Last Confession of Sherlock Holmes

Kieran Lyne

Description

In the dawn of 1891 Sherlock Holmes is locked in a deadly game of wits with the sinister Professor James Moriarty, but events will soon transpire which will question the very outcome of Reichenbach. With Holmes presumed dead, the streets of London are panic-stricken, as a resurrected terror takes hold of the city, whilst in the upper-echelons of Government, a singular, undetectable force can once again be felt manipulating the criminal underworld. The ever-reliable Dr Watson has deceived us all, as he finally reveals the far more shocking events which led to both the return of Sherlock Holmes and his involvement in the suppression of London's most notorious criminal.

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 21 décembre 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781780926575
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title page
The Last Confession of Sherlock Holmes
Kieran Lyne



Publisher information
First edition published in 2014
© Copyright 2014 Kieran Lyne
2014 digital version by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
The right of Kieran Lyne to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious or used fictitiously. Except for certain historical personages, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The opinions expressed herein are those of the authors and not of MX Publishing.
Use of the Sherlock Holmes characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle by permission of Conan Doyle Estate Ltd, www.conandoyleestate.co.uk
Published in the UK by MX Publishing
335 Princess Park Manor, Royal Drive,
London, N 11 3 GX
www.mxpublishing.co.uk
Cover design by www.staunch.com



Dedication
To Ra’ad,
for being there every step of the way.



Acknowledgements
First and foremost I must thank Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for providing us all with these timeless characters: I can only hope I have done them justice. ‘The characters of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle are used here by the kind permission of Jonathan Clowes Ltd, on behalf of Andrea Plunket, Director of the Arthur Conan Doyle Trademark (EU).’ For anyone interested in reading up on Jack the Ripper I found Paul Sugdon’s The Complete History of Jack the Ripper, as well as www.casebook.org to be of great value. I would like to thank all those who helped make this book possible: my publisher Steve Emecz, and Jon Lellenberg for introducing us; to Alice Smales for her editorial support; my readers, who kept me on the right path; Kate Pool at the Society of Authors for her invaluable assistance; Saunders Carmichael-Brown for dragging me singlehandedly into the 21 st Century; and finally to my parents, for providing me with the support, patience and platform to write this book.



Preface
It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen and record what will be the first and indeed the last confession of Sherlock Holmes. It is a revelation so shocking in its nature, and so shameful in its bearing upon the public, that I am at considerable unease to reveal even my own minor role. For years I have wrestled with my conscience, danced with the demons in my mind: to be placed in a position of the utmost secrecy, while in possession of the facts regarding one of the most disturbing and infamous mysteries this country has ever known has been a terrible ordeal.
I have continued with my publications and scribed many more of Holmes’s adventures but always I receive the same enquiries: I cannot satisfy their curiosity, I can offer no salvation. In matters of privacy, it is simple to hide accounts of delicacy, for they only require the consent and co-operation of a few individuals; but when an issue has been displayed before the world, this luxury is but a distant memory. No matter how much light is cast before the solitary wanderer, never can he resist the lure of the shadow. But now, at last, the world shall share my secret, and when they have experienced the horrors of the truth they shall wish to return to the blissful peace of mystery and wonderment.
I appeal directly to the heart and conscience of the individual, in the hope that, as they help alleviate me of this burden, they will not allow this darkest of episodes to tarnish any fond impression which they may have formulated regarding my dearest of friends, Sherlock Holmes.



Chapter I - The Great Duel
In the year of 1891, the capital of the British Empire was engulfed by the simmering clouds of civil war. For years this menace loomed over London like some form of vile arachnid slowly and meticulously descending upon its unsuspecting prey. Murder filled the streets, corruption poisoned the water, and at every turn the cornerstones of society were rife with decay. The very heart of the Empire was crumbling. Yet, remarkably, there was no retaliation. The Government were dismissive and the authorities perplexed. But, for Sherlock Holmes, this was the pinnacle of his career.
I had accompanied Holmes on many of his investigations but seldom did he seek my assistance during this most crucial of times. I had since departed bachelorhood and with it my room at Baker Street, having settled into lodgings and opened a private practice in Kensington with my wife Mary. We led a prosperous and content life, which was in stark contrast to the extremes that I had become accustomed to whilst living at 221 B . I still continued to scour the papers for criminal reports containing any unusual features of interest, and as many of the public may recall, the first few months of that fateful year were notable due to the occurrence of several shocking murders.
In January, deep in the heart of that remorseless winter, a young couple, revered throughout the land for their generosity and charitable work for London’s orphaned children, were found murdered, frozen in a pit of snow. Only their heads could be seen protruding from the pile; their faces only inches apart, as if they had been forced to watch their beloved slowly drift into oblivion. They were dressed in their evening attire, having attended a charity event earlier that evening in a nearby hotel. It was said that Mr and Mrs Ledger had no known quarrels, or even misunderstandings with anyone, and they were described as loving and energetic newlyweds who had dedicated their lives to the prosperity of London’s misfortunate children.
The mystery caused a great outcry, as the press and public demanded answers from the authorities, but none could be found. The murders were ruthless, meticulously executed, yet completed unmotivated. Along with the rest of the civilised society, I remained horrified at these crimes and the apparent ease with which those responsible evaded even rumoured identification. It was therefore to further indignation that those seemingly responsible struck again the following month, when the body of Arthur Winchester, renowned entrepreneur and innovator of social housing reforms, was found floating lifelessly in the Thames.
The body was recovered on the riverbank near Fulham, having been dumped into the water a few miles North. Mr Winchester had been severely beaten in the hours prior to his death before finally being stabbed shallowly in the vertebrae, and thrown into the water. The injuries were insufficient to kill the victim, and were believed to have been purposefully executed to prolong the man’s suffering. Though Mr Winchester likely had those in the world of business with whom he had not seen eye-to-eye, he was described as an amiable man, and one whose moral principles ensured that even the most stubborn of opposition held no qualm against him personally. Of course, certain landlords and developers were investigated as direct profiteers from Mr Winchester’s death, but once again, the police could find no satisfactory motive to the murder of a prominent, popular and progressive member of society.
Such a series of events is usually sufficient to send me upon my way to Baker Street: if not to offer my assistance, then to at least hear what would probably turn out to be the likely unravelling of the mystery from Holmes. Although he was never guaranteed to produce enough evidence to allow for a prosecution, at least I could find that certain sense of salvation and peace of mind which comes from a plausible understanding of the events, which helps anaesthetise the burning sense of injustice. Holmes, on the other hand, takes far more satisfaction in the knowledge that once again he has been able to unravel another intellectual puzzle.
Despite this, I had not had any correspondence with Holmes at all, save a couple of notes sent to me during his time spent in France while he was engaged by the French Government on a matter of supreme importance. Some may find this surprising for two great friends who live within reasonable walking distance of each other’s doors. But such is the life of the world’s only consulting detective that, on any occasion when I was free, he was often preoccupied or in a mood so undesirable that any visit would be instantly rendered pointless.
Happily, however, as winter’s bitter grasp began to relent under the gentle breeze of spring, I found ample time to visit Holmes, having wired ahead of my intentions. It was a bright yet brisk day, so I travelled by foot through Hyde Park. The sky was reflected perfectly in the Serpentine, and provided a pleasing imitation of warmer months.
I reached Baker Street around midday, rang the bell, and was greeted by dear Mrs Hudson, a rather nanny-like woman, with a commendable nature and temperament. She is remarkable, particularly on account of her continuing relationship with Holmes, as I am certain there are few, if any, who would endure such a tenant.
Upon entering my old lodgings, I was instantly struck by the lack of light and a musty smell of stale neglect. It was clear that the two broad windows had remained firmly bolted for some days, and that Holmes had presumably spent that time skulking in the shadows. I had no intention of tolerating such conditions during my visit, so