The Last Confession of Sherlock Holmes (5 page)

I left my lodgings on Friday evening with both relief and adrenaline coursing through my veins, the deep blood-red of the sun sank into the horizon, a great stream of crimson oozing across the sky. My associate awaited me upon the corner, his ever-growing shadow enticing me toward the carriage. I stepped in, thanking him for his generosity, when suddenly the door slammed shut with a definitive clunk. I began to bang furiously upon the window, when a haunting bodiless voice addressed me from outside the carriage.

“I would not draw attention to yourself, Miss Adler, or you shall find yourself in considerable danger. I suggest you remain silent until we reach our destination, where I again urge discretion; you shall discover all the answers to your questions there. But for now, I shall merely say that it would not have required setting fire to Monsieur de Saint-Hippolyte's house, as I did to your lodgings so many years ago, to discover the location of your evening's endeavours.”

Such was the state of my agitation that I almost entirely ignored my abductor's final remark, the repercussions of which caused me to almost faint with shock. The absurdity was almost too much to comprehend; having spent so many years longing for such a terrible truth to be false, here I was almost three years after his death, being kidnapped by Sherlock Holmes.

I remained in a condition of nervous exhilaration until we finally reached our destination.

“We must get you inside straightaway, Miss Adler,” said the voice. “Do not hesitate; it is now most dangerous for you to be recognised in public.”

Following Holmes's orders, as soon as my carriage was unbolted I followed him swiftly into a small rustic dwelling, doing my utmost to conceal my features. Holmes slammed the door and swooped around the room, plummeting us into near total darkness. I heard the soft scrape of a match as the dishevelled qualities of his disguise flickered into view.

“I must leave you, Miss Adler. Disguise yourself using whatever attire you deem most fitting, and for the life of you, do not answer this door to anyone other than myself.”

Without so much as a smile or hint of recognisable pleasure, Sherlock Holmes disappeared back into the night, as if he had materialised out of those dreadful mists of Reichenbach for only a second to save me from what appeared to have been imminent disaster.

I awaited his return. The room was rather small, with a fireplace suitable for only a few logs, situated between two doors, which led to separate bedrooms. Before the fire were two unstable looking chairs, and a misshapen table, upon which was a great mass of press cuttings from across Europe, but mainly those which focused upon England or France. With little else to occupy my time, I took a seat by the unlit fire and began to muse as to how the evening's events could have possibly taken such a bizarre turn. It appeared however, that I had been clearly affected by the excitement of recent events, for the sharpness of my thoughts merely reflected the feeble glow of my candle. I continued in this daze for some time, my eyes transfixed upon the slow descent of wax as it slipped silently toward the holder. Mercifully, I was eventually rescued from my limbo by the unmistakable grind of lock and key.

“I must congratulate you, Mr Holmes,” I said, approaching him as he entered the room, stopping only inches before him. “I have never suffered the embarrassment of being caught off guard, even by you. Still, you have had many years practice since our last encounter, and I was at the distinct disadvantage in believing you to be dead, which is hardly fair. I assume you were to take me to the authorities? It was awfully kind of you to bring me here instead.”

“I have been engaged on several cases,” said he, walking into the centre of the room in a rather unconvincing attempt to hide his discomfort. “So I admit to not giving yours my full attention. However, after I heard some rather curious murmurings, I investigated and discovered your designs for Monsieur de Saint-Hippolyte's inheritance, and acted accordingly. My original plan was to simply lock you in your carriage and drive you to the estate; where, as you correctly deduced, the authorities were waiting for you. It was not until I laid eyes upon you this very evening that I realised just whom I had been dealing with, and forcing me into rather abrupt evasive action.”

“As brilliant in death as you were in life, Mr Holmes,” I said, walking past and taking a seat.

“Quite,” said he, perching upon the chair opposite. “But, so we do not have to retrace this ground later on, I
am
dead. That is something which I wish you to bear in mind; it is of the utmost importance that this belief continues. So much as a whisper of my present earthly status would put you and I in considerable danger.”

“Of course, Mr Holmes. But may I ask, how is it that you are still alive? I read Dr Watson's touching account, and I, along with the rest of the world, believed you to be dead. It was so heartfelt that I could not believe it to be a falsehood.”

“You are too kind, Miss Adler; but I am afraid to say dear Watson does truly believe that I have gone; that is the simple truth behind his, as you put it, rather touching account. I wish I could communicate with him, but it would place us both in a most unnecessary jeopardy” he remarked, taking the long poker from the fireplace and shifting the cold ash, as if it had some form of meditative affect upon his mind.

“As for my survival, I recall that Watson described how the contest between Professor Moriarty and myself could end in only one way; clearly, as you have surely deduced, that is not true. The Professor was kind enough to allow me to write to Watson; but as soon as I had finished, he sprang a most murderous attack upon me. It was through my knowledge of baritsu, a Japanese form of wrestling, that I was able to gain an advantage over the Professor. It was a great struggle, Miss Adler, and there were several instances where Watson's account could have become reality. But, in the end, it was I who remained on that perilous ledge, standing exhaustedly, listening to the sound of Moriarty's terrible last cry, as it crashed and reverberated down that merciless shaft. I often wonder whether even those purest of waters would be sufficient to cleanse itself of the evil which now poisons its current.”

“But Dr Watson commented that there were no returning footprints. In that terrain, it would have been impossible to have left undetected,” said I, consumed by his narrative.

“Watson's account was inaccurate in regard to only one description. He claimed that the cliff face was insurmountable; that was not so. I realised the advantageous position I was in; if I could simply climb to safety and allow events to unfold, then I would be free to pursue my career with all my foes believing that I had perished along with Professor Moriarty. Alas, this was not to be the case. I saw Watson return to the scene of my supposed demise. I restrained myself from calling out to him, but once he was out of sight, I was attacked by Colonel Sebastian Moran. It was fortunate that it was almost completely dark, for against the cliff-face I was a difficult target. A barrage of bullets rained down around me, and I felt the deathly caress of metal shaving my flesh. Once the Colonel had exhausted his ammunition, he adapted his strategy to the rather cruder method of hurling large rocks. I had no choice but to descend back down onto the path from which I came. It was a perilous climb, Miss Adler; you can scarcely imagine the danger of the descent. On more than one occasion I believed I would be joining the late Professor; but when I did finally have the misfortune to fall, battered and bloody though I was, it was onto the path. I took flight into the night; not even Moran could be certain of my fate.”

“But why remain hidden for so long if this Moran suspects you to be alive?” I asked.

“Colonel Moran is now the leader of Moriarty's former, and distinctly reduced criminal empire, but he is still capable of inflicting damage upon a rather large scale. I remain hidden to avoid the unwanted attention of the man, but also in the hope that one day he will allow himself to be lulled into a false sense of security. Then, and only then, will I make my return.”

“That is a truly remarkable account, Mr Holmes, but why are you in Montpellier of all places? It is far too mundane for the foremost champion of the law.”

“I have travelled under many identities, as you can see,” said Holmes, casually waving his hand across his person. “I conducted some of my old activities in Norway, whose criminal has still at least some imagination, and provided me with a few cases of interest. I have also visited Tibet, Persia and Mecca. There is much to be said for visiting such places, but I confess, I am scarcely possessed with any great desire to return to but a single one. I was conducting some research into coal-tar derivatives in a laboratory the other side of Montpellier, but discovered all I wished to know and have since taken residence in this establishment. It offers simple comforts and the privacy which I desire; I try not to conduct many investigations, for I do not wish to attract any unwanted attention.”

“Yet you became involved in my affairs. May I ask why you wished to aid that most deplorable of creatures?”

“Having taken an interest in your case, I began to observe your movements. It struck me as rather odd that letters from Monsieur de Saint-Hippolyte were being delivered to someone who I had previously believed to be a man. I therefore followed you upon your next outing, and discovered your design to sell the offending gentleman's rather prized collection of valuables to one Charles Augustus Milverton. I concluded that you had duplicated the script of your admirer and were simply going to rob him of his inheritance. Had you opted for a different buyer, Miss Adler, I may not have involved myself with the case at all, but I could not allow the collection to be sold to such a fiend. He is the most despicable man in London. But now that I have heard of your disdain, I cannot help but wonder whether your motives were a little more unselfish, and infinitely more devious.”

I had no desire to provide Holmes with the praise he was searching for, and so merely smiled noncommittally at his theory and rose from my chair.

Over the next few months, I became rather well acquainted with Sherlock Holmes. Though we had to maintain our disguises in public, we removed our facial disguises when in the safety of his lodgings. It is a cruel twist of fate to be consistently flattered by the mundane, yet ignored by the extraordinary. Ever since our first brief encounter, I had been captivated by the great detective: yet only through my tales of triumph and frustration over Europe's many authorities was I successful in eliciting from him a response of genuine merriment.

“Oh, how superb your talents are, Miss Adler,” he remarked as he paced up and down the small room. “You have an extraordinary gift for crime; not only do you succeed, but you leave the authorities infuriated and utterly perplexed. I have been telling Watson for years that the official force has many qualities, but their insistence upon routine, accompanied by their distinct lack of imagination, will be their downfall. How wonderfully you have proven my theory!”

“I thank you, Mr Holmes,” I replied. “But I cannot help but ask; why is it that you spend your time with Dr Watson? He appears to me to be quite un-extraordinary.”

I instantly regretted my remark for the first genuine flicker of irritation shot across Holmes's expression, and he abruptly ceased pacing.

“My friend is, despite your misguided impressions, Miss Adler, a distinctly remarkable fellow,” said he, staring, as he so often did, into the distance. “I assume your conclusions come from his publications? But I can assure you that despite my numerous requests upon the matter, he modestly depicts himself in such a way for dramatic purposes; he seems to think the public respond more favourably to such a technique.”

“I apologise, I should have realised that you would not befriend such a man if he was completely devoid of interest.”

“No need for apologies, Miss Adler,” said he, returning from his trance to face me. “Watson himself is often guilty of remarks that I react, perhaps a trifle too hastily to.”

I had found myself fascinated by the tales of Sherlock Holmes; but in response to this unexpected note of kindness, I broke out into my first true smile since I had read Dr Watson's account of Reichenbach.

“The Doctor may portray himself in a slightly modest demeanour, but he certainly seems to enjoy painting pictures of women in his narratives,” I nervously enquired.

“I am told he possesses quite a talent for it; and I must admit, a slightly curious change does come over him during such cases, I have often found it rather irritating. His mind loses its keen edge when it is required most.”

“You would not speak highly of a woman in such a way, then, Mr Holmes?”

“That would depend upon the woman, Miss Adler.”

“The Doctor painted a rather flattering image of myself in his story, ‘A Scandal in Bohemia.' What did you make of his description?”

“Quite accurate; though if it were myself writing, I would have focused upon your much more intriguing deviance.”

I confess that my feelings for Sherlock Holmes developed after only a few days of our re-acquaintance, but despite my subtle inquiries into the matter, I was always greeted with an uninterested response. I believe he cared for me only as a companion. At first I could not help but feel slightly crestfallen, but when I considered how few
companions
he had, I was greatly uplifted. Though I harboured certain feelings, I refused to allow myself to suffer the embarrassment of mindless admiration. I have had the misfortune to encounter many such pitiful women, and the notion of joining their insufferable ranks was distasteful, not only to myself, but also clearly to Holmes.

I had sensed in recent days that his patience was beginning to wear thin, and though we had grown close, I was becoming increasingly apprehensive. The thick layer of smoke that now filled the lodgings surely reflected the storm clouds brewing in his mind: for such a man to remain idle for so long was dangerous. I therefore decided to engage him with what he would consider a captivating issue, for it was one of profound notoriety.