Sherlock Bones and the Regicide
This out of date monstrosity was written in a drunken stupor in the space of 20 minutes while on holiday so it probably sucks and unlike the others requires some actual Sherlock Holmes knowledge, but must be posted nonetheless to ensure room for future Bones Adventures
Sherlock Bones's last adventure may look tasteless in retrospect, but consider it from his perspective. All he had been trying to do was continue to fight for the bone density of a nation, and now he found his face (even though persons of flesh can rarely distinguish skulls) plastered across the news.
"Terrorist Sherlock Bones and his associate Dr Long Wishbone have been named today as the assassin's of Queen Elizabeth II. The pair, despite styling themselves as crimefighters, have recently been involved in a range of shocking attacks on political figures: first, He spammed the modqueue of shittynosleep until the subreddit was banned, and actively prevents anyone taking it over. Margaret Thatcher's grave was desecrated, and Prime Minister Elizabeth Truss burned so badly that she now looks like a goblin-sorry correction coming in, she always looked like that and the burns may have actually improved her slightly- Leader of the opposition Keir Starmer had the utter shit kicked out of him, and then his predecessor Jeremy Corbyn and beloved sex pest Alex Salmond were blown to bits along with a busload of Palestinian Children. The Children were then reassembled as Skeleturchins called the Milker Street Intestineless. All these foul acts have behind them the same mastermind, none other than Sherlock Bones, who has topped the lot by installing Prince Charles on the throne, a crime we cannot come close to comprehending. He is the Cromwell of crime, a fat, bloated spider pulling on a thousand webs..."
Wishbone turned off the television in disgust. They both knew the real cause of the Queen's death had been having her 96-year-old pussy pounded by Phil's boney hips. Phillip should have made allowances for how much stiffer Boners are than human penises, and the damage Skeletels had used them to inflict over the centuries. Sherlock Bones should know, his beloved Grandmother had entirely lost her wits after allowing a skeletel to take her home from bingo night. That it had been fully consensual and she'd recounted the experience with glee to her elderly grandson at length gave Sherlock Bones no comfort at all.
"Phillip's framed us Wishbone, It's the only possible deduction. He couldn't have the truth coming out, so he fucked us worse than his wife! We'll just have to capture him alive, and force him to confess on video."
"But how Bones old chum? All the security services are hunting for us."
"We'll just have to lure him somehow Wishbone. Say, are you still friends with that Afghan gent from the war who runs a souvenir and repellent American pseudo-chocolate shop on Red Leister Square?"
"Why yes Bones-"
"Capital! We'll get him to fit us up with part time jobs and disguises so outdated and culturally offensive only someone as old and tactless as Prince Philip himself will even realise that we're supposed to be Afghans to comment on them. It cannot fail!
They set up station in the shop, bones cunningly disguised by a fez and false beard and moustache. Sure enough, Prince Phillip was soon cantering along to insult him.
"Nice fucking Fez Abdul, ever taken a fucking shit in it?" The skelentaur threw back its head to laugh while the footman's own skull cringed at the determined racism.
Bones looked up slowly, knowing all depended on whether accent was offensive enough.
"Aha very good boss. I use as bucket to give you treat of-"
With that, Bones slammed the fezful of disgusting American sweets onto Phillip's skel while Wishbone leapt from out of a tub of horrible American 'chocolate', pouring cans of bone rotting coca cola onto the joins between Phillip's body and the enslaved footman's.
Bones had deduced correctly, and the Consort's torso fell fez first off his slave's body onto the floor. Wishbone poured more coca cola onto his wristbones till the Duke was no more than a fez and ribcage. The footman they would keep as a pet.
"Give it up your Boneness, we've got you beat. Now tell us the truth about you killing your wife rather than us or we'll feed you American chocolate."
Prince Phillip screamed into his non-consensual hat.
"NO! ANYTHING BUT THAT! I'LL SAY WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT TO CLEAR YOUR FUCKING NAMES... but it really wasn't all the fucking hot sex we had that killed my fucking wife... I used fucking hummus as fucking lube so it didn't hurt her fucking cunt at fucking all. It was a few fucking nights fucking later, while I was fucking playing fucking Spec Ops: the fucking Line. I heard a scream from her room 'Marrowbone!' and went running. By the time I fucking got there... she was fucking dead... Shot full of fucking bullets made out of- I'm sorry to curse like this but ...American chocolate... God my mouth feels dirty now- so she couldn't even live again as a Skeleton, Skeletel, or even a Skulleten. I knew that you're the world's foremost bone Crime expert, and that I'd need your help to find out what had happened... but I didn't think you'd talk to me after our last run in, so I put the security services on your tail... I should have known you'd outwit them, and me..." It was only then he looked up to see that Bones and Wishbone were standing slackjawed in horror.
"Only one skeleton is cruel enough to make bullets made out of American Chocolate, and his name is Marrowbone. Colonel Calcium Marrowbone, a known killer of his fellow skeletons. The second most dangerous undead beast in London... save only one... his master, Professor Nomorearteries!"
Credited to scannerofcrap
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