Sherlock Holmes Death By Werewolf

  Sherlock Holmes

  Death by Werewolf

  John Pirillo

  Copyright 2016

  Contents

  Death by Werewolf

  Chapter One: Incident of a Foul Nature

  Chapter Two: Watson on Trial

  Chapter Three: Scotland Yard

  Chapter Four: 221B Baker Street

  Chapter Five: The Chase

  Chapter Six: Chief Magistrate Reynolds

  Chapter Seven: Habits That Bite

  Chapter Eight: 221B Baker Street

  Chapter Nine: In Pursuit

  Chapter Ten: Professor Langston

  Chapter Eleven: Chief Magistrate Reynolds

  Chapter Twelve: Scotland Yard

  Chapter Thirteen: Love's Broken Heart

  Chapter Fourteen: The Courthouse

  Chapter Fifteen: Watson on Trial

  Chapter Sixteen: The Courthouse

  Chapter Fifteen: 221B Baker Street

  BIOGRAPHY

  GLOSSARY

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  OTHER WORKS BY AUTHOR

  Works in the Sherlock Holmes Baker Street Universe

  Novels

  Standalone Stories

  Journey to the Center of the World Series

  The Adventures of Lord When Series

  The Secret Adventures of Alexander Dumas and Jules Verne Series

  Angel Hamilton, Private Angel Stories

  The Rocketman Series

  Art Books

  The roll of the dice

  Is the gambit of one

  But the role of one

  Is the challenge of two.

  -- Doctor John Watson --

  Chapter One: Incident of a Foul Nature

  "This way, quickly, Watson!"

  Watson clutched his black bag to his chest as he ran with one hand and held his other hand at the ready to fend off anything that might get in his way, as the lighting in the tunnel was so dim he could barely make out Holmes who charged ahead of him.

  It was remarkable how that man could seem to see well in even the darkest of places. It was as if he had been born with cat eyes, or perhaps a sixth sense of some kind that Watson knew he himself did not have. He slammed into a huge cobweb, plastering it all over his jacket and face. He spit out the web, swiped the rest from him with his free hand without slowing down.

  "Buggers!" He cursed.

  He pursued his friend through the nearly pitch black tunnel, the phosphorescence of the occasional splotches of mold casting a lime-colored glow as he passed, giving both him and Holmes a garish, almost nightmarish appearance. More hallucinatory than real.

  "I hear something," Holmes cried out.

  Watson nearly collided with him.

  Holmes steadied him. "Shhh!"

  They both strained to hear what Holmes had first detected.

  At first there was nothing and then there was a deep, rumbling sound. Not near, perhaps a dozen yards off. Something large and ominous from the sound of it.

  "Holmes," Watson started to say.

  He felt a finger on his lips and shut up.

  He felt a finger touch his jacket over his weapon. He nodded, even though he knew Holmes couldn't possibly see the nod, and instinctively, reached into his jacket and plucked the weapon out.

  Still no other sound than the deep, rumbling breathing and then it seemed to get nearer.

  Closer.

  He smelled something fetid and foul in the air next to them and then...

  "Now, Watson!" Holmes cried out.

  Watson fired his weapon repeatedly, until his weapon was fully discharged.

  Chapter Two: Watson on Trial

  Chief Magistrate Reynolds stood before the court testifying, "He shot me and then ruthlessly, without mercy, shot my beloved butler, Miles."

  "You may resume your seat, Chief Magistrate Reynolds," Chief Magistrate Lord Dawson declared.

  Chief Magistrate Reynolds nodded and returned to his chair, passing Holmes as he did so.

  He didn't look at Holmes, whose gaze upon him was like that of a lion's about to pounce.

  Holmes turned his attention away from the man who had just testified. He was ramrod straight, and to the right of Watson, who sat quietly in the booth where criminals waited for judgment. He was guarded by two huge, burly constables, who kept their eyes on him and hands on their weapons.

  That's how dangerous he was considered. He looked beaten down, but defiant at the same time.

  He glanced to his right where Mrs. Hudson sat, watching. He was on trial for murder in the first degree. She looked pale and distraught. He couldn't blame her. A murder charge was not a thing to be taken lightly, especially when a mandatory death by beheading was the result of a guilty charge. Or worse yet, being hung by the neck!

  He looked down at the chains binding his hands and feet and felt such heaviness, that he wanted to just lie down and die on the spot. But he didn't give up. He wouldn't be defeated by the appearance of guilt being ascribed to him. It didn't matter what anyone thought, but Holmes and Mrs. Hudson. They knew the truth.

  Chief Magistrate Lord Dawson frowned at Holmes. "It is your considered opinion that to murder a man in cold blood is not admissible as evidence in this court of law?"

  "It is your honor," Holmes replied. "My friend and partner, Doctor John Watson, is not guilty of the charges brought forth against him, because he was not in possession of either his mind or body at the time of the murder."

  "So then," the Chief Magistrate said thoughtfully, "if a man should imbibe an indecent amount of spirits into his system, he is not responsible for the deaths he causes? Is this what you are saying, Mister Holmes?"

  "I am not. A man has to be responsible for what he creates."

  "Then are you saying that your friend and partner, this man..." he gestured with his gavel towards Watson."...That this man though he shot in cold blood a member of the Queen's court, and murdered his servant, a man respected by all who knew him, as well as a well-loved member of the community, is not to be considered a the true killer, even though it was his fingerprints upon the murder weapon?"

  "I am and I do so believe this utterly and with every fiber of my being." Holmes stated.

  Chief Magistrate Dawson laughed. "I appreciate your humorous approach to this argument, Mister Holmes, but please refrain yourself to the rules of law."

  Holmes straightened further, if that were possible. His eyes, so piercing and intense, were now entirely focused on the Chief Magistrate, who was not wavered one bit by the stare, but returned it in kind. "There are rules and then there are rules, your honor."

  The courtroom became very quiet.

  There wasn't a man or woman there who didn't recognize the power of the Chief Magistrate, nor the explicit honesty and integrity of Sherlock Holmes, the detective, whose adventures rocked the kingdom almost on a daily basis.

  Chief Magistrate Lord Dawson took a moment to sip at a glass of water, or what looked like water to everyone else, his eyes never leaving those of Holmes. Holmes never blinked, but remained as still and cautious as a deadly viper ready to spring and attack its victim with deadly force.

  The glass was put down and the Chief Magistrate Lord Dawson adjusted his long white wig, uncomfortable with being in the position he was facing, not only with Holmes, but with his partner, the good Doctor John Watson, who stood at trial for murder and attempted murder. He considered the courtroom, his eyes surveying the members of the court, then the guests, who sat higher up in the balconies about the chamber. He especially noted one in particular, because that one had the Royal Signet Ring on his left pinkie, which signified that the Queen had sent him and he could over ride any decision made in
the court by her if so desired.

  This was a predicament of the grandest sort. He was in his last year of being the Chief Magistrate and didn't want anything to sully his record of perfect convictions. He had an expensive manor to maintain, two mistresses, and a large belly that loved rich foods and wine, some of which was in the glass of so-called water he had just drunk. He had to be not only careful of his ruling, but also mindful of what it could mean for his career. Did the Queen see the Lord's death as a major concern and therefore he should convict the Doctor, or did she instead see it as an affront to his service to the Empire?

  The tension in the court rose to a crescendo. He sighed, and then raised his gavel.

  He pounded it three times. "In my judgment, after having examined all the evidence, and having presided during the examination and revelations regarding this case..."

  He hesitated, gathering his words in the best way he could. His career hung in the balance now.

  "It is my considered opinion and judgment that Doctor John Watson is..."

  As the verdict was announced, Watson didn't hear it; his mind was going back several days after the chase in the tunnel. To what had happened to bring all this about.

  Chapter Three: Scotland Yard

  Inspector Bloodstone and Constable Evans, father and son, stood on the opposite side of the table where Watson was cutting open the corpse of a young male, whose throat and face were torn open in a ghastly manner, such that his teeth were shown, and his side face were missing, as well as most of his throat.

  "Ghastly!" Inspector Bloodstone muttered, hating being there, hating that another innocent had died.

  Constable Evans put a hand on his father's shoulder to comfort him. He knew his old man was getting more and more sensitive to the recurring deaths. This was the fifth in as many days.

  Holmes watched them a moment, then returned his attention to the corpse.

  Watson, wiped at his forehead, and then used a pair of forceps to pluck something white from the neck of the corpse.

  "Ah-ha!" He exclaimed.

  Inspector Bloodstone and Constable Evans came closer. Holmes, wearing a surgical glove to keep from contaminating the evidence, took the forceps and held the white substance closer.

  "Appears to be a cuspid, Watson. See how the curve of the enamel bends to the left?" Holmes asked. "A right cuspid no doubt."

  "But look at how long it is, Holmes. No man has canines that long," Watson pointed out.

  "No, they do not," Holmes agreed.

  Inspector Bloodstone couldn't restrain himself any longer, "Why the bloody hell not?"

  Holmes and Watson both turned to eye the Inspector and speak, but Holmes deferred to Watson with a nod.

  Watson scowled as he spoke. He hated saying the next words, but he did so as a matter of professional courtesy. "Because this is not the tooth of a human being, but that of a werewolf."

  "Bloody hell!" The Inspector Bloodstone cursed.

  "Exactly," Holmes agreed.

  Chapter Four: 221B Baker Street

  Holmes and Watson played chess, while Mrs. Hudson stood at the window overlooking Baker Street. It was late. She had stayed up for them both, knowing they would need some kind of nourishment after the chase, going to Scotland Yard with the return of the body and then the autopsy.

  She shuddered. How Watson was able to endure those endless surgical procedures. Forensics yes, but ghastly in her mind. Yet, she loved him for his professionalism and his willingness to not stop until the truth was revealed.

  Something moved in the alleyway across the street. She gave it no second thought at first, but when it turned and she could see very large, venomous glowing red eyes looking up at her, "There's something out there!" She cried out.

  Chapter Five: The Chase

  "This way, Watson!" Holmes cried out and took a fast turn into an alley.

  Watson followed, his black bag in one hand and a weapon, his other hand clutching his coat to keep it from flapping. They had been in such a rush to get out on the street; he hadn't time to button it up properly.

  Watson's heart thudded in his chest like a hammer on a drum, but he didn't mind. By now he was getting used to this; he only wished he were just a few pounds lighter like Holmes.

  They came to another intersection of alleys. Holmes paused a moment, then eyed the pavement. Splotches of moisture showed footprints the size of two men's feet. He waved Watson on and followed, quickly catching up.

  They finally came to a new intersection, where the alleyway had been opened up, and led to into an open pit. Several ladders dropped into its depths. He and Holmes paused before it.

  "This way," Holmes said, and began descending.

  "How can you tell?" Watson said, and then he caught the odor wafting up from the opening. "Oh." He meekly replied to his own question.

  They both dropped into the sewer tunnel that ran beneath London. Holmes lit a match and searched the floor beneath him a moment, then nodded as if satisfied and began running once more to the left.

  Watson followed.

  Ahead of them something huge leaped into the air and caught hold of the rung of a ladder ascending from the tunnel.

  "Halt or be fired upon!" Homes cried out.

  The huge form turned to look at them. It had hideously large eyes that seemed formed of liquid fire. It made a deep, rumbling sound of laughter, then tossed the heavy metal cap over the hole at the top of the ladder it had climbed aside as easily as if it were a toy, then shot upwards and from view.

  Holmes and Watson ran to the ladder and swiftly ascended to the top and through the sewer hole. Holmes stood on the street where the hole opened and eyed the huge manor before him.

  Watson came out next and gasping for air.

  "We've lost it?"

  "Not likely," Holmes said, pointing to wet, slimy footprints that headed towards the manor.

  Chapter Six: Chief Magistrate Reynolds

  Chief Magistrate Reynolds shrugged on his nightgown as he descended the steps from his upstairs bedroom. The servants had retired to their homes in back and he didn't want to bother them.

  He quickly tied the silk belt about his ample middle and went to the front door where the loud knocking continued to come from. He was a huge man and had to be careful of knocking things over as he did so, since it was quite dark inside the home. He was used to it by now; otherwise he would have brought down a dozen or so beautiful vases imported from China that lined the walkway by the front door.

  He opened it and peeked out. "Yes?"

  No answer.

  He opened wider and peered outside further.

  A hand clasped the door and pulled it the rest of the way open to reveal Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson standing on the porch.

  "Gentlemen, I'm surprised to see the two of you here."

  Holmes peered into the home, his eyes losing nothing as he took in what was visible. He looked at the Chief Magistrate, "We have chased a criminal to your manor, Chief Magistrate."

  "Highly unlikely, as the only villains here at this moment are those who have interrupted my sleep," he pointed out, taking a deep yawn to confirm what he had spoken.

  "Then you won't mind if we have a look around?" Holmes asked. "For your safety and well being, of course."

  "Of course," the Chief Magistrate responded cordially with a bit of sarcasm lacing it.

  The Chief Magistrate stepped aside and gestured them inside. "Just clean your shoes as best you can on the rug here before you go further."

  He caught his nostrils in a pinch and went further with, "Something most foul has become lodged on them."

  Holmes and Watson did so.

  Holmes gave the Chief Magistrate a closer look as he passed, but said nothing.

  He and Watson separated and went through room after room, looking for evidence of a break in, but could find none.

  Finally, only the downstairs library was left. Holmes entered it, followed by Watson and the Chief Magistrate.

  "Surely y
ou can see none have trespassed upon my abode?" The Chief Magistrate asked, gesturing to indicate that this room was empty as well.

  Holmes said nothing, but carefully went about the room. As he passed a series of bookcases, he noted something resembling a ball of fuzz on the right one, where many law books were enclosed behind glass.

  Watson was searching the other side of the room and the Chief Magistrate was with him.

  "Be careful of the statue, Doctor, it's quite old." He warned Watson as he peered beneath an oddly shaped figurine of about twelve inches in height that resembled a human with four arms and horns sprouted from its head.

  "Ugly thing," Watson commented.

  Holmes turned his back to the bookcase where the dark fuzz was, snatched it with a hand, his eyes on the Chief Magistrate, who was just turning.

  "But expensive. I picked it up in my travels to the Chinas some weeks back," the Chief Magistrate replied. Along with a few other things you don't need to know about, he thought to himself.

  Holmes carefully hid the substance he had discovered in his jacket pocket, and then turned to Watson. "I think we can agree with the Chief Magistrate that he is safe and there is no need to discomfort or alarm him further."

  "No bother at all, Mister Holmes. As a matter of fact I would love to share some brandy with you before you go back into that cold night outside. Our weather has been unnaturally cold this year."

  Watson and Holmes exchanged looks.

  A servant came into the room, doing his best to stifle a yawn. "Sir, I heard a commotion, ah...I see we have guests. Shall I fetch some tea and cakes, sir?"

  The servant gave the Chief Magistrate a raised eyebrow, lost to Watson, but seen by Holmes.

  "Splendid idea, Miles." The Chief Magistrate turned to Holmes and Watson. "I'd like to know more about what it is you've been chasing."

  Miles walked from the library, but as he did so he stumbled a bit. Holmes went to brace the man from falling.

  "Thank you," Miles said with a smile.

  "We could do without the tea and cake if you need to rest further," Holmes suggested.