by John Pirillo
Constable Evans, standing to the right of his father, Inspector Bloodstone, frowned. "I just don't understand why Holmes ran off like that after his friend was arrested. It's very unlike him."
Inspector Bloodstone shook his head. "No man knows how to read that devil's mind, son. Not even I and I've known the blaggart for years now."
"But he's not the original one," Constable Evans insisted.
"Aye, but he's not that...much different," the Inspector pointed out, and then walked away.
Constable Evans turned to watch as Watson was led into the back. His face was clouded with emotions that it was hard for him to hold back.
He loved Watson like a second father. The man had been nothing but kindness to him. He had seen nothing but gentleness in the way he treated man after man. How could he have turned rogue and a killer after so much good he had done? How?
Chapter Thirteen: Love's Broken Heart
Mrs. Hudson clung to the bars of Watson's cell and wiped at her eyes with a handkerchief. "John, speak to me, you must!"
Watson sat on the floor, his head down, not looking up.
"Tell me you didn't kill those poor men!"She pleaded. "They're claiming you murdered all five of the others as well. They're calling you the Watson the Ripper!"
Watson kept his face averted. "They had their throats torn away by something savage and brutal."
"It doesn't matter, John. Don't you see, they public is frightened. Your heroism doesn't matter anymore. They're panicked. If you would shoot a Chief Magistrate and kill his servant, what else might you do?"
He looked up, his face filled with sorrow and pain. "I don't remember."
"Remember what?"
"Shooting anyone."
Then he looked into his lap again and began to weep. "I can't...remember!" He said, his voice distorted by his sobbing.
Mrs. Hudson felt like her heart was breaking. How could the man she loved so dearly have done such terrible things? A dead man. A wounded Chief Magistrate. It wasn't possible. And where was Holmes? Why had he disappeared?
Mrs. Hudson sank down beside the cell bars and laid her head against the bars. She closed her eyes. She wasn't leaving until she was told to. She reached a hand through to comfort him, but he pulled away, refusing her warmth.
Constable Evans stood in the door to the cell room and watched her seated there. His heart was breaking yet again. This was horrible. He wanted to go to her and help her, console her, but he had no words he could think of that would do that.
He felt his eyes moisten in despair.
A warm hand gripped his shoulder.
"Son, sometimes we have to step back and let time do its work," Inspector Bloodstone said gently.
Constable Evans nodded. He couldn't speak. He would cry if he did that and constables weren't supposed to cry.
Chapter Fourteen: The Courthouse
Professor Langston ran like the wind, carrying a small satchel with one hand, and fending people away with the other.
"Read all about it, Doctor Watson, Sherlock Holmes partner on trial for the Werewolf Murders," announced several paper boys eager to take advantage of the crowd surging at the steps of the court, which were in turn eager to read anything they could get on the case.
The Courthouse rose before Professor Langston, its structure pure and white, and very intimidating at this moment. Dozens of constables crowded its steps, keeping the crowds back who were chanting, "Death to Watson the Ripper!"
"Dratted fools!" He cried out contemptuously as he passed through them.
He reached the top of the steps and a dozen constables blocked his path.
"Out of my way, you fools; I have a life to save!"
He didn't wait for them to let him pass, he turned invisible and went between them, leaving them all stunned and confused.
Chapter Fifteen: Watson on Trial
"I find you guilty..." Chief Magistrate Lord Dawson was saying as Watson looked on helplessly and Holmes stood as petrified as a stone.
The doors to the courtroom were flung open with a loud slamming sound, and then Professor Langston dashed inside, the lower half of his body invisible.
"HE IS NOT GUILTY!" Professor Langston shouted, cutting off the final words of Chief Magistrate Lord Dawson.
The crowd in the room broke into fearful cries of alarm, but settled down when his lower half formed into a solid look again.
The Chief Magistrate gave the Professor a nasty scowl. "I find you in contempt of the court, Professor."
"And I find this man..."
He pointed to the Chief Magistrate that Watson had shot and who was seated quietly to the side, his facial expression neutral. "...A scoundrel and a liar!"
Constables rushed in to take the Professor by his hands. He didn't resist.
He looked to Holmes. "You were right."
Holmes granite face turned deadly and cold as ice.
He turned to the Chief Magistrate of the court, "Your Honor, I wish to add a statement before you render your verdict."
"This is highly unusual," the Chief Magistrate commented.
A woman rose in the balcony and spoke up, "By order of Her Majesty, the Good Queen Mary of Scots, you have permission to delay the verdict."
She sat down.
The court immediately broke into an uproar.
"Silence!" The Chief Magistrate ordered, banging his gavel over and over until the room settled down. He peered up at the woman who had just spoken. Why hadn't he seen the Queen's Handmaiden earlier? His career was on the line and he knew it for certain now. He had to watch his every word and step, lest his own head roll as well as the poor doctor's who sat confused and lost before him.
He peered at Holmes curiously. "You say you have something more to add. Is it evidence?"
"It is, your Honor," Holmes agreed.
Holmes nodded to Professor Langston who was released by the constables. He came forward and delivered an envelope into the hands of Holmes.
Holmes went forward and placed the envelope onto the Chief Magistrate's podium. "If you will do me the courtesy of examining the contents?" He asked.
The Chief Magistrate scowled a moment, then nodded, shoved his wig back further, and put on some reading glasses.
The crowd tensed as he opened the envelope. From it tumbled two clumps of hair, each with a different colored string attached to them. Also was a note from Professor Langston and what a large section of dried coffee cake was unmistakably.
"What is this...this stuff?" The Chief Magistrate demanded. "Some kind of sick joke? Hair and cake?"
Professor Langston looked to Holmes, who nodded.
Professor Langston stepped to the podium and spoke, "Your Honor, the two hair samples are from the library of Chief Magistrate Reynolds and from his servant's bedroom. The dried coffee cake is a sample taken from the Chief Magistrate's home the night that Watson and Holmes visited him. Watson had eaten a large amount of the sweet."
He gave Watson an affectionate look. "It is well known that our doctor here has a rather large sweet tooth."
The courtroom burst into laughter.
"Order!" The Chief Magistrate ordered, banging his gavel.
Professor Langston waited for calm and quiet, and then went on, "The note shows the composition of the coffee cake that Watson ate."
Professor Langston smiled as the Chief Magistrate read the note. His eyes squinted a moment, and then he looked up at Professor Langston, then at Holmes.
"Are you saying that a high lord of the court has lied to us?"
Holmes turned to the Chief Magistrate Reynolds and looked him in the face. The Chief Magistrate's face lost its color. "I do. And I am most certain that you have proof that he has."
"But to claim this man I've known for over twenty years is a..." The Chief Magistrate frowned hard a moment and then said, "...A werewolf."
The court went made with upset a few crazy moments before it calmed down again. People who sat next to Chief Magistrate Reynolds, gradually,
but steadily began removing themselves from his vicinity.
Homes stood his ground, unperturbed by the questioning. "First, after I secured the hair sample in the library, my suspicions were aroused. I knew full well what the hair of a werewolf was like. Since I have handled several cases before this quite successfully."
A murmuring among many in the crowd.
"And more importantly, I noted that the right cuspid was missing in the servant's mouth when he smiled."
Some laughter.
The Chief Magistrate eyed those laughing and they silenced.
"Go on, Holmes!"
"Second, I did not eat any of the cake that was laced with the magical drug, Watson..." Here he gave Watson a smile. Watson returned it, his face flushed with embarrassment. "...As you already have been told, has a great love for sweet things, and ate several of the cakes before I could stop him."
More laughter.
Holmes waited then went on, "Third, the servant and Chief Magistrate exchanged looks that I have recognized from past encounters with elders of the werewolf clans."
More excitement in the court.
People leaned forward, eager to hear what he would say next.
"Fourth, no one in Chief Magistrate Reynolds's position would ever fetch butter for a servant, unless that servant was not his servant, but instead, his parent."
The court was stunned.
Chief Magistrate Reynolds stood up. "I object to this nonsense!"
"Sit down, Chief Magistrate Reynolds, or I will have you locked up in chains!" The Chief Magistrate Lord Dawson ordered.
Chief Magistrate Reynolds sat down, but he fixed a hard stare upon Holmes, who ignored it.
"Fifth, once Professor Langston had secured samples of both the library and the hair of the servant, I had also given him a third sample."
Holmes went to the podium and deposited a third sample of hair, with a different color ribbon attached than the other two.
"What is this one?"
Holmes eyed the Chief Magistrate. "Hair from Chief Magistrate Reynolds."
"The hair is identical in every way to that hair which was found in the library and in the servant's quarters, but younger."
"Younger?"
"Yes, your Honor," Holmes replied.
"Sixth, and finally," Holmes stated, turning to face Chief Magistrate Reynolds. "He knew that his father was killing the innocent people of London and was determined to let me and Watson go to our deaths to protect his father."
"But Watson shot the father dead!" The Chief Magistrate pointed out in frustration. "I don't see the connection."
"His plans went awry, as criminal acts often do, your Honor. He had planned for Watson and I to both be dead, and thus removing anyone capable of putting a finger on the true villain...his own father."
Holmes turned to look at Chief Magistrate Reynolds again. "The mistake you made, Chief Magistrate Reynolds, is that you thought magic and drugs were more powerful than friendship."
He turned to give Watson a look which was unmistakably filled with deep love and friendship. "He was wrong!"
Holmes nodded to Constable Evan, who stood near the back. He in turn signaled several constables who stood casually around the room. They tensed, putting hands to their pistols, which they normally didn't carry.
"I object, your Honor," Chief Magistrate Reynolds said as he rose from his chair. "This is obviously some kind of stunt to get this man free. I will not have my good name thrown in the mud."
He eyed Holmes sternly, even though his face was still pale with fear. "You understand what I am saying?"
Holmes nodded. "I do and I do not honor you for saying it. We no longer live in the dark ages, your Honor, if men can come out to admit their sexual preferences, then why should it be so different for a man to admit his animal tendencies?"
Chief Magistrate Reynolds looked ready to explode, when Watson turned to him and said, "I understand your fear, your Honor. When I was a child, I was bullied by my class; I was larger than the others, stronger, smarter. They hated that. It's not easy being the only one of your kind about."
Holmes stepped closer to the Chief Magistrate. "It is no dishonor to admit you are a werewolf. But it is a dishonor to do so at the risk of causing another man to lose his honor and life for it! To protect your good name and hide your shame, you allowed your father to trample the lives of innocents. This makes you far guiltier than the man who has died."
Holmes turned to the courtroom. "I would imagine that if it had been known by the werewolf community what you were doing, that you would have a far harsher environment to face than that given by us humans."
Slowly, about the courtroom, men and women rose, at first slowly, reluctantly, then as one rose, and a second, a third did so, until a full quarter of the room was standing.
Chief Magistrate Reynolds eyed the people standing. "What is the meaning of this?"
Chief Magistrate Lord Dawson rose as well. He banged his gavel several times. The silence in the courtroom deepened. He turned to Chief Magistrate Reynolds. As he did so, he began to sprout hair all over his body and his face began to lengthen and protrude. All about the courtroom the standing men and women also began to change.
Chief Magistrate Reynolds stared at all the werewolves coming out about him and swallowed hard. Not once. Not twice, but again and again. The moment for a grave decision had come. A life decision.
He glanced at Watson.
"I forgive you, your Honor. I truly do," Watson uttered.
He glanced over at Mrs. Hudson, who was wiping at tears in her eyes. "I love you," she whispered.
He smiled and returned in the gentlest of voices. "And I you, my lovely Mrs. Hudson."
Chapter Sixteen: The Courthouse
Outside the courthouse people and constables turned in alarm and fear as the shrill calls of dozens of werewolves shook the building and echoed out into the street.
Chapter Seventeen: 221B Baker Street
Watson, Professor Langston and Mrs. Hudson sat at the table chatting amiably, sipping tea and eating fresh scones Mrs. Hudson had made, despite her weariness from the long trial and the debacle at the end of it.
Holmes stood at the window looking over Baker Street, his eyes distant.
Each day seemed to be a test of courage. A test of strength. Of endurance. Of the stamina needed to put just one more foot forward. And yet, despite that, what else was there to do? A man was less than a man. A woman less than a woman who did not venture forth and do what was right. Not just for themselves, but for all about them.
Had Chief Magistrate Reynolds recognized that in his own nature, things might have ended differently for him, than it had this day when his head was severed from his body and his remains burned to ashes so he couldn't regain the use of his body again.
Werewolves could not be killed by mere death alone, but had to be burned entirely.
He turned around and returned to the table.
Watson shoved a plate in front of Holmes. It was already stacked with several scones. Mrs. Hudson poured tea for him and placed the cup before him. Professor Langston smiled and gestured at a small wolf figurine that was in the center of the table. It was a pure white wolf, symbol of power and purity of purpose. It had been presented to Watson and Holmes in gratitude for their service to the Brotherhood of Wolves, who was led by the Chief Magistrate Lord Dawson.
Of course none outside the court ever learned of what truly happened. All the humans in attendance were put under strict restraints, which could cost them their lives if they ever spoke of what went on inside the courtroom chambers.
"I still can't get over how that magistrate would have let you die, rather than admit he was a werewolf," she complained to Watson.
Watson patted her hand comfortingly. "In the end does any of it really matter? Justice was done. The true murderer was stopped."
"But only when the court was confronted with the facts," Holmes reminded him. "Had our good friend here, Professor Langston, n
ot entered the equation, Watson would have been found guilty of murder and assaulting a high officer of the court."
Professor Langston nodded. "He would have been hung until dead."
"Or worse," Watson admitted, rubbing a finger about his neck to indicate having it cut through.
Mrs. Hudson burst into tears.
Watson took her against him and held her head against his chest. "It didn't happen."
"But it could have," she wept. She wiped at her face, and then sat up. Watson let go. She eyed the Professor. "What would you like for Christmas, Professor?"She asked.
He smiled. "You have already given it to me."
She gave him a puzzled look. "What then was it?"
"The love you cherish with this good man, Doctor Watson."
Holmes chuckled. "One thing is for sure, everyone was quite surprised when they realized that the Chief Magistrate was not the one who had drugged Watson, but the butler."
"Why?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
Holmes chuckled. "Because..." He looked at Watson. "I can't tell it as well as you, Watson. You tell her."
Watson snorted with laughter. "In the words of the immortal Shakespeare, 'The Butler did it!'"
Everyone broke into laughter.
BIOGRAPHY
I first read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's wonderful spread of detective stories when I was still a child. I didn't own books, so I read them at the public library, or at my school library. There was no Internet of Things, no Internet at all at the time. I was very into books as a child, always a loner of sorts. Even though I loved people, I was somehow always more in love with books. Call me bookworm then. Now bookworm writer. Maybe.
I went through the entire adult library in my hometown as a child, reading everything from fiction to non-fiction, science fiction to fantasy, and classic literature to modern. It didn't matter. It was words on paper. I loved the smell of books. Still do, even though I cater to electronic books at this time.
This is all a back-story of sorts to give you an idea of why my Sherlock Holmes while based somewhat on the canon of Doyle, are nevertheless much more than that. What would be the point of repeating what's already been done?