SherlockMS and the Uprising at the Waterworks

On my desk lies a crime of subtle almost poetic malice. A crime not committed in alleyways, but in the hidden subway tunnels of the brain. I call it: The Case of the Swollen Waterworks.

Act I: The Crime Scene Emerges

It began with a curious pattern in Neuron City, the bustling metropolis inside our skulls. More and more patient files landed on my desk, and across MRI scans a peculiar detail kept recurring: a suspicious “puffing up” of a structure most people barely notice, an overlooked district of cerebral geography. The choroid plexus.

“Ah, Watson,” I said, studying my loyal companion’s face with a blend of affection and deep sympathy, “I see the words choroid plexus have struck you the way Shakespeare strikes a Scotland Yard inspector: with confusion, mild fear, and a desire to leave the room.”

“Sit down. Take a biscuit. I shall translate. Imagine Neuron City not as a simple town, but as the British Empire in miniature: complex, bureaucratic, and convinced it is the center of everything. In such an empire, there are ministries and agencies.”

And the choroid plexus—let’s call it Plexi, because it deserves a nickname, runs three of them at once.

1) The Ministry of Rivers, Canals, and Waste Disposal

“Plexi operates the brain’s waterworks. It produces most of the cerebrospinal fluid, your brain’s own clear ‘river system.’ This fluid cushions the delicate crown jewels (your neurons), helps deliver supplies, and most importantly acts like a sanitation service.”

“Think of it as the Thames, but cleaner, quieter, and far more essential. It keeps everything afloat, stable, and politely rinsed.”

2) The High-Security Gatehouse 

“But that’s merely Plexi’s day job. The second role is where people get things wildly wrong.”

“Watson, listen carefully: the choroid plexus is not the blood–brain barrier. That is the city wall, thick, serious, and designed to keep out the blunt attacks.”

“No. Plexi is the gatehouse, the refined checkpoint at the entrance to the inner palace district. It manages a special border: the blood–CSF barrier. In plain terms, it helps decide what gets from blood into the brain’s fluid system.”

“A fussy little customs office with a magnificent ‘No’ stamp.”

3) The Most Exclusive Club Bouncer on Earth

“And as if running waterworks and border security weren’t enough, Plexi also functions as the doorman for the most exclusive club in existence: the central nervous system.”

“It can help regulate immune surveillance, who gets waved in for a discreet patrol and who is stopped with a firm, polite, absolutely final: ‘Not tonight.’”

“So, in summary, Watson: waterworks, border control, immune bouncer. An underestimated power broker.” “And if that power broker suddenly swells…” I leaned in. “…then something is very wrong with the city.”

The Call from Radiology

The night the case truly began, a young, overly earnest resident phoned me from the radiology basement.

“Boss… something’s bigger. And it’s not just my caffeine problem.” On the MRI: a conspicuously enlarged choroid plexus.

My first hypothesis was immediate: If the waterworks are swelling, either the pressure has changed or the security situation has escalated.

Naturally, Watson offered the classic layperson’s objection: “But Sherlock… couldn’t this just be the ventricles getting bigger? The brain shrinks a bit, spaces expand, things look larger…”

“Nice try, Watson,” I replied, allowing myself one milligram of mercy. “But this isn’t simply the city stretching. This looks like the waterworks themselves are changing. Not collateral damage.”

“It’s a signal."

“It’s a crime scene.”

Act II: Suspects, Motives, and Red Herrings

I began interviewing the usual villains of Neuron City—purely metaphorically, of course, within the mind palace (which, unlike Scotland Yard, has excellent lighting and no bad coffee).

Suspect One: The Velcro Syndicate “These are the ‘sticky’ mechanisms that help immune cells latch onto vessel walls. In normal times, this is useful like orderly passport control.”

“In bad times, it’s chaos: too much sticking, too much lingering, too many cells getting ideas above their station. In my analogy: the bouncers are handed far too many VIP wristbands and lose control of the door.”

Suspect Two: The Cytokine Whisperers “A network of inflammatory messengers - rumours in molecular form - spreading panic. They don’t stab you in a dark alley. They persuade the city to stab itself in broad daylight.”

Suspect Three: Constable Microglia “The brain’s grumpy street cop. Always nearby. Always ‘just doing his job.’”Motto: “I’m not aggressive. I’m activated.”

Wherever there’s trouble, microglia appear sometimes to contain it, sometimes to accidentally redecorate the entire neighbourhood with collateral damage.

The Evidence Board

I pinned the key observations to my mental corkboard:

• Exhibit A: Where Plexi swells, signs of inflammation in the brain often seem more pronounced, more ‘fires’ across the city.
• Exhibit B: The brain’s fluid system can look less like sparkling spring water and more like a stressed municipal canal, signals that the “water supply” is involved, not just the streets.
• Exhibit C: Most unsettling: the swelling seems to travel with the slow, grinding wear of the city itself, long-term decline, reduced resilience, the kind of damage that doesn’t make headlines but changes everything.

Watson stared at the board, brow furrowed. “So who did it? The Velcro Syndicate? The Whisperers? The grumpy policeman?”

I smiled. “You are thinking far too linearly, my dear Watson. You’re hunting for a single villain.” “And what if the crime scene… is also part of the plot?”

Act III: The Reveal — The Hidden Player

Here lies the twist of the entire affair: The choroid plexus is not merely a passive victim, some innocent building that swells because the city is in chaos.

It may be a participant.

1) The Gatekeeper: It stands at a strategic entrance, one place where immune activity can gather, negotiate, and sometimes slip through in ways the rest of the city cannot easily prevent.

2) The Regulator: It doesn’t only receive inflammatory signals. It may help shape them like a communications office that doesn’t just relay rumours but edits the press release.

3) A Window Into the City’s Condition: Its size on MRI may reflect both the obvious commotion, the street riots of inflammation, and the quieter, smouldering problems that erode the foundations over time.

I placed my finger on the MRI printout. “Look here, Watson. When the waterworks expand, the whole system is under strain. We may not have caught one tidy culprit we can hand to the judge…”

“…but we’ve found something better.”

“A place that has seen everything.”

“A witness. A victim.”

“And on certain days…”

“…a collaborator.”

Case closed. Elementary. 💡

SherlockMS