Sherlock Holmes Case of the Gourmet Werewolf

by John Pirillo

  "Sad, but true," Holmes agreed.

  "Fourth and finally, your modus operandi, the way in which you eat your humans is distinctly different as well. The killer was a gourmet. A gourmet never wastes the better part of their meal. And the killer always ate the kidneys and liver. You did not."

  The Inspector eyed Holmes. "Are you telling me he's just a cannibal? That's still disgusting and against the law."

  "No. I'm telling you that he's a werewolf trying not to follow his own nature," Holmes said. "Or that of another," he added mysteriously.

  Holmes turned about to face Myron again. "I'm sure the Inspector will not press charges against you, but I would suggest heartily that you seek other employment. Word of this is sure to get out and your life would be forfeit by those of a less understanding nature than your employer, Inspector Bloodstone."

  Inspector Bloodstone had been about to explode until Holmes finished. He let it go and nodded. "Agreed." Then he said. "As soon as you're released from here, I expect a letter of resignation."

  Holmes added. "I'm sure the Inspector can insure you still get your pension and at least a month's salary."

  "I will do no such thing!" The Inspector yelled.

  He turned to face Holmes, his face flushed red, his eyes dilated with anger. "And there is nothing you can do to change my mind!"

  Chapter Fifteen: 221B

  Myron stood before Watson and Holmes, who were seated at their usual table, a plate of scones there and the chessboard set up.

  Mrs. Hudson watched the men as she knit a beautiful oven glove for herself.

  "I can't think you enough, Holmes, for your act of kindness."

  Holmes nodded. "Mister Combs, we all have weights to carry that are sometimes burdensome and seemingly bring us to the end of our ropes, but with patience and fortitude that can eventually be overcome."

  "I have been trying to eat just pigs and cows the last two days."

  Watson perked up at the news. "And?"

  "I vomit."

  Watson looked distressed.

  Myron smiled. "But I find chicken and turkey flesh to be most satisfying and I don't get sick anymore."

  Watson smiled. "That's a relief...I mean..."

  Myron laughed. "Watson, I am no fool. I know how much many ordinary men and women hate my kind; it would be no surprise you felt relief at knowing I was not out there seeking living flesh to survive."

  He nodded to them. "You won't be seeing me again."

  He headed for the stairs.

  Mrs. Hudson rose and walked him down.

  Watson turned to Holmes.

  "Haven't you put the Inspector in a rough position, Holmes?"

  "Not at all, Watson. When the real gourmet werewolf was discovered with a crushed skull after a beating by a silver tipped umbrella handle, it was a hop and a skip, so to speak, to ease the pressures on the Inspector."

  "How so?"

  "After we found the silverware at the man's flat which matched the ones found at the last crime scene and of course, you, you matched his teeth marks."

  "It was a matter of check..." Watson said.

  "And mate," Holmes agreed.

  "Now it's much easier for the Inspector to explain a real werewolf with a werewolf's nature and appetite, then to face the inquiries of the Queen about why he had a werewolf working for the department."

  "You blackmailed him then," Watson accused.

  Holmes laughed. "No, Watson, I merely appealed to his better nature."

  Watson laughed and reached for a scone.

  "My better nature is to eat a scone and shut up."

  "I agree, Watson," Holmes replied, moving his black pawn on the chess board. "Your move."

  Watson laughed and shook his head. "Not ever, Holmes. Not ever."

  "But one thing still bothers me, Holmes."

  Watson took his move and looked at Holmes for his answer.

  "And that would be?" Holmes replied, pausing to take his own move.

  "If the one who died was the gourmet werewolf, then why did we find no remains of a liver and kidneys in his body stomach or intestines?"

  Holmes looked up. His smile vanished. "That is a question for another time. Your move, Watson."

  "I'm sorry, I must understand this," Watson insisted.

  Holmes looked at his friend. "Myron had a father he was quite close to until the age of thirteen. At that time for some unknown reason they separated."

  "Are you saying his father was the one who ate it all?"

  "What I'm saying Watson is that not all mysteries sum up nicely and all crimes come to light and are solved. We must be content at this time that, whoever that other werewolf was, that he is no longer treading the streets of London."

  Watson nodded. "I suppose that's good enough, but it's still unsettling to know there's so many out there."

  Holmes laughed. "Watson, they probably think even worse of us. For we far outnumber them!"

  "Humph!" Watson snorted.

  "Now, Watson, your move," Holmes reminded him.

  Watson took his move, but in the back of his mind was what happened to the real gourmet werewolf? Was it really Myron's father; or was that monster still out there, waiting to strike again, maybe not in London, but somewhere else?

  Watson moved.

  Holmes immediately countered Watson's rook with his bishop. "I was pondering a late night constitutional, Watson..."

  Mrs. Hudson glanced up and Watson caught her look. He shook his head and she went back to knitting.

  Watson yawned. "I think I'll just enjoy staying by the nice fire here...out of the weather for one night, at least," Watson replied.

  "Very well," Holmes replied with a nod.

  "Check...," Holmes added. "...and mate!"

  Holmes gave Watson a smile, which Watson returned happily.

  Holmes nodded to Mrs. Hudson, went to the coat rack and took up his hat and coat. He slipped on his regular shoes and then descended the stairs to the front door.

  Mrs. Hudson looked up with a smile.

  Watson smiled back. No rest tonight, but this he could live with.

  Chapter Sixteen: Destiny Calls

  Baker Street was swept by a very strong and brisk wind that caused tiny particles of dust and loose pieces of paper to twirl up into the air and dance about each other.

  The bright Tesla Street Lamps had tiny halos about them from a fine mist that was beginning to fill the street, despite the brisk air currents.

  Standing opposite Baker Street 221B a lonely figure stood. Her skirt fluttered about her ankles, and the veil that she kept across her face strove to fly away, but she kept it in place with a pale, slender hand.

  The other hand held a message in a fine, golden filigreed envelope clutched tightly between her forefinger and her thumb. It trembled.

  Did she dare let him know?

  Was this the right time for it?

  Was there ever a right time for it.

  She felt so conflicted. Her heart sang for the joy of the possibility of feeling his warmth once more, but her intellect, which stored her promise to her father. That fought for supremacy. She felt once more the dark bond that he had placed upon her.

  She felt it stirring in her blood, rising to the surface of her skin, demanding to be let out. But she refused it.

  Her whole body trembling now, as much from the cold as her own fear of making a mistake, she crossed Baker Street, climbed the few steps to the front door and then pressed the envelope beneath the sill of the door.

  She started to shove it the rest of the way when she heard footsteps. She hurriedly withdrew the envelope and ran for the street.

  She slipped into the dark alley opposite 221B and watched as Holmes exited the flat. He paused a moment, looking down.

  She froze. He knew!"

  What he did next would determine much for the two of them. He stooped to a knee and examined the rug in front of the door. She had excellent vision and could see the frown on his face. She could imagine the ex
citement that would light up his eyes. Those funnels of pure intellect and more!

  Let destiny call her where it would, she had played her part as best she could.

  She walked into the brisk wind, clutching her cloak tighter about her with her left hand and her veil with her right. The alley was dark, but not so dark anymore. She had seen him and her heart was lit once more with hope. A hope she could not at that moment bring to fruition, but hope nonetheless.

  Holmes stood up on the porch and glanced about, his own heart hammering in his chest.

  As he did so he felt a spark igniting once more, brightening in the depths of a heart he had kept closed for so long.

  And yet, there was nothing. So without anything more substantial to go on than a hunch, he stepped down to the sidewalk, twirled his umbrella in his right hand began walking up the street.

  As he did so, he began whistling a tune he had learned some time back. A tune from a woman he had come more close to loving than any other: Destiny!

  Request from the Author

  "Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this book or found it useful I'd be very grateful if you'd post a short review on Amazon. Your support really does make a difference and I read all the reviews personally so I can get your feedback and make this book even better.

  Thanks again for your support!"

  -- John –

  Author's Note

  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?

  No, rather I saw this writing experience as an opportunity to allow my imagination to romp in his playground, but take elements from other famous authors and stories I've loved over the years.

  Obviously, there are copyright issues when it comes to living authors, so even though I'd love to play in their yards too, that is forbidden territory. So I have contented myself to take my love of classic literature...Doyle, Verne, Wells, Dumas, Shakespeare and pour them into a mutual melting pot. Kind of a United States of Literature, so to speak.

  Whereas the Sherlock Holmes of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle functions out of London, England in the Victorian period; mine exists in a parallel world where all the authors who have ever lived and all their characters are alive at the same time.

  Therefore, if you see me including Houdini and Sherlock together, Challenger and Conan Doyle, it makes more sense if they were alive on that world and not this one.

  As a person of with a strong scientific background...I wrote a treatise on reaching other dimensions (parallel worlds) as an 8th grader, which my Physics teacher was knocked out about...I believe quite strongly in an unlimited universe, where an infinite number of parallel ones/dimensions exist at the same time.

  When I was in India I found that some there adhere to the belief that everything that man can do or imagine exists in a vast cosmic tapestry so that we do not so much physically exist, as mentally/spiritually move through that infinite tapestry, each choice we make...right or wrong...creating a branching point that we must follow, even though there were already an infinite number of other ones. Very close to the parallel world/alternate dimension approach that many scientists are now coming to accept as a reality.

  When I was a kid the scientists barely believed in 4 dimensions...length, breadth, height and time. Now as an adult there is talk of at least 9 known dimensions.

  But getting back to my stories, what makes them relevant and different is that I can populate them with any science, any character, any famous figure, writer, artist or whatever and they all fit! They fit because I created them. For fun. For pleasure. To be able to play on a field of dreams with no end in sight.

  So as you read my stories, dear reader, keep in mind that the Tesla car in my story is not Elon Musk's electric car, but a vehicle invented by collaboration between Thomas Edison and Nicolas Tesla in my invented world. It runs not by electricity as we know it, but by a different energy discovered by Tesla.

  In my world Sherlock Holmes is not the first one of the story, but one of several. Watson, likewise. Just as Spock was duplicated in the Star Trek series of movies to continue their worthy stories, so have I decided to include devices that will stimulate our imagination, take us to places we could never have gone before, and allow me to interject from time to time some of the wonderful insights I have been honored to receive as a maturing adult. So death exists in my creation, but it has many permutations and outcomes. All exciting and mysterious.

  Following this is a description of major characters, as well as items used exclusively in my Baker Street adventures.

  If you want to keep abreast the latest news, follow me on my author site: www.johnpirillo.com, tweet me @johnpirillo, or add me as a friend at https://www.facebook.com/john.pirillo.3. Join my Baker Street Universe group to get things I don’t usually share with others, and to hash over the universe I’ve created with me and fellow authors and readers. I’ll be having very special giveaways, advance copies, and autographed work as well as other surprises to my friends who join me there.

  About the Baker Street Universe

  A list of some of the players, places and things that take place in the Baker Street Universe created by this author as the playground for his fantasies...and hopefully your own as well.

  Tesla Car...Device built by Ford in collaboration with Nicolas Tesla. Powered by a new form of energy unknown to our world yet.

  Tesla devices...created by the team of Henry Ford, Thomas Edison and Nicolas Tesla. Anything from lamps to frigs, to cooking devices. You name it; they've probably invented it in my world.

  Moriarity...one of many. The Master Criminal lives on in many and various manifestations for the sake of conflict, as well as invention and discourse. Where would a great detective be without a great villain to oppose him? While I don't feature Moriarity all the time, be warned he lurks behind the scenes!

  Sherlock Holmes...Young man in his early twenties, comes from a humble home and a good upbringing. Precocious with a perfect memory. Not the cold fish of the Doyle series. Much kinder and humorous. Still with many of the same characteristics, but softened with a gentler personality, without losing the edges that give him an engaging purpose and deductions that are truly amazing at times.

  Watson, Doctor John...hero of the China Wars. Lost first love in China. Now in love with Mrs. Hudson. Loves Holmes like a brother. Doctor. Never without his black bag in which he carries his medical supplies and forensics tools that he and Sherlock often use in their investigations. Stocky with a bit of a stomach because of his love of scones, which I constantly use as a play of humor for the man.

  Mrs. Hudson...not just a landlady anymore, but an integral part of the detective team...supplying support, as well as emotional and sometimes physical support. The glue that binds Watson and Holmes together. Again, in her twenties like Watson and Holmes. Lovely, but not beautiful, except of spirit. Kind and resourceful. Very shrewd and intelligent.

  Professor Langston…the Invisible Man…a well meaning doctor, who concocted a cocktail of chemicals that has forever altered his atomic structure such that he can turn invisible at will, though during emotional times of stress he can lose control of his visibility.

  Inspector
Bloodstone...a cantankerous policeman who has raving red hair, and a temper to match at times. Works with Holmes a lot, but prefers to work on his own. Distrusts some of the intuitive moments of Holmes, but in the long run will go with what he reveals as Holmes is more often right than wrong in his deductions.

  Queen Mary of Scots...has never existed. Instead, this one is a derivation of Mary, who was beheaded and Victoria. Much more intelligent, progressive, but a leader in every sense of the word.

  Magic...exists in this world of Sherlock as does science. Both are equally as relevant to the action and scenery of the stories.

  Fairie...a land that exists in parallel to Sherlock's world and through which Lord Graystone (Lord of the Jungle) came through to become part of the Baker Street Brotherhood.

  Fairie is richly endowed with magical creatures and monsters, Elves, fairies and other fun things, as well as endless realms of green Amazon like lands. Dragons. Which have played a part in several of my first stories and a few later ones.

  Nicolas Tesla...a genius who has dedicated his life to upgrading the quality of life for everyone on the planet. Witty, charming and dangerous.

  Harry Houdini...swarthy, suave, into magic in every way...physical and the real thing.

  Professor Challenger...very tall, built like a bear, flaming red beard and hair. Quick to temper, but a kind man with a great mind. An adventurer beyond measure.

  Captain Nemo...a reformed pirate with a mind that grasps mechanics that rivals Henry Ford and Nicolas Tesla. Is famous for his extremely powerful weapon of the sea…the Nautilus.

  Jules Verne...a genius when it comes to theories and fiction, blonde, extremely friendly, caring and adventurous. Teams up often with H.G. Wells, a friend he grew up with. Designer of the Master of the World, which in another set of Victorian adventures he uses to fight an invasion from Mars.

  H.G. Wells...a brilliant writer and navigator. Contributes to the flying device Master of the World and its ability to fly through space and time. Very British and a bit stuffy at times.