Sherlock Holmes in 2012: LORD OF DARKNESS RISING (16 page)

“And you’re saying Irene intends to go after him?” Mycroft threw his arms in the air. “I won’t have it! Do you hear me? I won’t have it, I tell you!”

Sherlock shook his head. “I totally agree with you; we can’t let her do it, but how do you propose we stop her? Besides, Dr. Nebo is probably gone to where ever you sent him, wouldn’t you say?”

“Perhaps, we should call on Dr. Bahareth’s assistance now?” Watson interposed.

Both Sherlock and Mycroft turned their attention to the doctor.

“How would this think-tank buffoon be able to help?” Sherlock retorted vehemently. “I should rather believe, in fact, that he would be quite pleased to see his original plan realized so unexpectedly. Wasn’t he the one who wanted to send everyone back to restore Time Continuum?”

“Now, Sherlock… , the man is not a buffoon, I’ll have you know. And he was only suggesting that one way of redressing the situation was to have you – not Irene – return to 1890.”

“Well then, I should be the one going to Dr. Nebo and travel back to my century. It’s that simple!”

Mycroft shrugged and turned to Watson once again. “Alright, Dr. Watson, just tell us why you would alert Dr. Bahareth of this latest development?”

“Thank you, Mr. Minister,” Watson said respectfully. “Dr. Bahareth has electronic experts stationed all over the world and one of these could certainly go to Dr. Nebogipfel’s home, use the time-machine and go to 1890…”

“To what end?” Sherlock interjected. “He’s not the one who could restore Time Continuum.”

“No, Mr. Holmes, you’re quite right, this expert would not be able to redress the situation, but he would be able to disarm your machine when he finds it, which would prevent anyone from using it, be it Professor Moriarty or David Penny.”

Mycroft harrumphed. “I suppose that’s a solution.”

“But I think we should act rather quickly,” Watson suggested. “Mrs. Holmes is probably on her way to Dr. Nebo’s house as we speak.” He looked at Mycroft pleadingly.

“Yes, you’re right. Let me call Nebo first to stop him – I told him to wait for my instructions before he went anywhere.” Joining action to words, Mycroft took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialled Dr. Nebo’s number in Washington.

Meanwhile, Sherlock turned to Watson and Sarah. “Why don’t we call Mrs. Holmes?” he said to Sarah, handing her the mobile phone he had extracted out of his breast pocket.

Sarah nodded, took the phone from his hand, found the number and pressed the “send” digit to Sherlock’s amazement.
She
is
only
seven
year’s
old
and
she
knows
more
about
these
contraptions
than
an
adult
would,
he thought.
Extraordinary!

Sarah got up from the sofa, the phone to her ear, and went to the bedroom not to disturb Mycroft’s conversation with Dr. Nebo.

“Mrs. Holmes!” Sarah said as soon as Irene picked up the call. “It’s me, Sarah! Are you okay?”

Neither Sherlock nor Watson heard what Irene replied, but the smile on Sarah’s face was unmistakable – Irene was okay.

“Mrs. Holmes… , you can’t return to the other century,” Sarah urged. “Mr. Mycroft said he will send someone to 1890… . No, Mrs. Holmes, not for that… . It’s just the man is going to break the time-machine so nobody can use it anymore… .
Yup
, that’s what Mr. Mycroft said.” Sarah looked up at Sherlock. “Here… ,” she said, handing him the phone, “Mrs. Holmes wants to talk to you,” and went to put her arms around Watson’s waist.

“It will be okay, Little One, I promise,” he said softly, caressing his daughter’s back. “Mrs. Holmes will be back soon, you’ll see.”

“. . . Yes, I know, my dear… ,” Sherlock was saying. “Exactly my point… . Why don’t you take the first airplane out of Washington and join us here in London, while you let these idiots take care of
their
problem
?” He listened for a moment and then smiled. “I’ll be waiting for your arrival then… . Yes, of course, I’ll tell him… . No, my dear, you’ll do that yourself when you’re here… . Alright then… ,” Sherlock concluded before he closed his mobile and replaced it in his pocket.

“Is Mrs. Holmes coming here?” Sarah asked impatiently.

“Yes, child, she will be here tonight and she said to give you and your daddy a message”—he lifted his gaze to Watson—“Neither of us will be going anywhere for now.”

“That’s wonderful!” Watson exclaimed with a big grin on his face.

Returning to the lounge room, they noticed that Mycroft was in an apparently
explosive
discussion with someone at the other end of the line. His face was red and getting redder with every word he heard. “ . . . Should I repeat myself endlessly; my answer is NO! And that’s final, Agent Weisberg. You leave well alone, do you hear me?” Mycroft hollered. He turned his face to Watson, Sarah and Sherlock who had already regained their seats opposite the irate minister. “No, that’s not the point!” He listened. “The point is that I am not prepared to play any games with you or the FBI, Weisberg. Mr. Holmes is under my government’s protection and he’s staying put… .” He emitted a groaning sound to Sarah’s visible pleasure. “No! There is no avenue for negotiation here… . You need only to know that Mr. Holmes will be returning to his hometown as soon as practicable… . Yes, that’s correct. But if I hear that he or his wife is bothered in any way, I’ll have your head on a platter!” With these virulent words, Mycroft snapped the phone shut, exhaled a deep breath, shook his head and looked at his three guests. “And before you utter a word, Sherlock,” he blurted to his brother’s grin, “I did not ring him. He was the one who called after talking to Dr. Bahareth.”

“And where is the blighter then?” Sherlock demanded. “Shouldn’t he have made an appearance by now?”

“He should be here momentarily, yes,” Mycroft replied. “Just tell me what Irene said, before he gets here, if you don’t mind.”

Sarah sat up. “Mr. Mycroft, you should not worry so much, you know!” Mycroft offered a genuine smile to the little girl who he had learned to admire in a very short time. “Actually, Mrs. Holmes is okay. She said to tell you that she will be here tonight.”

“Will she now?” Mycroft looked up at Sherlock. “Did you talk to her?”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. As a matter of fact, she was leery of finding some FBI agents lurking about Dr. Nebo’s place and was trying to evade any possible surveillance before knocking on his door.”

“Good! And I’ve talked to Dr. Nebo. If there is any need to move the machine anywhere he’s ready, but for the time being the capsule is not to be found for a few days.”

“How did he manage that?” Watson asked, suddenly opening his mouth.

“Elementary, my dear Watson! Dr. Nebo sent someone in time – a few days from today – and the person landed in the same place as the one he left – only the capsule or the man will not be visible until the day of its arrival.”

“Absolutely amazing!” Watson said, truly astounded. “I mean yes, it would only be logical to have the machine suspended in time for a few days, but what is astonishing to me is the fact that a man from the last century could devise such a technology. The instrumentation on his computer must be incredibly advanced.”

“Yes, I agree with you, Watson,” Sherlock rejoined. “Given what I have seen thus far of this century, nothing as yet has equalled Professor Wells’s invention.”

A knock at the door interrupted the momentary silence. “Ah!” Mycroft exclaimed, getting out of his chair. “That must be our visitor now.”

When Mycroft opened the door wide to let Dr. Bahareth inside, he saw a man on the verge of collapse, seemingly rooted on the threshold. “My dear Doctor, what on earth is the matter with you? You look positively ill. But don’t just stand there; come in, come in, by all means.”

Hesitantly, Mohammad trotted in and stood in the hallway. “I am very sorry, Mr. Minister, to be late for this appointment, but something has happened.”

“Don’t say another word for now, Doctor, and let me introduce you to my guests.” He extended an arm in the direction of the lounge room where Sherlock, Watson and Sarah were standing and observing the disgruntled man’s strange demeanour as he walked farther into the room. “This is my brother, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

“How do you do, sir,” Mohammad said, bowing slightly but not offering his hand to shake, which gesture Sherlock noticed instantly.

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” he said flatly.

Mycroft went on, “Dr. Watson… , you’ve met already, I believe.” Mohammad nodded. “And this is Sarah Watson, his daughter.” Mohammad looked up at his host, obviously surprised at a child being permitted to attend the meeting. “Yes, Doctor Bahareth, Sarah will be attending our meeting…”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Doctor Bahareth,” Sarah said, curtsying politely.

“Likewise, my dear,” Mohammad replied. He sat down directly across from Sherlock, who was
inspecting
 – not to say scrutinizing – the man carefully.

“Now, Doctor,” Mycroft began, “What did happen to you?”

“The man has seen something his mind could not quite accept or comprehend; isn’t that right, Doctor?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, that’s exactly what happened. But how could you tell?”

“Because, Doctor, your face is ashen, your hands are sweaty, your brow is beading with perspiration and your hands are still shaking,” Holmes replied. “But what is even more telling is the fact, that you being a man of science, a man who has probably seen the worst and the best of what life has to offer, you are not easily put out or bothered by troublesome scenes. However, the figure… , or ghostly apparition or whatever it was”—Sherlock waved a hand in the air—“and whom you met face to face not long ago, I’d say, was far from human, was he, Doctor?”

Mohammad’s head bobbed up and down. “He… , I mean this… , this
thing
was horrible. What you could describe as a face was normal at first glance, but then it contorted into something I had never encountered. His protruding eyes were piercing my very flesh. He spoke softly but menacingly.”

“And what did he tell you?” Mycroft asked.

“He said something to the effect that the
son
of
evil
will
bear
upon
us
all
with
the
strength
and
power
of
the
father
.” Mohammad shook his head at the terrifying recollection.

“
Lord
Mobius!
” Sarah uttered out of the blue. Mohammad gawked at the child. She turned her face up to her father. “Yes… , that’s him, Daddy. He had big eyes and he had a cowl over his head. He was ugly… . Don’t you remember? I told you I saw him in my dream.” Watson took his daughter’s hand. “I told you… I saw him. That’s the way he looked,” Sarah insisted.

“Okay, Little One, but that was only a dream – a terrible dream I agree – but what Dr. Bahareth is saying is that he actually met the man face to face and the creature didn’t give his name, or did he?” Watson directed his gaze to a visibly amazed Mohammad.

“I will not believe it as long as I live, John, but that’s the name he proffered to me, yes.”

Finally Professor Moriarty found the house where the time-machine was kept. Same as Sherlock had done months ago, he followed the hedge until he came to the gate, and without thinking twice about it, opened it and walked up to the front door of the old house. He stopped, looked around him for a moment, listening for any suspicious noise.
It
would
be
very
stupid
to
be
caught
when
one
is
so
close
to
grabbing
the
chance
of
a
lifetime,
he thought
.
When he was satisfied that only the whisper of the wind and the whiff of a few leaves was all that could be heard, he decided to try the door handle – naturally it was locked and secured. He shook his head and breathed a sigh of annoyance. The man, who had scouted the property the day before, had told him about the back door. So, Moriarty decided to round the old mansion and examine a possible way of entering the house without breaking down a door or smashing a window. When he reached the back door in question, he swore under his breath – it was not only locked, but boarded up.
Why
didn’t
the
fool
tell
me
about
this,
he muttered. His only option at that point was to enter the place through a window. He found one along the side of the house and used the iron bar he had brought with him to lift the window frame. He raised it with great effort but soon realized that his large body might not fit through the opening easily. He groaned.
It
would
have
been
much
easier
if
David
had
opened
the
way
for
me,
but,
as
usual,
he
proved
to
be
useless.
After shedding his cloak and jacket, he climbed onto the sill, straddled it and tried in vain to squeeze through the gap. Almost clamped between the window frame and the sill, he had a hard time extirpating himself out of the trap and when he did, he fell on his arse with a great big thud. If he hadn’t felt so miserable, he would have laughed. Yet, laughing or amusement was certainly not on his agenda – rage was the only item on his mind. He stood up, brushed himself off and looked around him. The early morning sunlight helped him make out shapes and ominous objects looming menacingly around the room. When his eyes were accustomed to the dim light, he could easily see that nothing about the place resembled a ‘capsule’ or a machine of sorts that would enable a man to sit at the controls – such as the journalists had described the previous year. Not waiting for an invitation, Moriarty then strode decisively toward the door on the far wall. He opened it gingerly and stood on the threshold agape. There it was!
His
time-machine stood tall on its pad. Without hesitation, he climbed aboard and waited for dawn to illuminate the room enough so to enable him to see the control panel clearly. Once he had examined each of the screens, switches and knobs carefully, he pressed the lever that closed the upper globe upon him and then dialled the year and date at which he wanted to land. When it came to the point of landing, Moriarty was at a loss to know where he would want to start looking for Holmes. He shook his head and looked for “New York” on the list. Once the
State
was highlighted and the date entered on the screen, he pushed another lever downward. The result was instantaneous; Moriarty was plunged in utter darkness and in a second had disappeared from Professor Wells’s workshop.