Holmes and Watson were on a camping trip, a rare foray into the wilderness for the usually city-bound duo. Holmes, naturally, had packed a magnifying glass, a meticulously planned itinerary, and enough tea for a small army. Watson, less prepared, carried mostly enthusiasm and a slightly leaky flask of whisky.
Their tent, a flimsy thing Watson had insisted on buying because it was “on sale,” was proving to be their biggest challenge. They’d wrestled with the poles, battled the guy ropes, and generally looked like two particularly clumsy squirrels attempting to build a nest out of a crumpled newspaper.
“Blast it all, Watson!” Holmes exclaimed, his usually precise movements frustrated into a flurry of flailing arms. “This infernal contraption defies all logic!”
Watson, wiping mud from his brow, offered a sympathetic, if slightly slurred, “Indeed, Holmes. It seems to possess a rather… independent will of its own.”
After half an hour of struggling, the tent remained stubbornly un-erected, a chaotic pile of canvas and metal. Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the clearing, catching the loose fabric. It billowed upwards, a ghostly sail, carrying with it the entirety of their camping equipment – including Holmes’ precious magnifying glass and Watson’s leaky flask.
Holmes watched in horrified fascination as their belongings soared into the sky. Then, a sheepish grin spread across his face. He turned to Watson, a twinkle in his eye. “Elementary, my dear Watson,” he said. “It appears our camping trip has been… unexpectedly airborne.” Watson, still reeling from the loss of his whisky, simply groaned and muttered, “Perhaps next time we’ll stick to solving mysteries indoors.”
