said.  “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Can I get one for my neighbor?”  I asked.

“Sure.”  The stewardess poured another generic brand cola and set it on Vicky’s table.  She pushed her cart down the aisle.

Holmes and Watson gasped for air.

“You two didn’t think of that, did you?”  I asked.  “We’re in public, geniuses.  You’re going to be gasping for air every two seconds.”

“Forget that,”  Holmes said.  “Mr. Battler, do you realize you’re screwing the proverbial pooch with your new female friend?”

“Excuse me?”  I asked.

“Ms. Stratenhaus!”  Holmes said.  “You have so much in common with her it is bloody well uncanny!”

“I concur,”  Watson said.

“You both were interested in pie in the sky occupations,”  Holmes said.  “You and your desire to become a writer, her and her love of video game design.  You both sold out your dreams only to find mediocre positions at boring companies.  In fact, you both literally hold the same exact position at your respective places of business!”

“And you both have long, peculiar names,”  Watson said.

“Precisely!”  Holmes said.  “But other than your name, and a brief reference to wanting to be a writer, you have not shared with Ms. Stratenhaus the many similarities you share with her.  Tell her that you too quit your dream for a boring life and you now regret your decision!  Tell her that a woman left you under similar circumstances!  It will bring you both closer together!”

“I can’t do that,”  I said.  “It would be Blandie all over again.”

“Who?”  Watson asked.

“Ms. Bland Life Settler,”  Holmes said.  “Consult your copious notes, Watson.  Doing so will refresh your memory.”

Watson pulled out his notepad and flipped through the pages.

“Ahh yes!”  Watson said.  “The woman who broke Mr. Battler’s heart.”

In case you forgot about BQB's Ex-Girlfriend, Blandie

In case you forgot about BQB’s Ex-Girlfriend, Blandie

“There’s no mystery here,”  Holmes said as he paced about the tray.  “Mr. Battler poured his heart and soul out to Ms.Settler.  He told her about his hopes, his dreams, his fears, his aspirations.  He told her how he wanted to be a writer and rather than be loving and supportive, she turned around and used that fact against him, calling him an idle daydreamer before flying the proverbial coup.”

“She also made many assertions regarding his lack of prowess in the boudoir,”  Watson said as he looked over his notes.

“Read them, Watson,”  Holmes said as he chewed on the end of his pipe.

Total deja-vu.

“No,”  I said.  We’ve already been through this, dummies.   And put that pipe away.  You know how many laws you’ll break if you smoke on an international flight?”

“Good Lord,”  Holmes said as he tucked his pipe into his cloak.  “This highly regulated police state you live in, Mr. Battler.  It’s like Moriarty won.”

“Get back in the bag,”  I said.  “Vicky will be back any second and you guys can’t hold your breathe that long.”

My charges/pains in the butt complied and scurried into my bag just in time to avoid my new friend’s return.

“Aww!”  Vicky said.  “I love generic brand cola!”

“Me too,” I said. “I think it’s the extra generic-ness.”

“So, Ed!  Tell me, if you don’t like air travel, why are you on a plane?”

“Oh,” I said.  “You know.  Just business.”

“Going somewhere special?”  Vicky asked.

I coughed to clear my throat.

“Pango-Tango,”  I said.

Vicky raised a surprised eyebrow.

“I know,”  I said.  “The war going on there.  All over the news.  Kind of a stupid place to visit I guess.”

“No,”  Vicky said.  “Not at all!  I’m going there too!”

I didn’t even bother to ask, “Seriously?” 

I just nodded.

“If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?”  Vicky asked.

“I promise,”  I said.

“Pinky swear,”  Vicky said.

We locked pinky fingers.

“Because you know you’ll rot in eternal hellfire and damnation if you break a pinky swear,”  Vicky said.

I liked her.  She was quirky, like me. 

“So I hear,”  I said.

“I died a few days ago,”  Vicky said.

I couldn’t help myself.  “Seriously?”

“Seriously,”  Vicky replied.  “I…oh, I can’t tell you this story.  It’s so gross.”

“No judgments here,”  I said.

“I’m still surprised this was even scientifically possible,”  Victoria said.  “But I ate a concentrated hurricane in the form of a jelly donut.”

Find out how Vicky died after eating a concentrated hurricane in the form of a jelly donut on the next episode of BQB and the Meaning of Life!

Sherlock and angry woman images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Copyright Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.  (All Rights Reserved).  (With my usual apology to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)

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BQB and the Meaning of Life – Part 11 – A Most Annoying Manner


Our hero, BQB dies on the toilet, much like Elvis except with more lightning.  He returns to life after being advised by William Shakespeare to seek the meaning of life.  Thus far, all he has managed to do is eat cornflakes while resting his butt on a prescription donut pillow whilst being lectured by the greatest detective of all time.


PART 6             PART 8          PART 10

PART 7              PART 9


“Look,” I said. “I’m not an idiot. I realize Blandie is never coming back. But she was an important part of my life for years. So what if I keep a picture of her around?”

“Prominently displayed on the wall behind your kitchen table,” Holmes said.

“And so what if I changed my life for her?” I asked. “Maybe she was the reason in the beginning, but after awhile, I stayed in the business world because I believed there was a better chance of success for me as a businessman than as a writer. Everyone who can push a pencil thinks he can write. I thought at least in business there would not be as much competition. I had no idea the economy would tank and a lousy assistant’s assistant job would be all I could find.

“And every day you wonder what would have been had you taken the time you spent rising to a go-nowhere job at Beige Corp. and applied it to your love of the English language,” Holmes said.

Average Beige Corp employee.

Average Beige Corp employee.

I banged my forehead against the table with a thud.

“Yes,” I said. “You’re right. Every day of my life I wonder exactly that.”

“I’ve done it again, Watson!”

“You’ve solved the case, Holmes?”

“Elementary, my dear Watson,” Holmes said. “Elementary! Mr. Bookshelf’s testicles now reside in a mason jar prominently displayed on his ex-girlfriend’s night stand!”

“Highly unlikely, Holmes.”

“I’m speaking metaphorically, man!”

“You know, Old Sports,” Gatsby chimed in. “Some of us are trying to read the funny papers.”

“Guys,” I said. “I appreciate you trying to help. But that isn’t even what’s been bothering me lately.”

“Then please, Mr. Bookshelf,” Watson said. “Unload your burden on our ears, sir. It is the least we can do for the room and board you provide us.”

“You wouldn’t believe me,” I said.

“We’ve seen many unbelievable things,” Holmes said.

I sighed.

“After the toilet incident, I briefly died,” I said. “I found myself in God’s waiting room, where William Shakespeare, the greatest writer of our common language, informed me that he had been appointed as my spiritual guide. He then told me that the best experience man can hope for is a brief, fleeting moment of contentment, and that can only be provided by discovering the meaning of life, the path toward which I will find in a most annoying manner.”

Holmes, Watson, and Gatsby all shot blank stares in my general direction.

“Sounds like somebody needs to lay off the goofy juice, Old Sport.”

“You guys don’t believe me?” I asked.

“Mr. Bookshelf,” Holmes said. “My archenemy is a traitorous university professor. Watson and I once encountered a case that involved allegations of a murderous ghost dog. Your claim of meeting the Bard after dying in your latrine does not provide me with any doubt whatsoever. Watson and I shall gladly help you solve this mystery.”

“Indeed we shall,” Watson said.

“It will be even greater than the case we just solved moments ago,” Holmes said. “The Case of the Meaning of Life!”

“I always thought it was to eat a balanced diet, perform your calisthenics without fail, and when in doubt, swallow a heaping table spoon of cod liver oil,” Watson said.

“You’re thinking of how to live a clean life,” Holmes said. “We’re talking about the meaning of life.”

“Party all day and convince others you’re better than they think you are, Young Duffer,” Monroe said.

“That actually doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” I replied.

“Bark! Bark! Bark!”

Unnoticed by me, Bookshelf Q. Battle Dog had left the kitchen and made his way to the living room.

“Now then, Watson,” Holmes said. “We must return to the bookshelf and consult Mr. Bookshelf’s volumes pertaining to science, religion, philosophy, and spirituality.”


Bookshelf Q. Battle Dog’s barks grew louder and louder.

“A wise course of action, Holmes,” Watson said. “Surely some scholar has expounded upon the meaning of life.”


“Battle Dog!” I yelled. “Keep it down in there!”

“Devise a list of noted philosophers, Watson,” Holmes said. “We will start with the modern thinkers and work our way backwards until…”


“I say,” Holmes said. “Is it possible to shut that hound’s mouth…his incessant yammering is really most…”

Holmes and I looked at each other, smiled, then said it together.


Surely you are brimming with anticipation over the next part of BQB and the Meaning of Life!  Stop begging.  You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow.

Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

Oh Sir Arthur Conan Doyle please forgive me.

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BQB and the Meaning of Life – Part 9 – The Game is Afoot!


BQB dies, is told he needs to seek the meaning of life, and returns to the land of the living.


PART 6 – BQB wakes up in the hospital.  Dr. Goetleib lost the bet.

PART 7 – Two characters apologize for their tomfoolery.

PART 8 – BQB thinks about calling on Joel LL Torrow’s pimp hand.

Corn flakes. They weren’t gooey. They weren’t fruity. They weren’t warm. They just sat there like a boring pile of mush, a grim reminder of what my life had become.

Three days had passed since the “lightning strike.” I sat in my kitchen, propped up on my butt donut, eating an unremarkable breakfast. I was too scared to even look at another toaster pastry.

From the stairwell, I heard some dog barks, followed by two distinctly British voices.

“Step lively, canine!” one of the voices yelled. “The game is afoot!”

Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's infamous detective.

Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s infamous detective.

“Holmes, I don’t believe that Mr. Bookshelf wishes to be disturbed,” the other voice said. “It is my opinion as a professional physician that he needs to rest.”

“Nonsense, Watson!” the first voice said. “Trying times such as these are when our assistance is needed the most!”

I ate a spoonful of corn flakes and watched as my pet, the aptly named Bookshelf Q. Battle Dog, trotted into the kitchen. Riding on his back were none other than notorious super sleuth Sherlock Holmes and his colleague, the wise and knowledgeable Dr. John Watson. (Tiny versions of their literary selves, obviously).

Among his many duties, Bookshelf Q. Battle Dog was the head of Bookshelf Battle Headquarters Security. He was one of those little yippy purse dogs, so he was more than qualified to bark his head off whenever a visitor came a-calling.

He jumped up onto the chair next to me, dropped his passengers off onto the table, then took a nap on the chair.

“Bookshelf Q. Battler!” Holmes said. “How are you man?”

“Oh,” I said. “For a guy who recently launched a lightning bolt out of my nether regions, I can’t complain.”

Dr. Watson in his younger days, before he grew a stache.

Dr. Watson in his younger days, before he grew a mustache.

Watson stroked his chin and stared at me.

“Signs of lethargy,” the good doctor said. “Depression. An intense pallor of ennui. I stand corrected, Holmes. You were right. The caretaker of our bookshelf requires assistance posthaste.”

“Elementary, my dear Watson,” Sherlock said. “Elementary.”

Holmes wore a cloak and one of those odd hats, you know, the ones that look like two baseball caps sewn together back to back. Watson had a handlebar mustache, a bowler hat, and wore a tweed jacket with patches on the elbows.

“You know guys,” I said. “I get that I’m saddled with the burden of taking care of a bunch of small book characters for the rest of my life, but I’d really appreciate it if you all would make an effort to not get in my face before I’ve had my morning coffee.”

Holmes puffed on a pipe, blew a few smoke rings, then raised a triumphant finger in the air.


“Yes Holmes?”

“We’ve defeated Professor Moriarty, haven’t we?” the world’s greatest detective asked.

“Indeed, Holmes.”

“Colonel Moran?” Holmes asked.

“Most assuredly.”

“We solved the case of the Hound of the Baskervilles?”

“A most troublesome caper,” Watson replied. “But we certainly did solve it.”

“How many times have we saved Old Brittania from certain ruin at the hands of various and sundry villainous masterminds?” Holmes asked.

“More times than this old sawbones can count, Holmes,” Watson said.

“And yet, with my powers of deduction, I do postulate that we will now solve the most inscrutable, most diabolical, most grueling case we have heretofore ever encountered!”

“What is it, Holmes?”

Holmes spun around and looked directly up at me through the lens of his magnifying glass.

“The Case of the Missing Bookshelf Caretaker’s Testicles!”

Will Holmes and Watson discover what happened to BQB’s testicles?  Return to bookshelfbattle.com for the next installment of this epic tale to find out!

Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015.  All Rights Reserved. 

Fun fact – As reported in Variety and other news sources, Sherlock Holmes is so old that he’s in the public domain!  That means he can be used anywhere and I’m sure Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would be doing backflips in his grave if he were to ever learn about his appearance on this blog.

Even so, while Holmes and Watson may belong to the ages now, we’ll never forget that he is Sir Arthur’s legendary creation.

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