SUPREME X SHERLOCK, the case of "The Murdered 'Preme reseller at Baker Street"

Anyone who knows me, may know one of the following three things things: I love Sherlock Holmes, I'm a teeny tiny bit obsessed with the street-wear brand SUPREME, and finally, I have way too much free time on my hands (it's called "funemployment" for a reason. Duh!). So this is my latest project, which I'm happy to share with the world. It's the upcoming, entirely fictional, Supreme collaboration, which you will be dying (quite literally) to cop: SUPREME X SHERLOCK.

Setting: Supreme London aka. 221A Baker Street, tucked beneath apartment 221B on the aforementioned street. In my version of the tale, our beloved "Speedy's café" gets bought out and undergoes ambitious renovation, transforming into the new Supreme store: go figure. For anyone who disagrees: pipe down!

So today's case: who could have guessed? It's the case of “The Murdered 'Preme reseller at

Baker Street", well that's what John called it on his blog anyway... Amongst the renovation of the new Supreme store, all the gang were getting ready for the latest release of the SUPREME X SHERLOCK collaboration. It was the night before the store opening and collection launch, everyone wanted to prize their hands on the most coveted pieces. Word on the street was that Supreme were releasing a classic Sherlock Holmes hat, which had not been included in the look-book, although this rumour could not be substantiated. The (now murdered) 'Preme reseller had gotten wind of this whisper, he had to see it for himself to know that it existed, and he had to get a peek before the queues. Therefore, he did the only thing he knew he could do, which was to decipher a (slightly dodgy) plan. He raided the store before midnight, how he did it remains a mystery, but there is a rumour that he tipped off the security guard on the door with a massive nug. Once inside, he gasped on bated breath. The hallowed interior produced no sound, but it was a perfect vacuum for trapping even the faintest of vibrations, and racketing it straight back in to the eardrums at the speed of a Williams’ sister serve. ‘Preme reseller could not control himself when he saw it; he let out a high-pitched shrill squeal that would put any pig (in uniform or not) to shame. For he had found his beloved Sherlock Holmes signature hats, and proceeded to help himself to as many as he could fit in his little paws. This quantity amounted to five articles, he was a little runt of a man, and so this is all he could muster to loot. That night, his only mission was to deliver the hats safely back to the comfort of his “studio apartment”. He fist-bumped the security guard on his way out of the shop, whose posture was considerably more horizontal that before. The tall guard laughed in a way resembling more of a hiss than a giggle. The kush hit him hard. His lungs being filled with billowing deep plumes smoke, puff after puff. As he exhaled, a silver cloud left his frontal orifices. Seemingly impossible quantities of smoke rolled out of his already broad nostrils, which were now flared like a bull. The security guard tugged on his largest dreadlock for comfort, he had not felt like this since he was back in his homeland, but now was not the occasion to reminisce about past memories too sweetly, heck, even if he wanted to, he was unable. His mind was now occupied with two burning questions: First, where did 'Preme reseller get his ganja supply from, and second, had 'Preme reseller already taken a sweet toke of the bud before the robbery? Dutch courage as it were, because in all of his (admittedly poorly organized) planning, ‘Preme reseller had made a fundamental error: he forgot to wear gloves. His paw prints were strewn all over the premises as if it were an episode of Blue's Clues. What a silly little man! Despite this mistake, 'Preme reseller managed to arrive at his final destination of the night, his illustrious "studio apartment" which was in actual fact a meagre bed-sit which he shared with his Mum (despite being 35 years of age). 'Preme reseller could not believe his luck! He had managed to pull it off, the perfect, yet badly organized crime. He clamoured over to his bunk-bed (the lower one), eager to not waste a second more in placing the five hats for sale on internet marketplace, Suptalk, for £200,000 a piece. If he could manage to sell all five, he would become a millionaire, or in the words of Twista: an ‘Overnight Celebrity’. Alas! Disaster struck, immediately after he had put the hats online, his Internet connection cut out. He was left staring gormlessly at a screen that just would not refresh, despite his seemingly unending attempts to do so. He cursed his sleeping mother for being too stingy to buy their own wireless modem, so instead they were pilfering internet from the man living next door whose network IP name was: "ICUP". This had always made 'Preme reseller feel uncomfortable, threatening his manhood, not least because his potty was situated on the wall adjacent to his neighbour's headboard. In a bed-sit with walls having the thickness of an issue of the Daily-Mail, it was an unpleasant experience for all.

By morn’, all five hats had been sold, even before the Supreme shop had ever opened its doors to the public. Funnily enough, the security guard never did return to work after that fateful night. Legend has it, he bought a cheap flight to Colorado on sky-scanner that very morning, and he never was seen again. Some say he went to investigate the booming medicinal marijuana scene? No one knew for sure. Not so happy were all the Supreme devotees who had waited in line to cop one of the signature Sherlock hats. Gully Guy Leo, a well-known Supreme collector and the UK’s closest answer to an Ian Connor type style authority was interviewed at the scene. He has been reported as saying: "It's a bloody fix mate. Supreme is just a hype brand anyway. I'm out. Out faster than a Dragon on that bleedin' den show that's also on the Beeb. I'm going back to me basement, and I'm gonna start shopping brands they sell over at Dover Street Market instead. Sod it. I never liked that Sherlock homes television show anyway. It’s shit."

But for 'Preme reseller, it was another story entirely. He had executed the perfect crime: obtaining the holy grail of Supreme hyped merchandise, and pissing off the entire "The Basement" crew in the process. The perfect crime that is, had he woken up that morning. He never did. Instead, he was found crumpled over his open laptop like a used Kleenex, with his PayPal window still open, and his goods for sale having been marked as sold. God knows how his laptop battery had managed to power through the night! A truly commendable feat, in and of itself. His mother found him as dead as a doornail when she awoke from her top-bunk later that morning. As she realised his limbs were as heavy as led, she began to wail over his lifeless body as only a mother could, mourning her only beloved son. Crying and sobbing until she remembered her tears could, perchance, fall upon the laptop keyboard. Had 'Preme reseller still had blood pumping through his veins, he would have jammed the laptop down on her fingernails as quickly as you can say: "Banned from the Suptalk community online forum for being a reseller selling at exorbitant prices, mugging off all the other sad little boys who live at home with their mummies, paying no rent, and spending all of their hard(ly) earned P's on the latest hyped shit."

And this is where our heroes make their entrance. 'Preme reseller's mother made a visit to 221B Baker Street that afternoon. Her aim was to enlist the help of Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson in order to decipher who exactly had murdered her son, and how they did it? She also wanted to decrypt her son's PayPal account password, so that she could post out the hats to their buyers, and cash in the £1 million pounds her son had made (quite possibly posthumously), into her own bank account instead. A little hesitant at first, Sherlock decides against his better judgement (as always), and decides to take on the case regardless. He and Dr Watson step out of 221B, making their way simply downstairs to the Supreme store as a first "port of call". Decked out, naturally, in all the finest threads and waviest garms from their own Supreme X Sherlock collaboration, which was now making headlines for all the right and wrong reasons. Clad in all the finest accessories too, our pair, almost all of them, except of course for Dr Watson, who regularly the exception to the rule by sporting his trusty walking stick. That was not a part of the collection.