The Final Tales of Sherlock Holmes - Volume 1

by John A. Little

  ‘Yes. The filthy little worm was Arthur’s grandson. They kidnapped me in Gordon Square.’

  ‘Indeed. He seemed to have inherited his grandfather’s mental problems, right enough. The crowd started to laugh and clap as Ifan jumped and twirled like a pink baby hippopotamus around the floor.’

  ‘Oh, dear God. That doesn’t bear thinking about,’ I interjected.

  ‘It was just good clean fun, Watson. That was when I first recognised my childhood friend, Conan Arthur, the raddled man in that Gordon Square photograph. He had emerged from one of the holes in the wall with a scrawny youth, who looked like one of those rent boys one reads about. You know. A rough type. They hang around Piccadilly Circus quite a lot.’

  ‘Do they? No. I didn’t know that, Holmes.’ Surprise, surprise. How in blazes would I know that?

  ‘He didn’t notice me at first. Eventually Rees came to a stand-still beside a microphone to the rear of the bunker, and proceeded to sing a version of the song Three Little Maids from The Mikado in a high-pitched falsetto:

  “One little maid from school am I,

  Pert as a school-girl well can be,

  Filled to the brim with girlish glee,

  One little maid from school!

  One little maid who, all unwary,

  Comes from a ladies’ seminary,

  Freed from its genius tutelary

  One little maid from school!

  One little maid from sch…”’

  ‘All right, Holmes. In heaven’s name, stop! You’re singing! Do get on with the story,’ I demanded impatiently.

  ‘What’s the matter, Watson? Don’t you like my voice? You have to imagine a thirty-piece orchestra. Now take it easy. Just another joke. Once the song came to an end and the applause ceased, the hippo bounced his way out of the bunker by another door to the rear. That was when Conan Arthur, fingering his rather twee goatee, stared over at the bar and perceived his childhood nemesis for the first time. The look of astonishment on his face was something to behold, but it was swiftly replaced by one of extreme fear as I raised my stick sword and pointed it at him accusingly, like a rapier in advance of an attack. He handed something to the young boy beside him and started walking – running, really – after Rees through the rear exit. I grabbed Lestrade and pulled him with me across the dance floor and after the murderous pair of serial killers.’

  ‘It was time for the vengeance of Sherlock Holmes.’

  Chapter XVII. The Diogenes Club.

  ‘We chased my so-called childhood friend down a labyrinthine warren of narrow, undulating passages, with Lestrade taking the lead. He had almost caught up with him when we came to another blank wall. And Conan turned on us.

  ‘ “If you kill me, I promise that you will never find your Boswell, Sherlock,” he snarled, like a cornered rat. “Your oh-so-literary doctor lover will die, starving and all alone. And in great pain.” ’

  ‘I unsheathed my stick sword, fully prepared to run him through right there and then, regardless of right or wrong. For my father and my brother, Watson. And for the insult to you, of course. But I realised what he was saying, and held back. And that was when we heard these breathless, whispered words behind us:

  ‘ “One little maid from school am I,

  Pert as a school-girl well can be,

  Filled to the brim with girlish glee…”

  We wheeled around to find the appalling sight of a completely naked hippopotamus, Ifan Rees, tutu-less and his skin gleaming in the candlelight. He was tossing his slaughter knife from hand to hand and laughing to himself, as he prepared to attack. Lestrade withdrew his Bulldog and pointed it at the lunatic.’

  ‘ “Put down the knife, or I will shoot you,” he commanded.’

  ‘ “One little maid from school!

  One little maid who, all unwary,

  Comes from a ladies’semin…” ’

  ‘Rees danced forwards, feigning to cut Lestrade’s throat with the knife. The Scotland Yard detective swayed back, and then warned him again.’

  ‘ “Do you actually want to die?”queried Lestrade in alarm.’

  ‘ “Freed from its genius tutelary

  One little maid from school!

  One little maid from sch…” ’

  ‘Rees lunged at the Scotland Yard detective and Lestrade shot him once through the throat. The cab-driver stopped in his stride, staggered, dropped his knife, grabbed his neck as though he wanted to hold the skin together, spat a gout of thick blood from his throat, smiled enigmatically, and fell to the floor dead as a doornail. Do please forgive the dramatic clichés, Watson.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry. I know all about clichés. They can come in really useful at times. My readers are very familiar with them. They wouldn’t read the stories without those platitudes. Pray continue,’ I yawned.

  ‘Shortly after the gunshot, I heard Conan Arthur stamping on the ground. I thought it was his rage at the loss of Ifan, but actually he was lifting up the wall and disappearing through it, faster than a vole being chased by a stoat. I was after him like goat’s cheese on a tambourine, leaving Lestrade to call for help and to cope with any hysteria produced by his gunshot. Under no circumstances was Conan going to escape my revenge. I hared after him. Well, not exactly hare, Watson, but as fast as I could, anyway. I remember that we went past the original steps from the garage, in the opposite direction to the Cave.’

  ‘You would have been passing underneath the other garage, then,’ I suggested amicably.

  ‘Probably. My only thought was to get the worm who had murdered my brother and father. And threatened to kill me, of course. He was gasping for breath, but still ahead of me, when he reached another set of steps, at the end of that right-hand passage. They were very steep and I too was struggling for air, so I had to stop at the bottom and watch him disappear into the gloom. There were no more candles, you see. Eventually I got back enough wind to follow him up the stairs, and just guess where we came out, Watson.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. The Ritz?’

  ‘Ha, ha! I wish! It was the gap between the Main Room and the Stranger’s Room in the Diogenes Club. We should have examined that area more thoroughly the other day. You know, this case has made me feel that I might be losing my touch a bit. Perhaps I’m not as good as I once was, but still good enough, eh, Watson? Good man. Absolutely right. Say nothing. A simple dummy wall pushed open from the stairs, and there I was. The door to the Stranger’s Room was wide open and so I followed my childhood enemy into it, closing it firmly behind me. He lay below the bay window and seemed to be in some sort of agony, wheezing loudly as he struggled for a tablet from his pocket. He raised the palm of one hand, as though begging me to wait just a minute before I ran him through.’

  ‘ “Hello, Goatslayer,” I muttered, unsheathing my sword. “Long time, no see.” ’

  ‘He swallowed his pill and stood up shakily, all the while keeping his outstretched hand between us. I waited patiently. There were questions that needed answering. But it was he who asked the first one.’

  ‘ “How… how did you know where we were? I told that poor Welsh idiot to devise some clue that would provide only your name.” ’

  ‘ “His clue was quite simple, Conan. Maybe he wanted to accelerate your plan: See you, Holmes, at Pyotr’s Cave tonight. Finding the club required a spot of lateral thinking, but we got there eventually. Now. Where is Watson? If you tell me that, I’ll make your end blissfully swift. Unlike those you provided for my brother and father.” ’

  ‘ “That was Ifan’s doing. He heard voices which told him what to do. The poor lad was mentally ill from early childhood, a schizophrenic they call it nowadays, and would have spent his life behind locked doors if I hadn’t offered to look after him. I suspect that he really wanted to cut off his own genitals, but hadn’t the courage. And I’m
dying anyway. It doesn’t really matter how I go to my reward. Oh, Sherlock, don’t you remember anything at all about our childhood friendship, our mutual love?” he pleaded.’

  ‘ “Not much,” I replied. “Apart from a few games we used to play. Anything else is some perverted fantasy your diseased mind has created to keep the flames of your hatred burning. Back then, you became ill in the woods and I had to go and get help for you. There was nothing more to it than that. Now, prepare to meet your Maker.” ’

  ‘I was about to avenge my family deaths with Conan Arthur when he summoned reserves of strength that I did not expect. Grabbing one of the step-ladders, he flung it through the centre of the bay window, smashing the ventilation fan and the surrounding fruits and family crests and creating a hole large enough for him to crawl through.’

  ‘ “Look at me, Sherlock! Love you!” the madman cried, blowing me a kiss as he leapt through the window, thereby depriving me of my just retribution. I ran to the hole and gazed down, to witness his final death throes, surrounded by a pool of his tainted blood that spread slowly around his body and into the gutter of Pall Mall.’

  ‘So there you have it, Watson. He kept up that fantasy of a teenage relationship with me throughout his life, and blamed me and my family for all his subsequent problems. Unfortunately we still had no idea where you might be, until one of Lestrade’s constables heard a loud drone coming from within the other garage. It sounded like a malfunctioning motor engine, he said. Starting and stopping. I recognised it! That was when we found you hanging around, fast asleep as usual and snoring your head off. We untied your limbs and granted you the freedom to tell us your version of events and to hear our end of the story, as related by this ancient roué. Let us hope that all musical men in London will sleep safely in their beds from now on. Which reminds me. Why don’t you pop off, while I play you a short lullaby?’

  Holmes picked up his violin from the mantel, placed it under his chin and started plucking it, pizzicato style.

  ‘Good night, Holmes. Just make it soave, will you? Smooth and gentle.’

  I shuffled painfully towards the stairs to my old room.

  ‘Of course, old fellow. Sleep well.’

  Epilogue.

  And so it was that when Holmes invited me to continue my stay at 221B Baker Street and see out my remaining days in his eccentric company as a twice-widowed bachelor, with no hint whatsoever of the love that dare not speak its name, I accepted with alacrity. After all, we were two halves of the same person, I believe. Like David and Jonathan. One soul in two bodies. I still didn’t know the full truth of his teenage behaviour with Conan Arthur, whose story was never corroborated by Holmes himself. And I couldn’t love him in the same way that Arthur had loved him. But I loved him yet. Who is to say that Platonic love is less intense or profound than sexual love? I could only hope that my influence might curb his new-found enthusiasm for taking the law into his own hands when pursuing criminals.

  I would transfer my small practice back into my old room, and we would continue our detecting while I treated my occasional patients, the pair of us to be kept in line by the wonderful ring mistress Lily, our fellow bloodhound and code-breaker, with young Lestrade to help us out when necessary. I had to reluctantly accept the inevitable passing of time and cease fantasising about our well-endowed housekeeper. There was a chance I might yet be called upon to give her away in holy matrimony to young Jasper one day, and that was definitely worth looking forward to.

  It’s called retirement by some, but then neither of us anticipated the sheer variety of dark and desperate adventures that lay ahead over the following six years, each of which I have documented separately. Maybe I’ll call them ‘The Final Tales Of Sherlock Holmes’ and dedicate the collection to the memory of the world’s first consulting detective and the straightest friend that any man could have.

  You never know.

  Some day in the distant future the general public might be ready to appreciate these arcane stories.

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