‘It’s a message, Watson.’ He blew a cloud of hashish smoke. ‘Lord Carmichael will refuse the ransom.’ Watson spluttered. ‘Do you have to?’ ‘Oh, there’ll be no demands.’ Holmes shrugged. ‘The infusion enhances concentration; try it.’
‘Surely the kidnappers know of his Lordship’s wealth.’ ‘My dear Watson.’ He grinned. ‘Look, what do you see?’ ‘They dropped a cord.’
‘Lady Jane is an eccentric intellectual and a fanciful romantic.’ ‘Holmes! She is in mortal danger.’
‘The symbol eight; love and infinite wealth.’ Holmes smiled. ‘A Pearl of the East and a paper boat.’ He laughed. ‘Lady Jane has run off to Hong-Kong.’
‘So, it’s true.’ Watson wiped the condensation from the window. ‘The last cough of winter comes in May.’
‘The feasts of the Ice Saints.’ Holmes removed the needle from his arm.
‘One day,’ said Watson, ‘that opium will kill you, and I can’t save you.’
‘Ah Watson, I’m already dead.’ Holmes laughed. ‘Life is relative. Now, where is she?’ He closed his eyes. ‘Where! damn you woman, where?’
Watson sipped his Earl Grey and stared at the pale face of Holmes. He was delirious and mumbling on about a “Tardis” and “The Doctor” hidden beneath the Athabasca Glacier in Canada.
Let me know what you think, which was the best of the bunch?
I am working on a new anthology – title undecided – I am aiming to produce 300 pages based on a theme of lost love. It will not be a romance collection, instead it will be a series based on real life events.
I received a lovely comment from a reader about my book, Missing.
She found the description of the location, setting and the farming community authentic and real. This, she believed, could only have been written by someone from within that environment.
‘Whoever created time.’ Holmes mumbled as sweat dripped from his chin. ‘Must control the universe.’
I sprinted to catch up. ‘It’s abandoned. You were wrong Holmes.’
‘No, Watson, those walls conceal the Tardis.’ He wiped his brow. ‘See, a warning; Transgression S – S for Sherlock.’
I stared at his intellectual smugness forming laughter lines by his eyes. The dust burned in my lungs, and Holmes’s grin prompted me to draw my pistol. If I shot him, I’d be free from this mad quest?
‘Yes, let’s be careful,’ Holmes said. ‘We may have overstepped the Time Lord’s patience.’
Holmes is missing, and the last train waits.
We came to investigate the torture and murder of three French spies, but found them unperturbed drinking real ale in the Purbeck Arms.
A trick and heinous treachery by Professor Moriarty to lure us to death in the dungeons of the castle.
What is taking Holmes so long?
The scarlet sky; not a good sign. Its dying rays dripping like blood over the castle ruins. Is it the end of Holmes?
What next; a screeching Pterodactyl swooping downwards.
‘Quick, Watson!’ Holmes shouts from the beast. ‘Jump on before the magic wears off.’
Watson tasted the residue powder on the tip of his tongue, it was tart and acerbic. Holmes! he thought, not again, where has he gone? Think.
Holmes had promised to forget about the Doctor, to relax, have a good night’s sleep, instead he has disappeared, another hunch.
Couldn’t he leave a note—perhaps he has; chain smoking, sniffing coke, tissues, French brandy, and a dog’s bowl? We don’t have a dog! The Yankee candle, he hadn’t seen that before. Where Holmes?
It’s no use; better clean this mess up before Mrs Hudson arrives.
Yes! Hudson Bay, why? Damn you Holmes.
Sherlock seeks Dr Who. By request I have added this new menu heading.
Here you find my Flash Fiction about Sherlock seeking the new Dr Who.
Sherlock Holmes Statue in Edinburgh
Included is a Russell Holmes adventure “Murder at the Falls”, for your reading pleasure. This short story is taken from my collection ‘The Case of the Mahjong Dragon” and is included as it is based on the Holmes theme.
Holmes ignored me and peered through his binoculars. ‘At last we have her lair.’
‘Same sign again, Holmes.’
‘A mere ploy, Watson.’ He pointed to the distant ridge. ‘The Tardis! we have her. Oh boy, Watson, the Doctor is here.’ He strode on along the track.
For the hundredth time the ridge came into view, as we reached the same sign on this same spot.
Is there no escape from this repetitive nightmare? I was dehydrated following Holmes on this circular looped track.
Next time round, I will push him off and jump to jolt myself awake.
Holmes was immortal, and distraught as he felt like an inanimate antique hoarded by an impulsive collector. He was in a delirious mood and was not making sense in his drug induce daze, mumbling about eternal regeneration and the beginning with no end to an infinitive universe.
“Quick, bring some hot chicken broth,” I called to Mrs Hudson.
Holmes leapt to his feet and sprinted from the room.
’Too late,’ I shouted. Running after him, I caught up and found him in a curiosity shop.
“Watson, we are but dusty relics,” said Holmes, and he blew dark smoke from his obnoxious weed across my face.
“I wish you’d refrain.” I coughed. “Why are we here? Pottery?”
“Why does the Doctor need this stoneware from Old Kent Road?”
“A gift or perhaps an inheritance?”
“Yes, his nostalgia for all things London.”
These days, I was at my wits end with Holmes as he had become obsessed, and I often recoiled from his constant rages, madness and frustrations. He was determined to uncover the identity of the Time Lord, the imposter.
“What does this collection tell you Watson?’
“He is having guests for tea.”
“No Watson, can’t you see his next location is surely eighteen hundreds mid-west.”
“Oh, I like the flowers, a nice feminine touch.”
“Damn Watson! It is a woman!”
“About time.” I chuckled, and couldn’t imagine Holmes with a wife.
“No, no, no.” Holmes fell to his knees. “I’m now searching for an elusive woman.”
I put my hand on his shoulder to console the poor chap. I smiled.