Sherlock's Home
Page 23
“I’ll most certainly try my best Mr. Holmes,” he replied. My friend and I remained in the storeroom and when eight o’clock came the group arrived exactly as Holmes had anticipated. Lestrade was able to arrest them and take them to a four-wheeler that was waiting for them. We bid the Inspector good night as he drove off to the yard. Holmes began to fill me in on the details of the case. “Although the Silver Mantle’s upmost priority was to feed me false information to put me on the wrong line of enquiry, I have been able to piece together the majority of the case from the little information I have been presented with. Firstly, my dear Watson, you mentioned that only last week you had dinner with Lord Ashdown and your friend Mr. Harding. I know that Mr. Harding enjoys reading your accounts of our work and you often take him unpublished manuscripts; documents detailing my methods and cases. Last week you took him several accounts, one of which documented our work recovering a priceless Egyptian artefact, the Mantle Staff, you may recall that the piece was travelling to the British Museum from a museum in Cairo and was stolen in transit. We recovered the staff and returned it to the British Museum. Your account then goes on to document the security measures placed upon it.” “Last week you gave these accounts to your friend. Presumably, after you left, he gave some of these documents to Lord Ashdown who you said took an interest in your stories. He took the accounts home to read them over. The Second Mantle knew that he had these documents and they wished to see them in order to gain further knowledge of my methods. The group had studied my methods for a while and attempted to remove any evidence and also use my methods against me, planting evidence to lead me down the wrong track. We know that he was shot from the window while he was sitting by the fire, it seems he was reading the documents. The body was moved onto the floor in order to hide this fact. They took everything in the room to further hide what they had stolen, however, the fact that they wanted to hide everything must have meant they were taking something I would know about.” “The fact that he was shot from the window also told me about the group’s plans. The person who shot Lord Ashdown will have been the main member of this organisation, the one also trusted with carrying the precious cargo, the documents. He would have took the most direct route back, he headed South-West, meaning their hideout was somewhere near Tavistock Square, near this museum. It became obvious they wanted the documents for details about the security of the artefact, as it seems doubtful they would go to such lengths to discover things about my methods, especially as they met with me on a weekly basis. I felt that their next step would have been to kill Mr. Harding but I believed that they might have anticipated me working this out. I sent you with several documents to Mr. Harding, documents I believe they may have wished to see. I also organised the strong police presence to give the appearance that I expected the group to try and kill Mr. Harding. In actual fact I was one step ahead.” “I expected the group to push forward in their plans seeing the large police presence outside the home of your friend. I made sure that myself, Lestrade and the police, entered the museum unnoticed through one of the store room doors. I was able to anticipate the groups movements as in your documentation of events you had conveyed my concern to various holes in the security. By reading your account they could piece together the best way to steal the staff.” “Fantastic Holmes!” I exclaimed, “Now only one step remains, to find the leader of this organisation.” We decided to go to the storeroom on the second floor where the artefact was being kept. It was in a rather small wooden crate. Holmes lifted the lid and to our surprise the Mantle Staff was not there. In its place was a letter. Holmes read it once, threw it to the floor and left the museum in silence. I shouted after him, picking up the letter.
My Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
I must take this opportunity to congratulate you; over the past few years you have proved yourself to be a formidable opponent. On several occasions you have successfully foiled my plans. However, I regret to inform you that the artefact you came here tonight to protect has left the country, and I with it. Last night, after the murder of Lord Ashdown, the others took rather long diversions to our meeting place. This gave me a lengthy window during which I was able to steal the artefact. I knew that the men coming here tonight were walking into a trap.
I have always wanted to meet you in person, however now I doubt if I will get the chance. My communications with yourself have always been in disguise or through agents acting on my behalf. Several years ago you met an agent of mine, posing as me, in Switzerland. Believing this agent to be me you defeated him and allowed him to fall over the Reichenbach falls.
After that event and the capture of Colonel Sebastian Moran, I was forced into hiding. My vast criminal empire falling apart. I have spent the years since then gaining knowledge on your methods, creating a plan to finally defeat you, to use your own methods against you. I have succeeded in eluding you, the game is up. I have left the country with the artefact, never to return.
Professor James Moriarty
After reading the letter in shock I left the museum. It was late and as Mrs. Hudson had not had time to prepare my room I decided to spend the night in a nearby hotel. The next morning, as my hansom pulled up outside 221b I was worried about the state of my friend. He had been beaten, outwitted, and situations like this usually only called for one thing. However, much to my surprise, I found Holmes sitting beside the fire, two large suitcases to his side.
“Whatever are you doing Holmes?” I enquired.
“My dear Watson,” he looked up from the floor, “I have always feared that one day I would no longer be able to continue in my unique profession. A nagging doubt I would one day find a criminal astute enough to use my own methods to my disadvantage. Professor James Moriarty has proved to be just the man. He has defeated me on several separate occasions and proved to be a dangerous adversary. It is with that thought in mind that I have taken the decision to retire from my role as the world’s only consulting detective.” “For many years now, my brother, Mycroft, has owned a small farm on the Sussex Downs, five miles west of Eastbourne. A cosy little place, looking out over the Channel. Mycroft has, this morning, handed the farm over to me, so that I can use it as my permanent residence. My hansom should arrive on the hour to take me from London.” Precisely on the hour, Mrs. Hudson alerted us to the presence of a cab outside. Holmes put out the fire, rose from the chair and picked up his luggage. He went over to his desk, and from the top drawer, took the most precious item in his possession. A single photograph of Miss Irene Adler. Holmes donned his deerstalker hat, turned, and left the flat. I stood for a moment, thinking about all the cases that had begun in this very room, the dancing men, the speckled band, the Copper Beeches. All of the people who had visited Holmes here for help, from Sir Henry Baskerville, to Miss Violet Hunter, to the King of Bohemia. Sherlock Holmes had always been someone the people of London, and beyond, could turn to if ever they had a problem to which they couldn’t find a solution. I took a final look at our rooms, at my empty desk, where I had rather frequently sat and documented the singular gifts of my friend. Where I had written my sixty or so accounts of my adventures with Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Tales such as the terrifying case of ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles.’ I felt saddened to know that the place where all these stories had been written now lay dormant and was to eventually fall into disrepair. I followed my friend out. Holmes was sat in the hansom, although I have frequently noted that my friends cold, abhorrent mind, seemed devoid of emotion and compassion, he appeared deeply saddened to be leaving Baker Street behind.
“I would like you to have this, I no longer have a need for it,” he said, handing me his photograph of Miss Adler.
“Holmes, I cannot possibly accept!” I rebuked.
“I intend for my retirement to be a permanent one, I do not have need for reminders of my cases. I would like you to have it, as a little memento of our time working together. Farewell, my dear Watson.” Holmes drove off in the hansom, driving
out into the fog of an early morning in London. Leaving London for the last time, one final adventure. Leaving 221b Baker Street, Sherlock’s home, the empty house.
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With Thanks
A huge thank you to Jules, Emma, Leif, David, Jacquelynn, Graham, Alistair and Steve whom without their help this book would have not been possible.
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