Holmes Enigma: Sherlock Holmes

By Michael John Light

What if the fiend causing the mysterious deaths where people dissolve can't be found?

What if he is not human?

What if he is an old enemy of Holmes and if so, which one?

The enigma of the mysterious disease, or curse, some feel, is baffling Sherlock Holmes and his friends as they pursue new clues.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Pirillo
• Release date: Jul 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386550822

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John

Prologue:

W hen one rules out the impossible, what is left?

The possible.

Yes, but what if you’ve ruled out all that is possible?

Watson stopped, his face tight with a thought suddenly worrying him. Holmes turned to look into Watson’s eyes.

Tell me! Tell me now, right here and now. Tell me you believe that all of this is just about one man’s revenge! And why take a constable?

Watson stammered, Hostage?

Holmes clasped his friend’s right arm and squeezed so hard, he almost yelped in pain. Watson, the game’s afoot and we must follow the players more closely than we have. This was not for the sake of a hostage.

Players! What players?

Holmes smiled. The impossible ones!

They crossed the street and headed up the sidewalk for Baker Street. But why a constable? And players? What are they playing? Watson asked.

Holmes didn’t stop; but he did smile.

Watson, we’ve been merrily jerked around like marionettes on puppet strings. We are their game!

We are?

Yes. Every step we take forward, they lead us two steps backwards. We are being played in a huge game of...revenge! Watson, this is not the work of one man or woman.

More?

One more, Holmes replied. One deadly more.

Holmes leaped upwards happily and clapped his hands in joy.

What’s come over you, Holmes?

An answer. And one we’re not likely to relish.

LOVECRAFT SMIRKED AT the vision of Watson and Holmes, vanquished it, and then returned his attention to Moriarity, who leered cruelly at a chained constable, uniform torn in so many places, blood oozing from dozens of wounds on his chest, arms, face and back. He hung there like a marionette, waiting for its master to play him. Scorch marks marred his bare flesh.

Answer my question truthfully and I’ll make sure your death is painless, Moriarity promised.

The helpless constable struggled to speak, barely

able to speak,  I have answered your questions truthfully.

Moriarity stepped closer to the constable. I want your real name, not your assumed one.

The constable shook his head. What a load of nothing! I have no assumed name, I....

Moriarity struck the man hard on his face. The constable reeled back against the wall which his cuffs were chained to, blood oozing from his lips.

I told you...

Moriarity struck him again. This time the constable sagged against his chains, losing consciousness.

Moriarity was about to strike him again regardless of the man’s state of awareness.

Lovecraft stopped his hand. Waste of time.

Moriarity scowled at Lovecraft. Men have died for less than touching me.

Lovecraft let go, but there wasn’t an ounce of fear in his eyes or on his face. Think what you will, but not all men are as weak as those you bully without the recourse of honor to defend themselves. But I have!

Moriarity looked into Lovecraft’s eyes. What he saw turned his stomach. He looked quickly away. "He’s

Useless to us. He has spoken the truth!"