Die! Detective! Die!

Before he died, he was known as one of the twenty Superdetectives popular throughout the world in his home country the United Kingdom. If you had asked anyone on the streets, they would immediately know the stories that had both been told about him and the ones that that been written down and published over the decades that he had been active.

He had been the one who solved the mystery of the missing legendary Sword of the King which had been stolen from the secure and underground hidden Royal Treasury which was inside a completely locked and sealed bunker twenty stories below ground.

There had been no clues or evidence to suggest that anyone would have been able to enter the system as it immediately filled a room with a mixture of liquid nitrogen and deadly poison gases which were changed daily to avoid any would-be-thieves finding the antidote.

A combination of intensive research at various libraries and a few casual flings with both male and female representatives of the Royal Family which mainly consisted of rushed dates and empty beds at night. Jonathan had quickly worked out the truth that the genuine sword had in fact been lost four hundred years before.

Oddly turned out that the copy that had been made had in fact been losing its structural integrity due to a combination of poor craftsmanship and the use of low-quality materials during the time. The old legend that whoever held the sword in their hands aloft for twenty-four hours above the Royal Palace of Scarford in the capital city of London would indeed become the new King or Queen of the United Kingdom had created mass hysteria when it had been reported missing.

Jonathan Whitlock had even defeated his arch-nemesis, the Jackallite from her plan of releasing fast-setting hardened paint above the famous football stadiums of the capital city of his beloved United Kingdom, London.

He had been merciful to her and using his brilliant use of psychometry had been able to determine that she had been posing as his young housekeeper Miss Whitterby, using her master of disguises to make her appear as a young woman far below her true age of one-hundred and fifty years.

The authorities and general public had seen their battle above the skies of Britonium as Jonathan live-streamed the entire battle across sky blimps and rigging, finally culminating in him shooting the paint release mechanism in her hand without breaking a single nail on her immaculately painted hands.

She had broken down and confessed her love for his work and admitted that the only reason that she wanted to commit so many truly heinous crimes was that had had completely neglected her work for him as a housekeeper and treated her so badly. Jonathan dealt with the whole situation in his usual manner of ultra-politeness combined with rapid speech and deconstruction of her real reasons behind the crime. An unhappy childhood deprived of chocolate drops and attention from a busy hard-working parent who neglected to give their genius daughter the attention that she craved.

A true hero to the people of Avalon, it had come as a large surprise when he was found dead in a public toilet dressed as a clown with his rear end wiped clean and a look of surprise on his face. The whole situation had immediately been kept under wraps by His Majesties Secret Service which had taken over the whole situation and worked on damage control for both the media and public gossip.

Eventually after a waiting period they had finally published to the general public that he had chosen early retirement following his triumph over his last nemesis and was planning to move to the countryside to spend his time raising chickens and kicking annoying sheep.

Only the true top levels of the government and Royalty alike were permitted to know the truth. He had been murdered a week before and the live-stream event had been entirely deep-faked.

I should know, I was the one who found him on the toilet and called the authorities and no I didn’t wipe his arse or clean him up. He had been a terrible boyfriend and an even worse superdetective. He deserved exactly what he got for cheating on me with any supervillainess he could find.

Sorry, is this thing still recording? Wait a moment. I need to go and pick up my oversized gun and matching ammo accessories to blast this. We need to move to the next part of my story and I haven’t had my morning blast of coffee with five sugars, marshmellows, whipped cream and a dose of artificial sunshine.

Today is my allowance day. I can eat what I want and drink what I want within reason. Hang on a moment, where’s my money? You paid to get in here, the hefty doorman knows that I’m here but did you even think of paying me?

Forget it. You can stop shaking. I’m not going to kill you. No, I like an audience. Here, listen to this next part once I’ve blasted your recording device into the oblivion it deserves. Just stay still, the aim on this thing is a little dodgy.