Sherlock Holmes and the Father of Lies

by C J Lutton

  ”Ah, Watson, there you are,” came Holmes’ voice down the hall to my right. ”We were about to send out the hounds.”

  I turned around and saw his face peeking out from behind a door. Stepping into the corridor, he ushered me inside. ”I take it you had no trouble following the steward's directions?” he asked, as he secured the chain on the door.

  ”Of course not!” I said.

  Holmes poured a cup of steaming coffee and placed it in my hands.

  I looked about the mahogany—paneled room as I sipped the piping hot coffee. Thaddeus, leaning forward in an overstuffed leather club chair, was swallowed up by its enormity, as he pensively stared at the myriad stacks of papers, files, newspaper clippings, and photographs that lay spread out upon the table's surface. In a corner of the room stood a black writing slate on an easel with an ample supply of chalk. In the opposite corner, a small table held steaming urns of coffee and tea. Chafing dishes of eggs, ham, sausages, bacon, and biscuits provided us with an excellent breakfast, and I was surprised to see the food lay untouched.

  ”Our meal had just arrived,” said Holmes, reading my mind. ”I trust you've both slept well?”

  Thaddeus smiled, before nodding his head.

  ”Excellent. So did I, for once. It must be the salt air. I've managed to secure this room for the duration of our crossing. Our credentials are proving invaluable, and it's a shame this organization of ours may be only temporary. I've also arranged for our meals to be sent directly here. Now, to breakfast. We must all keep up our strength.”

  Moving the stacks of papers to the side, we made room for our plates and ate in silence. After eating, we cleared away the dishes. Holmes’ mood became serious.

  ”We must examine every scrap of paper on this table,” Holmes said, arranging the stacks in a specific order. Reaching for the first file, he perused its contents in silence for a few minutes. It became obvious that what the detective was reading troubled him greatly. After some time, he passed the first folder to me and selected another. Once I finished, the materials went on to Thaddeus. He, too, read the papers with great interest.

  Holmes continued this ritual until the first stack had been gone through. Then the great detective perused the next pile, and we repeated the sequence. These actions continued until we had all gone through all of the files. The information gleaned was incredible and alarming, in both subject and name. Some of the most powerful and influential houses of Europe and abroad had been corrupted by this evil. It appeared that the world's only hope rested on the shoulders of the newly formed International Police Force. According to the documents in one of the files, at Queen Victoria's insistence Mycroft had been investigating the occult and the possible existence of life in the hereafter. This was exactly what Holmes had told me.

  Mycroft is disinclined to participate in anything that would take him out of the confines of the Diogenes Club. The problem was so serious that Mycroft’s propensity to acquire and possess knowledge and facts (even the most archaic and mundane tidbits) prompted him to alter his long—standing aversion to physical exertion. He spoke with many of the world's most renowned religious scholars, heads of government, and anyone else reporting on circumstances that defied the rational or natural laws. According to documents, his research began in late November of 1898 and brought him inexorably and dangerously close to the netherworld of vampires. One of Mycroft's agents, Bram Stoker, stated that a book he had authored in 1897 was actually based on factual events. According to the report, the publisher refused to allow its release under any other classification but fiction. Sorely in need of funds, Stoker reluctantly agreed to his publisher's demands. Stoker had rewritten the journal in the form of a novel. This adaptation of the truth provided a more palatable acceptance of a gruesome tale.

  But Stoker’s motives weren't purely altruistic. The publisher worried that if the truth was ever told regarding the undead who prey on others, a panic of epic proportions would ensue. The publisher also theorized that the horror that Stoker had penned was simply too fantastic to be believed. Fearing that critics would savage the honest appraisal of the facts, the publisher explained that a book hewing too closely to the truth would be unsalable, and therefore, profitless. The publisher also demanded that Stoker disguise the real names of all those involved. However, the author would not accede to that particular demand. Therefore, we now have a name to put on the monster – Dracula.

  Stoker and Mycroft communicated frequently as to Dracula's whereabouts. It was because of Stoker's historical confrontation with Dracula that he became Mycroft's most valued agent. During one particular excursion into Dracula's world, Stoker learned of another vampire's existence.

  This new creature was supposedly captured at Reichenbach Falls, where he had been kept a prisoner and slave for years by Dracula. Only after serving his master truly and well, did the new vampire receive the blessing of the Prince of Darkness. Dracula anointed this new vampire with his own blood and bestowed upon him the powers of eternal life. This new protégé proved invaluable in securing safe havens and conveniences for his master. It came as no great surprise that this new fiend was actually Sherlock Holmes’ old nemesis, Moriarty.

  On occasion, Mycroft would be summoned by the Queen. She would mercilessly interrogate him as to his progress. To Mycroft’s great surprise, the Queen found his tales of horror and the accompanying documentation fascinating. Despite her avid interest, Mycroft had a sworn duty to protect his country. Eventually he persuaded Her Majesty to put aside her own interests. He convinced her to let him pursue Dracula with the goal of destroying the Evil Immortal One.

  Even after she realized that the monster had to die, the Queen demanded that Mycroft give her daily briefings about his pursuit of the Father of Lies. Queen Victoria pleaded with Mycroft that if Dracula and his evil minions were not been destroyed by the time of her death, a wooden stake be driven into her heart after she died. How else could she be sure that she would rejoin her beloved Albert? Mycroft told her that such drastic measures would not be necessary. The Queen should order that her body be bathed in holy water, and crosses placed around the outside of her coffin.

  In comparing our observations, we spent each day experiencing various degrees of curiosity, numbness, and abject horror. The results of these heightened emotions would often lead to heated arguments and exchanges. For our own sanity, we decided to forego any further discussion on the matter and continue our research in silence. However, an occasional gasp would escape our lips when we came upon some particularly gruesome episode.

  I am certain of one thing and that is this: If a person would be of the mind to objectively critique the completeness of this investigation, that person would walk away knowing that this was the most thorough investigation ever undertaken. The incredible amount of documentation and evidence from all corners of the world implied that a vast family of vampires had roamed and occupied this world for centuries. The enormity of what we were reading struck home when Holmes leapt from his chair as if the hounds of hell were after him.

  ”Enough!” he roared. ”I've read enough!” Holmes’ frustration finally revealed itself, and he sent papers fluttering to the floor.

  Thaddeus rose and walked to Holmes’ side. Whilst placing an arm around his shoulder, he whispered into my friend's ear. Holmes listened to Thaddeus’ words. Slowly, his demeanor changed from anger to quiet contentment. Thaddeus led Holmes back to his chair. As soon as the great detective sat down, he shut his eyes and went to sleep.

  Turning to face me, Thaddeus raised a finger to his lips and kept me from any enquiry. He whispered, ”Outside, Doctor, if you please.”

  I accompanied him into the corridor and quietly closed the door.

  ”Dr. Watson...” he began.

  ”Wiggins,” I interrupted. ”What's the meaning of this?”

  I had a thousand other questions. Thaddeus quelled them by placing his hand on my shoulder.

  ”Dr. Watson,” Thaddeus said, “I assure you Mr. Hol
mes is all right. The strain of not knowing his brother's fate is beginning to wear on him. I am aware that you have been with him for a very long time and do not want to see him hurt. Neither do I. Mr. Holmes is like a father to me. You have no cause to be jealous.”

  I was shocked not by his words, but by the realization that I was jealous.

  ”Doctor, you have been absent from his life for a while. I needn't remind you of the rigors of his profession, and you are surely all too familiar with his exertions. Whilst you were away, Mr. Holmes became involved in many unusual cases. During some of which, I had the privilege to be of some assistance. I do not presume to know how much Mr. Holmes has told you about his last two cases, but in both he nearly lost his life.”

  I was about to interrupt, but Thaddeus put a staying hand on my shoulder. He said, ”Please let me continue. The last case, which is somehow connected to this one, cost him dearly. It was many months of touch—and—go with Mr. Holmes in seclusion. I ministered to his wounds. During his demanding recuperation, I came to respect and understand your relationship.”

  ”But...”

  ”Eventually, his bouts of depression subsided,” Thaddeus said, whilst not allowing my interruption. “He recovered most of his faculties. His mind and body slowly healed. During this time, we spent many weeks in deep philosophical discussions.”

  Suddenly, I felt ashamed, deeply so. I had irrationally blamed Thaddeus for Holmes’ present condition.

  I attempted to comfort the young man by placing my arm around his shoulder. But, just as Holmes has always detested such familiarity, Thaddeus quickly shrugged himself away and moved to the opposite wall.

  ”Mr. Holmes explained the ways of hypnosis and its applications to me,” Thaddeus continued, ”and I have read everything that I could get my hands on about the subject. I even corresponded with Dr. Bell, who is admittedly an expert on a level I cannot hope to reach for years. Mr. Holmes encouraged me in this pursuit. I am a quick study and was able to put Mr. Holmes under after a few attempts. It was at this time that we experimented with a post—hypnotic suggestion. In other words, when a specific triggering word is said, Mr. Holmes would be able to place himself into a state of calm. The result of which you have just witnessed. I merely whispered the triggering word, and he calmed down. This condition should last about a half an hour. He will emerge from the hypnosis refreshed and invigorated. So, as you can see, I have nothing but Mr. Holmes’ best interests at heart.”

  It pained me deeply that I had viewed his actions with mistrust and jealousy. As if reading my mind, the young man's next words offered me solace.

  ”Do not fret over your suspicions regarding me and my motives, Doctor,” he said. “Under similar circumstances, I would have just as vigorously guarded my relationship with him. Your actions and worries are not of selfish design. I understand that it is your sincere desire to see that no harm should come to your friend. In time, I hope that we can become friends.”

  Thaddeus offered his hand, and I readily accepted his magnanimous gesture of friendship.

  ”Let's tidy up the room a bit.” The young man smiled, attempting to lighten the mood. ”When Mr. Holmes awakens, let it be to orderliness.”

  We quietly opened the door and were immediately assaulted by a sickening stench. The lights in the room had dimmed and darkness crept upon us, as one by one each light extinguished itself. Unbridled terror gripped me as I realised that the apocalyptic and marauding merchant of death was seeking us out.

  10

  Dracula’s Warning

  Thaddeus, sensing that I was about to shout in alarm, clapped his hand over my mouth. As he kept me silent, the young man pointed to a peculiar mist forming above Holmes’ sleeping figure. As my eyes grew accustomed to the blackness, I noticed a strange glow hanging in the air. The room resonated with a mysterious hum. The paneled walls appeared to be breathing. The wood planks undulated in groaning waves, becoming opaque and gauze—like. Sudden charges from snarling beasts came crashing from the inside of bulging walls. The blurred imprints of voracious animals charged at Thaddeus and me. These wild creatures stretched the walls to near breaking. Their contorted visages were emblazoned on the bowed and dripping surfaces. We stood paralyzed as we watched the strange metamorphosis. Simultaneously, the mist above Holmes grew larger and brighter. At its center, a small horrific vision began to appear. At the same time, the temperature in the cabin plummeted to near freezing.

  Thaddeus let go of me. He struggled to reach Holmes—as did I—but it was impossible to move. Our shouts of horror and alarm were swallowed up by the mist, as if it thrived on our panic!

  Holmes stirred for a moment. I silently prayed that he remain asleep. Mycroft Holmes floated just inches off the floor with his back facing us. His neck was maggot—infested. Seeing the way the tiny worms mauled his flesh sent bile rushing up into my throat. Slowly, Mycroft’s head turned so that his haunted eyes looked directly into ours. He studied us with a pining yet detached curiosity. I staggered backwards in terror.

  But I could not take my eyes off that face. A visage both familiar and eerily foreign. As I stared at the apparition, a glimmer of recognition shone in his eyes, as he appeared to be silently pleading with us. His mouth fell open. I sensed his silent scream. Sickeningly, his lower jaw separated from its hinges with a loud crack, leaving his mouth to hang limply open. I tried to turn my head away, to avoid seeing such blasphemy. But powerless to do otherwise, I found myself once more fixing my eyes on his tormented figure. Behind the ravaged figure of Mycroft, another shape took form. As it grew more and more solid, Mycroft's image faded.

  This new visitor had skin drawn tightly against his skull. The hue was a milky alabaster. It contrasted with oily hair, black as pitch and parted down the center. The monster’s irises were as red and as intense as a madman's. They floated in putrid yellowish orbs the color of pus. The monster was dressed in formal attire that had gone out of fashion decades, if not centuries, ago. The starched collar of his blouse was yellowed and tattered. On his bony fingers, he wore rings with dazzling jewels that glowed in the eerie light.

  Without ever having seen him before, I knew that this was Dracula.

  As grotesque and disgusting as this intruder was, I felt myself drawn to him. I could not help myself. I sensed, rather than heard, his voice as it coursed through my body as though I were a tuning fork. The hum was deafening and melodic all at once.

  ”I have Sherlock's father,” said the voice. ”Doctor, kindly tell your meddlesome friend that by the time you gentlemen arrive, I shall have Sherlock’s mother, too! I will be the master of one of your world's greatest families!”

  His laughter was maddening. I raised my hands to cover my ears, even though I knew the gesture was of no use.

  ”If I so desire,” continued Dracula, ”I could strike you all down now. You have no understanding as to all of my powers. None! Perhaps I should offer a small demonstration, hmmm?”

  The vampire's hand pierced the mist and removed the delicate ring from Holmes’ finger. The monster’s horrible laugh pummeled my ears. I shut my eyes tightly and covered them with my hands. With all my heart, I wished the monster gone.

  ”Doctor!” Thaddeus’ voice boomed.

  My eyes snapped open. The lights flickered momentarily, then cast their normal glow. Everything was back to normal. The foul mist had completely disappeared. The temperature of the room was warming even as the horrible stench subsided.

  Thaddeus and I rushed to Holmes’ side. Not knowing whether or not to wake him, we whispered our urgent thoughts.

  ”It's all right,” said Holmes, startling both of us. ”I'm awake. There's no need to be hovering over me as if I were at death's door. I've been awake all the while.”

  ”Holmes!” I cried. ”How can we ever hope to beat this monster when at any time he can strike us down?”

  ”Nonsense! If he were capable of striking us down at will, do you not think he would have done so already?” Holmes rose from the ch
air and paced the room. “He is clever; I’ll give him that. But I must think! Something does not ring true.”

  ”Mr. Holmes!” Thaddeus shouted, snapping his fingers. ”Your mother's ring. Dracula took it!”

  My friend glanced down at his right hand and smiled. He raised it in front of our faces and wiggled his fingers. The ring was still there.

  ”But how?” I asked, feeling confused. “I saw him take it.”

  ”By suggestion. Make no mistake, he's the most powerful foe I've ever faced, but it would seem that even his powers are limited.”

  ”What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?”

  ”He may invade our dreams or even our waking hours, but unless we are in the physical presence of one of his vampires, the Master has no control. None! Other than to stoop to charlatanism and entertain us with parlor tricks, that is.”

  ”It was the most convincing suggestion that I've ever experienced,” I said, hoping Holmes’ observations were indeed the case.

  ”What about your mother and father?” asked Thaddeus worriedly.

  ”Ah, yes. That troubled me at first. But as I searched for Mycroft, I visited his apartment and private quarters at the Diogenes Club, and I noticed both places had been tossed. For reasons known only to my brother, Mycroft has always kept a diary. He picked up the habit when we were children, and continues to this very day. That diary was one of the things that I found disturbed in his living quarters. I know that a number of entries contained conversations we had upon our parents' deaths. Most probably, Mycroft provided the necessary fodder for Dracula and his henchmen. Evidently, they read enough of the diary to use the entries against me.”

  “That’s all well and good, Mr. Holmes,” said Thaddeus, “but let’s suppose that what Dracula said is true. What are we to do? I need to know.”

  In putting this question before Holmes, Thaddeus was as cold and calculating as ever a man could be.

  “We shall destroy them all,” Holmes said. His voice left no doubt that he was in deadly earnest. “And,” Holmes continued, “should I fall prey to his evil clutches, I do not expect to taste blood. Understood? Of course, I will afford you both the same courtesy.”