Sherlock Holmes in 2012: LORD OF DARKNESS RISING (9 page)

“Sherlock!” Irene admonished him.

“All right, all right… , let me then tell you…”

“I am all ears.”

“As you know I went to the university this afternoon and while I was walking across the quad I bumped into someone…”

“Who? Did you know the person?”

“Well, yes and no.” Irene opened her eyes wide. “I knew him – his great-grandfather that is – in 1890 but I didn’t know the man I met, no.”

“Who was it? Please tell me,” Irene pleaded, quite impatient now.

“Doctor John Watson!”

“Impossible!”

“That’s exactly what I said when he told me his name – but sure enough, he is the great grandson of Dr. Watson.”

“Does he look like him?”

“There are some definite traits of resemblance, yes, but you see, he is part Indian – his great-grandmother was from New Delhi apparently – and he has a darker complexion, but he has Watson’s gentle eyes and demeanour.”

“Did you mention we were married?”

“Oh yes, my dear. I had to, in fact, for it was he who asked me the name of my wife.”

“And did you tell him?”

“Absolutely, and he would have recognized you anyway I am sure… when we meet him together.”

“How could he recognize me, if he’s never seen me?”

“Because Watson – I mean his great-grandfather – described you in detail in his notebooks, and the Doctor Watson of today is in possession of these books.”

“Good heavens, Sherlock, that’s wonderful!” She got up from her seat. “I must let Sally know that we might have a visitor… .” She stopped on her way out of the terrace and swung on her heels. “Does he live in Wellington or is he just visiting, do you know?”

“He lives in town, as far as I know… , and I gave him the card from this hotel, so we should expect a call from him.”

Irene regained her seat. “Did you two talked about anything else?”

“No, nothing in detail, just a little about his parentage and his academic achievements, that’s all,” Sherlock said musingly while lighting his pipe.

Irene was up from her seat again. “I am going to get some lemonade from Sally so we could have some refreshments…”

“I am not surprised that you are exhausted, my dear, you are always up and down from your chair. Wouldn’t you just remain seated for a while and enjoy the marvellous view?”

“All right, I will… , once I have fetched the lemonade. I am thirsty!”

Watching Irene walk away, Sherlock had to smile. He shook his head.
As
stubborn
as
ever,
he said to himself.

They were sitting in the parlour of the B&B, waiting for Dr. Watson to arrive, when Irene and Sherlock set their gazes on a lovely little girl, leading her father by the hand and entering the room with him. “Is that them?” she asked, lifting her head to her dad. Her summery and colourful dress accented the natural tan of her skin, while her long, dark curls encircled the intelligent and curious face of a child visibly more mature than her years.

“Yes, Darling, that’s Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.” Watson looked at the couple and smiled. “Mrs. Holmes, Mr. Holmes, let me introduce you to Sarah Watson, my daughter,” he said with undisguised pride.

Sherlock stood up and took the little one’s extended hand. “How do you do, Miss Sarah; a pleasure, I’m sure.”

Sarah gave him a little curtsy, saying, “Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” and then turned to Irene. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Holmes,” she added, with a tinge of admiration in her voice.

“It is I who is delighted to meet you, young lady.” Irene patted the sofa cushion beside her. “Won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Sarah replied while plopping herself down beside Irene.

“Dr. John Watson,” the young man said to Irene, bowing slightly.

“A real pleasure, I’m sure. Do take a seat, please,” Irene said, indicating a chair beside that of Sherlock. The latter regained his seat quietly.

“I must apologize for this somewhat impromptu visit, Mr. Holmes,” Watson began, “but I couldn’t control my impatience – I mean I have so many things to tell you both”—he shot a glance in Irene’s direction—“that I could not refrain from invading your privacy so soon after our meeting at the university.”

“No need to apologize, Doctor; I had related our extraordinary encounter as soon as I came back yesterday afternoon. But do tell us, what is so urgent… ?”

“Oh nothing of such urgency, no, Mr. Holmes, it’s just that I was eager to ask you quite a few questions, mainly about your strange – shall we call it – appearance in this century. Since you did not mention being the descendant of Sherlock Holmes when we met, I tossed and turned all night, at a loss to find an explanation as to your presence here, in New Zealand and in 2010.”

“Dad said that you must have both come in a time-machine,” Sarah piped-up unexpectedly, looking up at Irene. “Did you really?” Her innocent gaze instantly melted Irene’s heart.

“And did you believe your father when he told you that?” Irene asked.

Sarah nodded vigorously. “Yup…”

“Sarah!” Watson said sternly. “I have told you many times that you must say “yes” and not “yup” when you answer a grown-up’s question.”

“Okay, Daddy. But I did believe you, you know?” Sarah returned her attention to Irene. “He’s the greatest dad on Earth, you know? If he says that you came over from the last century in a time-machine, then that’s what happened!”

“
Out
of
the
mouth
of
babes
,” Sherlock said almost inaudibly. “And yes, my dear Sarah, we did come in a time machine… .”

“Oh, Wow! Can I see it? Where is it? Did you come all the way from London in England with it? Did it take you long to get here? Weren’t you sad to leave your century and all your friends… ?”

Watson waved a hand in between him and his daughter. “Hold on, Little One, not so fast. You need to give people time to answer all of these questions.” His eyes travelled from Irene to Sherlock. “I must apologize for my daughter’s forwardness, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. Even though most of these questions would have been my own to ask, I would not have taken such a direct approach. Please forgive us.”

Sherlock smiled. “Didn’t I mention yesterday that you resemble your great-grandfather in that regard – apologizing when there isn’t any need for it?”

Watson nodded. “Yes, you did, Mr. Holmes, but in this case, I still think that I must be a little more circumspect with my queries, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I don’t think there is any need for circumspection in this instance,” Irene interposed. “On the contrary, I hate pussyfooting around.” She turned to Sarah. “Since these two snails seem to have decided to take the slow road up the mountain, I’ll tell you what happened…” Sarah burst out in a string of giggles to the evident delight of both Sherlock and her father. “We were in London and this professor had built a time machine that he wanted to use to travel in the past…”

“In the past? What for? We know all about the past!” Sarah was obviously finding the reasoning quite illogical.

Sherlock didn’t say anything, but he recalled instantly Sarah’s reaction being precisely his own when her ancestor told him about H.G. Wells’s time machine.

“ . . . Yes, Sarah, and that’s exactly what Mr. Holmes and I thought at the time. So Mr. Holmes asked the professor to borrow the machine to travel to 2010, and I followed in the second machine a little while later. And here we are!”

“But, Mrs. Holmes, there are two time-machines then; are there?”

“Yes, my dear,” Sherlock replied for Irene. “There are two time-machines.”

“And where are they now? May I see them?”

“Now, Sarah, that’s enough!” Watson scolded. “If Mr. and Mrs. Holmes wish to invite us to visit these machines; give them time to do so – don’t impose yourself, will you?”

“Sorry, Daddy,” Sarah replied, shrinking to the back of the sofa.

“I wish I could invite you to visit the one machine at least,” Sherlock said, “but I’m afraid this might prove difficult since both are back in Washington, D.C. and I don’t think your father would be prepared to make the journey just to see these machines, do you?”

“But Daddy goes to Washington all the time,” Sarah contradicted. “He always says that one day I’ll be going with him. Don’t you, Daddy?” She threw a pleading glance in his direction.

“Yes, I did, Sarah, but not right away… .”

Irene then bent down to Sarah’s ear. “Why don’t we go to the kitchen and see if we can round up some tea and sandwiches. Would you like that?”

Sarah was up in a shot. “Yup… , ooops! Sorry, Daddy.” She looked at her dad and then turned to Irene again. “
Yes,
please, Mrs. Holmes.”

Both men smiled as the two ladies left the room hand in hand.

“Your daughter is as clever as the father, I suspect,” Sherlock said to Watson.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, she is indeed very intelligent, but I doubt she got all of her cleverness from me. Her mother had a large contribution in her being so advanced for her age, I believe.”

“And when will we have the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Watson then?”

Watson bowed his head, put his elbows on his knees and said, “She is no longer with us, Mr. Holmes.”

“I’m very sorry, Watson. Please accept my condolences.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes.” Watson straightened up and reclined to the back of the chair. “It’s been hard for me to accept or even comprehend her passing, but Sarah was somehow stronger than I was. She said something to me about a year ago that I’ll never forget. She said, “I’ll never forgive him,” and to this day, I have yet to find out what she meant.”

“In what circumstance did your wife die, if I may ask?”

“We were in London at the time, and she took the train. And that was the train that was bombed in 2006, Mr. Holmes. She was crushed in the wreckage.”

“
David
Penny!
” Sherlock shouted without restrain. “He is the one responsible, Watson! He has been playing this game for years now.” He stood up and went to stand by the window, as he used to do when he was living in Baker Street. “I’ve had the displeasure of being aware of some of his latest enterprises in London and in New York since I arrived in this century, and I am now certain that he is behind most of the bombings.”

“How would you know that, Mr. Holmes?” Watson asked, staring at the figure of the detective his great-grandfather had described so accurately some 120 years ago.

“Because, Watson, it is the only reasonable answer to this quandary. David Penny is not the al Qaeda stooge that every one suspects him to be, no, he’s much more than that. I believe he’s a puppet in the hands of some other sombre evil-doer.”

“But, Mr. Holmes, how would my daughter know that? She was only six years old.”

“Your daughter is an extraordinary child, Watson, never doubt the fact for one moment. If no one told her, perhaps she saw the man in a dream and maybe that dream is what makes it so real in her eyes.”

“What are you saying – that my daughter has visions?”

“No, not at all. I would believe that she saw someone in a nightmare or a dream and that person was responsible for the bombing in 2006. In her mind, perhaps this man doesn’t even have a face, but he definitely hurt her mother, and that’s why she can’t forgive him.”

 
Chapter Four

Lord
of
Darkness
Rising

In the lower recesses of his enormous mansion, the outer walls of which stretched high toward the darkened sky, and which was for ever shrouded and surmounted of ominous clouds, located somewhere in a world that none of us easily understand or even contemplate could exist on this planet; Lord Mobius was reading his journal of prophecies, a diary of things to come. The tragedies and Machiavelli disasters he could concoct or imagine and even plan for the people living through times eternal, were all written and described in this book. His demonic mind was lodged in a head that resembled that of an ugly dog, with teeth as sharp as those of a shark – sunken eyes glaring the crimson of blood and shallow cheeks tinted of the grey of death – he was frightful. Hunched over his reading stand, he chortled and grumbled at the thought of the evil catastrophes he could bestow on the innocents roaming an already disgruntled world.