Sherlock Holmes, Victorian Midnights 1: Victorian Midnights, #1

By John Pirillo

TWO EXCITING SHERLOCK HOLMES URBAN FANTASY MYSTERIES

 

DARK STROKES:

 

A MAN SEEKS TO HAVE HIS WISH GRANTED, BUT AT A COST HE

MIGHT LATER REGRET.

 

SHERLOCK  HOLMES REVEALED:

 

A FUN INTERVIEW WITH SHERLOCK HOLMES.

 

Don't miss out on these exciting Holmes stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Pirillo
• Release date: Jan 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224729913

John Pirillo

The author was born in Washington, Pennsylvannia. He loves animals and birds. Has two pet cockatiels that keep him company while he writes. He has a lovely daughter and a rascally grandson. He is rich in friends that matter and well adjusted to a life of challenges. He writes and draws every day. He loves anything science fiction, fantasy or extremely well written. Same goes for movies and TV. Not married currently, but has an eye and ear open to possibilities. :)

Book preview

SHERLOCK HOLMES

VICTORIAN MIDNIGHTS 1

John Pirillo

Copyright 2024, John Pirillo

Table of Contents

SHERLOCK HOLMES

VICTORIAN MIDNIGHTS 1

DARK STROKES

Hyde Street

221 B Baker Street

1212 Memory Lane

221B Baker Street

Terrence and Lamb

The London Royal Museum

The Black Tower Exhibit

The High Tea Society

Inventions

Tragedy Strikes Again

221B Baker Street

Front Street

345 Full Front Street.

Scotland Yard

221 B Baker Street

SHERLOCK HOLMES

REVEALED

Chapter One

March 10th, 2010

Chapter Two

March 10th, 2010

Chapter Three

March 17th, 2010

Chapter Four

March 18th, 2010

Chapter Five

March 19th, 2010

All Good Things Must End

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DARK STROKES

Hyde Street

Hyde Street was quite dismal and dreary at night. Especially when the fog ate at one's feet like a hungry lion pawing at its meal.

Chester Wakefield had no reason to suspect foul play. He was a nimble man, priding himself on his footing in fisticuffs. He had won the Junior League Lightweight Boxing Championship just this year.

He was quite capable of taking down a man twice his size or twice as many. Didn't matter.

He adjusted his bowler hat so that it was a bit snugger. A strong wind was beginning to blow across the city from the Thames.

About time he thought. One can only stand this dreary fog so much.

Clunk!

He froze a moment mid-step.

What was that?

Nothing.

Nothing.

Still nothing.

He shrugged. Perhaps he'd had one too many drinks after all with his friends at the London Gentleman's Club. It was a new establishment that had built a rapid reputation for the quality of its service, as well as...he snickered at this part...handling a few less reputable services as well.

This reminded him.

He reached up with his handkerchief to wipe off the lipstick that had to be on his right cheek. He had asked her to not kiss him, but she had been so pleased with the large tip he had given she couldn't help it.

The kiss had smelled like cinnamon.

She gave him a wink and a grab that promised much, much more next time her services were required. And she was quite the looker too, so he looked forward to a new match. In private of course.

He stepped across Manson Street, which led to the heart of London, where the politics heated up the day and the night.

Good old Queen Mary of Scots was having a helluva time convincing the Lords of the Houses that poverty wasn't a disease, but a stain on the cloth of humanity. He had no opinions on that one way or the other, but he thought as most in his pay range did that being disadvantaged had far more downsides than ups, and helping those less fortunate would certainly cost a lot less than having to jail them for petty thefts to feed their children.

CLUNK!

That was louder he thought and turned on his heels to search for its source. Normally a sudden noise didn't frighten him, but one that repeated itself, sounded the same and appeared to be following him.

That did worry him.

Whoever you are, I'd advise you against trying to mug me! He announced loudly. I am a proficient boxer. I can fix a man up good and proper and quite easily if I want too.

He stood there proudly, his chest puffed out, his cheeks red from the cold, but his blood running cold. He might be that tough, but who's to say it was a man following him. Or that they weren’t tougher still!

London had built a reputation of late for harboring all manner of villains and monsters, creatures, and foul

things from beyond the night.

Silence.

Continued silence.

He sighed with relief.

His challenge had worked.

He turned around, and then every hair on the back of his neck stood straight up as the monster facing him reached for him.

Chester wouldn't be collecting any new matches with the lovely Angel of the Night the next day or any day.

His dying scream ripped the night, but none came to help. None came to his rescue.

Death was his only release. And it was not a quick or a kind one.

221 B Baker Street

Holmes peered from the Baker Street window at the opposing alley. He had been watching it tirelessly for days and nights now and was growing weak from fatigue and lack of nourishment. Even Mrs. Hudson couldn't sway him from his post and her food was always exquisite.

Watson would eat, his eyes on Holmes back, and wondering what had overcome his friend so much. But even as he wondered, he also knew: Destiny.

Dratted woman! He spit out without realizing it.

But Holmes didn't notice, his mind was elsewhere, while his eyes were focused outside. Holmes knew the problem and he had failed to resolve it. He felt very uncomfortable with that hypothesis, as it had kernels of truth to it, however much his intellect wanted to dismiss it.

She was Moriarity's daughter. She had run away to protect him. He knew that. She had a tribal curse placed upon her.  By her father. Any man she loved must die and the man who had killed her father must die by her hand. It was her curse and unfortunately for Holmes, his as well. Even beyond the grave Professor Moriarity reached out to pluck away any kind of happiness for Holmes.

1212 Memory Lane

H arry, there must be some way around this boorish curse that has been placed upon her. I can't see any happy end to this. If she fails to deliver me to death; she will die instead. She is a ticking bomb. And I have no idea how long the bomb will tick away, he said in exasperation.

Harry served Holmes a hot cup of tea with several crumpets and a bowl of honey and butter, then sat down at the table with him.

Harry had a cup of coffee, which he preferred over tea. It was a habit he had picked up from his many trips to America to do his professional shows of magic and illusion.

He glanced at a cabinet before him where a golden coffee cup stood with the words To Magical Harry. It was from the President. He had done a personal show for the white house. He had also saved the man from assassination by a horde of demons that had lived beneath the White House for centuries and had finally gotten free. But that's another story.

Holmes, you think too much sometimes, Harry finally said after a long pause.

Holmes looked up. How so?

You look for the simple explanation or the series of steps that lead to the resolution of your problem. But life is not always that simple, even when every step is obvious. Life is not a deduction, but...well life. One must live it out to the best of one’s abilities.

Holmes frowned. But without logic man is nothing.

Yes, Harry nodded in agreement. But without love the intellect is vast and empty, cold as the arctic winter and void of contentment.

Holmes shrugged. Then what do you suggest?

Tell her what you feel!

Holmes almost jumped at Hurry’s suggestion. That would be unmanly. To let her know I've been aware of her all this time and done nothing about it; it's tantamount to treason.

Harry chuckled.

Holmes scowled at him.

Holmes, Holmes, Holmes, Harry sighed. Did you listen to the words you just spoke to me?

Holmes was quiet.

Harry rose, went to his cabinet, opened it, and took out his crystal ball. He set it on the table, gently unwrapped the velvet red cover surrounding it and looked at Holmes.

"Are you sure you