The Bear and Barnacle

Holmes sits in his no-longer-spotless kitchen. "Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms."

The Joker sat on the ground outside the pub, looking angry and frustrated. Several of his knives lay on a pile of orange goo & seeds. Despite his propensity for knives, and his normal skill with them, this damn Halloween Pumpkin thing seemed to be beyond him. He had hacked diligently at it for a while, cleaning out the guts (though not very well), attempting eyes, then a nose, then a smile. It had been the smile where he might have gotten carried away. He ended up slicing the pumpkin almost in half. Tried to fix it, made it worse. And then came the throwing.