Sherlock Holmes Crime of Passion: Steampunk Holmes, #17

By Michael John Light

What would you do if you found out the person you trusted was not what you thought, but instead, something monstrous?

What would you do?

A town plagued by violent mangling of its citizens requests Sherlock Holmes to help them.

Can he solve a crime that is so well protected by the trust of those harmed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Pirillo
• Release date: Aug 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386240860

Book preview

Request for Review

If you found some pleasure in reading my work, please take the time to leave a review for it. Authors can thrive or die for the lack of reviews.

Thanking you in advance for your kindness.

John

In Pursuit of a Demon

Watson felt his heart rate racing as he strove to keep up with the long legged Holmes. The dratted fellow ran like a swan in flight, his feet seeming to never touch the ground as his long strides flew him along the ground, faster and faster.

The course they followed was steep.

Another reason Watson fell further behind.

Holmes seemed unaware of it as he gave more and more distance between the two of them.

Holmes! Watson finally managed to gasp out.

But Holmes didn’t hear him.

He vanished in a sudden turn of the course.

Watson slowed down, and then bent over, gasping for air.

Yet again, he promised himself he would go on the promised diet he always made to his dear Mrs. Hudson and his best friend and partner, Holmes. He gave it and then his stomach rumbled angrily. Well, maybe after dinner he thought.

The air was shattered by the most violent and eerie cry he had ever heard. And not far off. Not far at all.

It was directly behind him.

He tried to peek between his legs to see how close.

He couldn’t tell, because whatever it was no more than a few inches away.

A huge shadow, cast by the full moon overhead, thrust at him, sharp claws sticking out like daggers as they fell towards his back.

A gunshot.

The shadow fell back.

Watson dropped to his stomach.

A second gun shot.

Then a third.

Silence.

Then something heavy fell across him.

He gasped.

He was a dead man for sure if the beast were attacking him in this position. But strangely enough it just lay there.

Then he smelled the oozing blood pouring from the three holes in its heart and brain.

It stunk.

A hand reached down and pulled him free.

Choking on the vile smell of the dead creature, he stumbled from his knees to his feet, and then yanked a handkerchief free to examine the fallen beast.

Holmes came alongside him, his pistol barrel still smoking.

Rather timely, I say, Holmes.

You did a good job of luring it out, Watson.

I wasn’t trying to lure it out. I was starving for air!

Holmes looked into Watson’s face. He smiled gently into Watson’s suddenly angry face.

I imagine that Mrs. Hudson will fancy my version much more than yours.

Watson felt his anger dissolve.

He broke into laughter, and then said. I imagine she would.

They both turned their backs to the creature and continued back the way they had come.

Job well done.

The Magistrate of Donner was dead.

The Werewolf of Donner would never strike another innocent man or woman down again.

Remembrance

Here marks the spot

Where my daughter died.

Here marks the spot

Where my heart stopped.

And here is where you find me

Waiting patiently in the dark.

Waiting for the angel

She has now become.

—John Watson

Burial of the Werewolf

The Minister shook some Holy Water into the open grave. His robes danced about him in the harsh breeze of that morning. It looked to rain nearly any moment now and tiny dust devils were playing with the dirt that lay ready to be cast back into the hole it had been taken from.

The magistrate’s body lay in a simple coffin. The wife had insisted as a token to show how she felt for the loss of so many by her husband. It wounded her deeply to see his face lost in shadows, knowing that the man she had fondly