The Infamous Bone Watch of Sherlock Holmes
"Don't you see? It's not true. None of it was true!"
His voice was loud enough now to attract the attention of the entire bar. The pocket watch that took fourteen years to track down sat in front of me. I could hear it ticking.
"My father never met Sir Doyle! Is that what you're trying to get me to say? It was all a lie! A hoax! My father wouldn't have even known how to butcher a deer let alone a human body."
He was standing now. Sweat matted what little hair he had. He grabbed the large glass ashtray and raised it up over his head. It looked comical with ash and butts falling down over his suit. That's why I hadn't predicted what he was about to do. The ashtray crashed down and bit into the pocket watch. The back piece split and a white half moon skittered across the table hitting a half finished bottle of beer.
"So you think this is the famous Watch of Bone?!"
I was frozen as I watched him destroy my life's work. His words became animalistic shouts and the ashtray rose and fell. To my left I caught a glimpse of people rushing toward our table, but my eyes were fixed on the decaying watch. Even in the dim light of the bar I could see a labyrinth of scrimshawed gears that were yellowed with age and the tendon which formed the spring was still fresh and pink and throbbing.
Ungeheuer was a huge fan of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He once spent a large amount for a rare edition of a Doyle novel. Anna was so angry with the purchase she refused to let him into the house until the book was returned. Two days later, however, she retrieved both the stubborn Ungeheuer and the book from a local tavern in order to keep him from spending even more of their money on food and alcohol.