Sherlock Holmes Resurrection: Sherlock Holmes, #26

By Michael John Light

Holmes has no idea what is being brought back from beyond the grave.

He has no idea the mission of the creature who has returned.

But soon he will see the results.

Much will change.

Can he stop this terror?

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Pirillo
• Release date: Sep 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386045861

Book preview

Justice

He faced the villagers with a snarl on his lips. His eyes glowed with menace and anger. You think this ends here. It does not!

Men and women, whose faces were filled with anger, some with grief, some with fear watched silently. Not one said a thing.

What this man had done was unthinkable.

What would happen to him was justice.

The villager master nodded  to a tall man on the platform where the angry man stood over a door that would soon put shut to his anger and abuse.

He nodded back and gripped a large lever.

The angry man eyed the tall man.

You shall die....

His last word was chocked off as the executioner pulled the lever and the angry man dropped the murderer to his death.

The sound of his neck snapping caused some to gasp.

The villagers turned about and silently left.

It was done.

No one can strike from beyond the grave.

221B Baker Street

D o you believe in destiny , Professor Langston? Holmes inquired as he peered over the thick book he held on his lap.

Professor Langston looked up from the chessboard where he was playing Watson, and then across at Challenger, who was seated next to Conan by the fire.

Watson and Mrs. Hudson were gone. Both on a short walk to get their tired blood moving, as Watson proclaimed.

Holmes smiled at that thought.

Well?

Professor Langston moved his pawn, and then took in Holmes glance. And you ask that why?

Holmes laughed lightly. Well played, Professor. Turn the question on the questioner.

Langston grinned. I have a good teacher.

Holmes nodded. Then in fair play, let us both do our best to fulfill the meaning of that word and bring it into accountability for having ever existed.

Quite a mouthful, Holmes, Challenger pointed out, smirking as he did so.

Conan nudged him.

What, Conan? It is!

Conan sighed and looked back at the fire again, his own thoughts dwelling on other places, other times, other memories.

Langston nodded. Very well. I agree.

Holmes set his book down, rose from his chair at the table and paced the room a moment, until he reached the windows and peered over Baker Street. A lone pigeon was fluffed up, its head buried beneath a wing where it rested on the outside windowsill.

It peered at Holmes curiously as he stopped so close to it, but didn’t move.

The street was still busy, a few cars passing below. None of the newer electric ones. They were the older ones powered by steam. He could see plumes of white smoke fluffing the air from their exhaust and the pipes over the engines that distilled the water that was superheated by the coal burners and then fired through the gears and wheels to eventually turn the front wheels of the car and move it on its way.

Holmes admired their simplicity. And their use of water, but he deplored their use of charcoal. It would be the ruin of a man’s health if that substance continued to be used. It was bad enough that it contributed so heavily to the fogs of London.

He, unlike many of the better off in London, believed in the reality of one having an effect on the environment, for better or worse by what one put into it.

And coal was