Болезненная фантазия авторов изданного фанфикшена по Конан Дойлю, в частности, полоумного
The Hound of the D'Urbervilles, работает все так же, как и наша, - по методу всеобщего скрещивания: кажется, в одном из моих неоконченных фиков о братце Майкрофте герцог все же явился, пусть и не в этом виде и с чужих слов xD
(материал для взрослых)***
‘Here's the thing of it,' she said. ‘Have you heard of the Duke of Strelsau?'
‘Michael Elphberg, so-called "Black Michael", third in line to the throne of Ruritania.'
‘That's the fellow, Prof. Things being slow this season, I've been knocking around a bit with Black Mike. They call him that because of his hair, which is dark where the rest of his family's is flame-red. He's a gloomy, glowering type as well so it suits him on temperamental grounds too. As it happens, photographs were taken of the two of us in the actual pursuit of knocking around. Artistic studies, you might say. Six plates. Full figures. Complete exposures. It would ruin my reputation should they come to light. You see, I'm being blackmailed!'
Her voice cracked. She raised a kerchief to her eye to quell a tear, then froze, a picture of slighted maidenhood. Moriarty shook his head. She stuffed the hankie back into her sleeve and snorted.
‘Worth a try just to keep my hand in. I'm a better actress than critics say, don't you know? Obviously, I'm not being blackmailed. Like you said, there are stingers and stingees. We are stingers.'
‘And the stingee?'
‘Another bloody colonel. Colonel Sapt. Chief of the Ruritanian Secret Police. Which has been a dozy doddle for the last thirty years, since it's one of the most peaceable, least-insurrection-blighted spots on the map. Not so much as a whiff of dissent since forty-eight. When, admittedly, the mob burned down the old White Palace. There are very scenic gardens on the site. Anyway, intrigue stirs. King Rudolf is getting on, and there's some doubt about who gets the throne next. Rudolf the Red, the Crown Prince, is set on shoring up his case by marrying his cousin, Princess Flavia. Where do they get these names? If you put them in an opera, you'd be laughed off stage. Rudolf is fond of a tipple and a tumble, and Black Michael would like to paint himself as the more responsible, conscientious brother. He hopes, for some bizarre reason, to appeal to the people and be acclaimed a worthy sovereign if Rudolf trips up a few more times and does something silly like not arriving at his own coronation. Sapt is loyal to Rudolf, and dead set against Michael. Lord knows why, but there you are. Some people are like that. He's also a keen appreciator of the aesthetic worth of a fine photo.'
‘I see,' I said, ‘this Sapt thinks to blacken Michael's name - further blacken, I suppose - so the duke will never be king.'
Irene Adler looked at me with something like contemptuous pity.
‘Horse feathers, Colonel of the Nuts. If those pics were seen, Black Mike'd be the envy of Europe. He'd be crowned in a wave of popularity. Everyone loves a randy royal. Look at Vicky's brood. No, Sapt wants the photographs off the market, so Mikey can be nagged into marriage by Antoinette de Mauban, his persistently pestering mistress. Which would scupper any chance he might have with Flavourless Flavia.'
(с)
...за исключением общего идиотизма постановки вопроса и более чем примитивного юмора - не правда ли, довольно мило?)