Sherlock Holmes in 2012: TIMELESS DUEL
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Authors: Mohammad Bahareth
SHERLOCK
HOLMES
IN 2012
TIMELESS DUEL
by Mohammad Bahareth
¡Universe, Inc.
Bloomington
Sherlock Holmes in 2012: Timeless Duel
Part of the Sherlock Holmes in 2012 Franshise Copyright
Copyright © 2012 by Mohammad Bahareth.
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ISBN: 978-1-4697-9558-4 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-4697-9562-1 (ebk)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012904510
Author:
Mohammad Bahareth
www.Bahareth.info
Design:
Mohammad
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Licensed by:
Conan Doyle Estate Ltd. for permission to use the Sherlock Holmes characters created by the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Warning and Disclaimer:
Every effort has been made to make this book s complete and accurate as possible, but no warranty or fitness is implied. the information provided is on an “as is” basis. The Author And the Publisher shall have neither liability nor responsibility to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damages arising from the information contained in this book.
Printed in the United States of AmericaiUniverse rev. date: 03/14/2012
Contents
Acknowledgements
At this time, I wish to acknowledge the immense contribution Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Dame Agatha Christie had in the creation of this story. Their insights, cleverness and astuteness gave me the inspiration to write this book.
I also take this opportunity to thank all who worked on the writing and the production of the series entitled, Babylon 5, especially J. M. Straczynski. The same recognition goes to Star Trek-the original series, The New Generation and Deep Space Nine-with special thanks to Captain Jean-Luc Picard (Sir Patrick Stewart). Ultimately, I wish to thank the people who have produced the series, Stargate-SG-1, Atlantis and Universe-for providing me with the tools I needed in the creation and development of the characters in this book.
Author’s Comments
These shows, Babylon 5, Star Trek and Stargate, are not just entertainment; they are the essence of our combined cultures. They provide an understanding of nations. They delineate a guideline for the days to come. I feel it is very important for me to tell my readers the impact they had on my life and on creating the story of this book.
Babylon 5
inspired me to make the characters and the story more realistic, and to plan ahead. A small, insignificant event in my story would evolve and inspire me in the decisions I would make, while keeping consistent and in line with these decisions for years to follow. I got an insight on politics, power and how the world works, watching the series on numerous and regular occasions. My attention was particularly drawn to the part showing the audience the path to follow to make changes in the world; the key being in the belief that you can and do the right thing no matter what the cost would be.
Star Trek
The Original Series:
I was inspired by the amount of technical terms and the highly creative ideas that were used throughout the series. In fact, I watched it with my younger brother in amazement. I acquired an insight in the kind of culture that created this work of art. I felt very strange when I watched the old movies, trying to understand the minds and purpose of the work executed long ago. I enjoyed Mr. Spock (Leonard Nimoy) and his logic. Defensibly, I consider the Star Trek series of historical significance.
The Next Generation:
I started watching it when I was six years old. I reveled into following Captain Picard throughout his voyage of understanding humanity and exploring ourselves; explaining anger management to a Klin-gon (Mr. Worf); explaining human emotion to an android (Mr. Data); and into the journey itself, taking me to a higher understanding of my own being, while lifting my standards and comprehension of life to another dimension.
Deep Space Nine:
it began as a show competing with Babylon 5, then it changed direction and explored religious beliefs, war, victims of war, crimes of war, crimes of success, racial disputes, political entanglements, struggles of a leader, and justice. It was an enlightening experience indeed.
Stargate:
SG-1:
Watching this series, I learned a lot about team work, trust, and physics. For me, it was a phenomenal experience into an excellent sci-fi series.
Atlantis
portrayed our search for our ancestors, in another galaxy, with technologies beyond our grasp and with struggles of daily decisions that could affect everything in the right or wrong way. If you are a leader this is a show you definitely need to watch.
Universe
describes the effect of being trapped in a spaceship, not knowing where you are or how to operate the vessel; enemies are everywhere. The chances of success are minimal when faced with unmatched competition-such as Apple, Microsoft, and G.E. The series provided an unparalleled exploration into human behavior under pressure. Constant pressure transforms a lump of coal into a diamond. And constant pressure allows you to penetrate the depth of your mind and to uncover your deepest fears as well as your deepest desires. In turn, it will help you survive and succeed in an unfriendly world. This is something worth exploring, especially when people feel they may not be the right person in the right place in the right time.
These shows helped me create and write this book-thank you to all of those who participated in their production.
Mohammad Bahareth June 20, 2011
Timeless Duel
Sherlock is suffering from interminable boredom. Reading of Professor H.G. Wells newly constructed and functioning time-machine, he visits him one morning, but Wells refuses him access to the time-machine.
“Mrs. Hudson? Mrs. Hudson!” Holmes yelled through the open door of the apartment he rented from his landlady.
“Mr. Holmes, you do not have to shout,” the ageing lady replied, climbing the flight of stairs that separated her dwelling from that of Holmes. “I told you before now; all you need doing is to pull on the bell cord by your desk...,” she said, when she reached the upper landing.
“I don’t have time for this sort of thing, Mrs. Hudson. I need this morning’s papers.. Would you be so kind to fetch them for me?”
“But, Mr. Holmes.,” the landlady began.
“No buts, Mrs. Hudson,” Holmes shouted again, flailing his arms in visible annoyance. “Don’t you see I need something to occupy my mind? I can not live without having some item-anything-to stoke the fire amid the dying embers of my brain.” He looked at the woman standing in the embrasure, as if he had seen her for the first time that day. “Well.? Don’t just stand there and get me those newspapers..” He spun on his heels and plopped down in his favorite chair by the fireplace.
Knowing Holmes the way she did, Mrs. Hudson turned away, shrugging, and retraced her steps down the stairs, without a word.
On the way down, she heard a knock at the front door and went to open it.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hudson. How are you this morning, my dear lady?”
“Oh, Dr. Watson. How good of you to come,” Mrs. Hudson replied, opening the door wide to let the doctor indoors. “Good morning.... And thank you for asking, but I would be much better if Mr. Holmes was not so exigent of my time,” she added, grumbling a little, and taking Watson’s hat and cane to stow them on the coat stand in the hallway.
“What does he want now?” Dr. Watson asked, just before they heard Holmes’s voice holler down the stairwell.
“Who was at the door.? Mrs. Hudson?”
“No need to bellow, Holmes, it’s only me.,” Watson replied. Then turning to Mrs. Hudson, “Can I do something to help?” he asked.
“No thank you, Doctor, I am on my way to fetch the papers for Mr. Holmes,” she replied, draping a shawl over her shoulders and taking her hat from the stand. She put it on her head, adjusted it atop her tresses of gray hair, and pinned it expertly, all the while watching herself in the mirror.
“What is taking you so long? Watson?” they heard Holmes shout again.
“I better go.,” Watson said, opening the front door forthe landlady. “I’ll see you later.”
“That you will, Doctor, that you will,” Mrs. Hudson replied, taking a step to the front door, and standing on the stoop before making her way to the newsagent, a few blocks down the street.
Watson closed the door gently and finally made his way up the stairs, shaking his head. Holmes was beginning to be intolerably irritable. If he could not find a case soon, he would run the poor Mrs. Hudson ragged and pretty much to the ground, if he weren’t careful. However, Watson knew how very little outward consideration his friend had for his fellow man, if the latter did not serve a purpose of some sort in his life. Watson would not have said that Holmes was an egotist, yet he never showed the slightest concern when it came to sensitive or human subjects. It almost seemed as if the man was devoid of emotions, although Watson knew it not to be true. The name of Irene Adler came to mind. He shrugged away the thought as he entered Holmes’s apartment, only to find his friend looking out the window, his arms folded across his chest, and not turning to meet Watson’s questioning stare.
“Have you talked to Mrs. Hudson?” Holmes asked, and then raising a shoulder a tad, he said, “Of course, of course, you must have.. She opened the door for you, didn’t she?” He turned around and fixed his gaze on Watson. “You see. You surely can see that my brain is decaying with every passing minute, can’t you?”
“I can only see that you are very agitated for some reason, yes. And yes, I talked to Mrs. Hudson when she opened the door for me. She told me that you were sending her to the newsagent..” Holmes nodded almost imperceptibly. “And why would you have her run such an errant when you have the boy deliver the paper in any case?”
“He will not be delivering any paper today..”
“How would you know that? He may have been late for some reason.”
“No!” Holmes shouted. “He will not be delivering any paper for sometime-if ever again-because he has influenza.”
“Have you talked to him? How do you know he’s ill?” Watson asked, sitting down on the sofa, bringing his body closer to the edge of the seat and putting his elbows on his knees. He knew of his friend’s amazing deductive powers, but to have diagnosed the boy’s affliction without speaking to him was astonishing.
“I did not need to talk to him to know he was ill. He talked to the woman in the house opposite yesterday when she opened the door and she coughed in his face. Therefore, when he did not show up this morning, I could only deduce that he had been contaminated with the wretched disease.”
Watson shook his head and leaned against the back of the sofa, out of answers. Influenza was a virulent disease, he had to agree, and if that was what ailed the neighbor, it stood to reason that the boy had been infected.
“But all of this is beside the point,” Holmes said, turning to face his friend. “Have you read the paper this morning?”
“No, not really, I thought I would read it with you..”
Holmes cracked one of his rare smiles. “And why would you want to do that? Wasn’t the paper delivered to your house either? Or perhaps you have cancelled the delivery since your leg has been bothering you of late and you wanted the exercise, walking to your club every night.”
After years of hearing such descriptions of the details of his day to day life, without him divulging a word of it to his friend, Watson did not need to hear how Holmes arrived at such a conclusion.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I knew of this?”
“No, Holmes, because you will tell me., eventually.”
Holmes nodded again and went to take a seat at the table, clearly impatient to see Mrs. Hudson return with the papers.
Watson watched him and finally uttered the words he had been waiting to say ever since he came in. “And good morning to you too!”
Holmes harrumphed. “What could be good about this morning, or any other for the matter, since there is nothing-absolutely nothing-of any interest happening in the whole of London?”
When Mrs. Hudson reached the little store, having a good mind to reprove the newsagent for his boy missing the delivery of the papers to her house, the newspapers piled haphazardly on trestles outside the shop told her instantly that there was news in the offing. The headlines were all relating of an invention that had seen the light in the previous days. “A TIME MACHINE TO VISIT OUR PAST” was one of these. “ONTO THE PAST TO CORRECT THE ILLS OF OUR WORLD” was another. She grabbed a brace-full of the papers, fetched some coins out of her purse and paid the man standing by the open door.
“Ain’t that a thing to stir our head,” the man remarked, putting the coins in the pocket of his ink-stained apron that hung lazily around his ample girth.
“It sure looks that way,” Mrs. Hudson replied, forgetting all about scolding the man for the missing delivery.
“I’d gather that would interest Mr. Holmes, won’t it?” the fellow asked, apparently wanting to strike a conversation with the dear woman he had known for as many years as his shop had been opened on the corner of Baker Street.
“I guess I better get all these to him and find out, won’t I then?” Mrs. Hudson said with a gentle but dismissivesmile.
“As you say, Mrs. Hudson, as you say. On your way then.,” the man replied, waving her to move on as if a hundred customers were waiting for his service.
Mrs. Hudson nodded, and turned in the direction of her home, saying, “Good day to you, Mr. Clement.”
Watching the woman enter the apartment, her arms braced around the newspapers, Watson jumped to his feet, intending to unburden Mrs. Hudson of her load. “Let me help you, Mrs. Hudson,” he said in a rush as he reached the panting landlady.
“No-no, Doctor, don’t disturb yourself..” She dropped the four or five folded papers on the table in front of Holmes who hadn’t moved an inch since his landlady had come into the room.
“Ha! Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” Holmes looked down at the first headline and lifted his eyes to her. “Would you mind bringing us some tea and biscuits; this appears”—he pointed at the paper—”as if we are going to spend some time digesting—examining I should say—the entrails of this extraordinary announcement.”
“What is it, Holmes?” Watson asked as he rounded Holmes’s table and shot a glance at the headlines over the detective’s shoulder.
Mrs. Hudson shrugged, turned on her heels and left theroom.
Holmes grabbed the second paper from the pile, glanced at its headline, and shoved it against Watson’s belly, saying, “Have a read of this one, while I concentrate on
The Times
; much more accurate account I suspect than
The Post.”
Holmes didn’t look up as his friend made his way back to the sofa and sat down again, paper in hand.
“Listen to this, Watson; “Professor H. G. Wells.” Do you know him? I don’t recall having ever heard of the man myself, have you?”
“Not that I recall off hand, no,” Watson replied distractedly. “It says here that he has “constructed a machine capable of transporting a human
mind
into the past.” How would he do that, one has to wonder.”
Holmes exploded in loud laughter under the astounded gaze of his friend. “I can do that without the assistance of any such machine, my dear fellow!”
“How? How would you-or are you “transporting” yourself into the past.?”
“Read the statement again, my dear Watson., read!”
Watson re-adjusted his reading glasses across the bridge of his nose and read the passage again; “.a machine capable of transporting a human mind.” He stopped and smiled. “Of course; no one needs a machine to transport one’s mind into the past-of course. We do it all the time when we think of anything that has happened to any of us in the past.” Resuming his reading, Watson added, “This must be a hoax..”
“As I said,
The Times
is much more accurate in its description of events.. Listen; “The ‘Time Machine’ as Professor Wells has named it, is apparently capable of transporting a man to any chosen date in the past. Again apparently, all the man has to do is to turn a knob to the chosen date and press several controls, to reach his destination within minutes.” How would anyone know that it would take only minutes for the man to reach his destination?” Holmes mumbled.
Watson took up the remark. “It says here that Wells is intending to attempt a voyage in the next few days.”
“What about the future, Watson?”
“What about it?”
“No one mentioned if the machine could transport one into the future. These reports only make reference of a man capable of traveling in the past. I wonder if Wells intends to force his way into the future-that would be most interesting, indeed.”
“Are you not interested in the past?”
“Not in the least, Watson. We have historians to take us in the past; we have related accounts of men who have lived even as far back as thousands of years ago., no, what I would be interested in is the future-not the past.”
In the interim of Watson and Holmes continuing to read, Mrs. Hudson had entered the room carrying a tray of tea and biscuits, which she was now trying to deposit on Holmes’s table. She moved the remaining unfolded papers to one side and put the tray down.
Holmes raised his head to her. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, but we won’t need to sip tea at this time,” he said, folding the newspaper and getting to his feet abruptly.
Not saying a word, Mrs. Hudson took the tray from the table and turned to leave the room.
“Mrs. Hudson.! Do get us a cab, will you? We will be leaving shortly,” Holmes shouted to the woman’s back as she crossed the landing and started down the steps.
“Holmes, the way you are treating Mrs. Hudson is appalling..”
“Why, Watson? Because we have more pressing matters to which we must attend presently.?”
Watson shook his head.
Grabbing a muffler from a peg beside the door and wrapping it around his neck, Holmes said, “Stop reading this drivel, and come with me,” bending over the back of the sofa.
“Where are we going?” Watson asked, rising from his seat.
“To see for ourselves what this ‘Time Machine’ is all about, Watson. The papers have not reported all that I could see, to be sure. Come now; come.,
no time like thepresent!”
As both men were about to cross the landing and rush down the stairs, Holmes stopped, spun on his heels and returned inside the apartment, pushing past Watson. “I know him, Watson!” he exclaimed, marching in the direction of the bookcases along the far wall.
“Who? Who do you mean?” Watson queried, still surprised at this sudden about face.
“Professor Wells. He is not a professor at all., well., not exactly,” Holmes uttered, pulling a stack of folders and dropping it to the floor. He opened one folder after another and threw the sheets of paper carelessly around him until he came across a newspaper clipping. He brandished it in front of him and handed it to Watson. “I recognized his name. This is him.” He tapped on the piece of paper.