Sherlock Holmes: The Dark Reckoning (10 page)

Holmes crashed into a wall near the room’s entrance, as he
was shoved, with immense ferocity, by the larger of the two men.

Having heard Wood mention the name, Jack, Holmes now knew
who this man was.  His name was Jack Roberts.  He had been a fairly well known
wrestler, until he seriously hurt an opponent in a fight that ended his career.

Jack grabbed Holmes by the collars and thrust him back into
the wall once again.  The force drove the breath from Holmes’ body and he was
temporarily stunned.  Before he could recompose himself, Jack repeated the
movement causing the back of Holmes’ head to hit the wall.  Holmes collapsed to
the ground, completely dazed, as Jack released his grip.

In his semi-conscious state, Holmes observed the large man
walk over to the other side of the room and pick up a shovel.  Holmes
desperately tried to pick himself up, but could not move.  As the large man
approached, Holmes became paralysed with terror.  He felt his breath coming in
short erratic bursts and his heart beating furiously.

Jack stood over Holmes, his eyes glaring madly and his teeth
bared in an aggressive snarl.  He raised the shovel above his head.  Holmes saw
the blur of the shovel as it hurtled down towards him, causing him to flinch
sideways, but not far enough to avoid being hit.  The shovel smashed into his
left shoulder.  A deadening pain rushed down his left arm, causing him to yell
out loudly.

Once again, Jack raised the shovel above his head.  This
time, however, Holmes was able to move, having regained control of his senses. 
He raised his right leg and thrust his foot into Jack’s left kneecap.  The
force of the kick caused the large man to shriek, as he fell backwards,
dropping the shovel as he did so.  Holmes saw his opportunity and immediately
jumped to his feet.  He grabbed the shovel and rushed towards Jack, with the
intention of knocking him out.

As he approached Jack, he saw Wood pick up a bottle and
throw it at him.  The bottle struck him on the left shoulder, already injured
by the blow from the shovel.  This caused Holmes to stop and wince in pain.  As
he recomposed himself, Wood threw another bottle, which hit him on the back of
the head and made him fall forwards to the floor.  As he was falling, Holmes
realised how close he was to Jack.  He bunched his right fist and managed to
punch Jack on the side of his jaw.  Holmes was beginning to think that he might
be able to win this fight and started to stand, when Jack suddenly punched him
in the stomach.

Holmes immediately collapsed on the floor, clutching at his
stomach as his lungs fought to take in air.  Jack stood and shoved Holmes with
his foot, so that he rolled onto his back.  The large man then sat astride
Holmes’ stomach and grabbed him by the collar with his left hand.  He threw a
punch with his right hand, aimed at Holmes’ face.  Somehow, Holmes jerked his
head to the right, so that the punch skimmed his left ear and crashed into the
wooden floor boards.

The unexpected pain sent Jack into such a furious rage, that
he started to growl and wrapped both hands around Holmes’ throat.  He began to
squeeze, choking Holmes, who tried to think of a way to stop this madman.  He
instinctively grabbed at Jack’s wrists, and tried to pull them away from his
throat, but to no avail.  He then realised that he could easily reach Jack’s
chin, so he moved his hands in front of his own chin and then punched upwards
with both hands at once.

The grip around his throat was instantly released, as his
fists hit Jack’s chin, and he gasped in air.  Wood came to Jack’s assistance
and grabbed both of Holmes’ hands so that the larger man could continue to
strangle him.  The large man smirked triumphantly, as he gripped Holmes’ throat
once more.  As he started to squeeze, Holmes, unable to breath, began to
panic.  His heart started to pound in his chest and his lungs seemed to be
frantically screaming for air.  He desperately tried to free his arms from
Wood’s grip, but could not do so.  As he struggled, he could feel his arms
becoming weaker.  His head started to pound with the agonising beat of his
straining heart.

Holmes tried to shout, ‘help me!’ but all that emerged was a
pitiful gurgle.  He looked up at Jack, but all he could see was a blur.  All
the pain he felt started to fade away and he was aware that his heart beat was beginning
to fail.  He lost his ability to concentrate and began to feel a wonderful
calmness.  Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard a loud bang and the
pressure around his throat disappeared.

v

Holmes slowly opened his eyes and mumbled, “I thought I was
dead.”  He heard a voice reply, but could not understand any of the words being
spoken.  His vision was blurred and took some time before it started to clear. 
As it did so, he felt a great relief, as he saw his friend, Dr. Watson looking
over him.

“Watson,” coughed Holmes, “What happened?  Where is Jack?”

“Jack?  Oh, you must mean the man who was strangling you. 
He is dead.  I shot him in the back of the head.  How are you, Holmes?” 
Watson’s voice revealed his deep concern for Holmes.

“I think I am alright, thank you, Watson.  Help me up,
please, old chap,” said Holmes, as he sat up.

“Of course.  Are you certain that you are ready to stand?”

“Yes, I am certain,” replied Holmes, smiling.

Watson helped Holmes to his feet.  When he was standing,
Holmes looked down at the crumpled body of Jack Roberts.  Although he was dead,
his eyes were still open and his mouth still bore a menacing grimace.  Blood
flowed from a large hole in his forehead, forming a growing pool on the floor.

“Where is Wood?” asked Holmes, with a sense of great
urgency.

“As we entered the room, he ran and climbed out of the
window onto the fire escape,” answered Watson.  “Lestrade and two of his men
gave chase.  I think he might have decided to go onto the roof, as Lestrade had
deployed four officers in the street.”

For the first time, Holmes observed that two policemen were
also in the room.  Not paying them any heed, he rushed across the room to the
window, his desire for pursuit helping him forget the pain he was suffering.

“Come along, Watson,” he called, as he climbed through the
window.  Watson followed suit and, together, they ascended the steps of the
fire escape.

Below in the street, a small crowd had gathered, eagerly
looking up at the roof.  Lestrade and two officers were standing at the top of
the fire escape.  Holmes approached the top of the four-storey building,
noticing the frost that had settled on the iron staircase, making it slippery.

As he joined the police officers at the top of the fire
escape, he heard a voice shout, “Stay where you are!”  He looked in the
direction of the voice and saw Wood balancing precariously on the top of the
roof, holding onto a chimney.

Watson joined the others at the top of the fire escape. 
Upon seeing Wood, he quietly said, “My God, Holmes.  Do you think he will
jump?”

Holmes did not acknowledge the question, but instead asked
Lestrade, “Have you tried to get him to come down from there, Inspector?”

“Yes we have, Holmes.  He won’t come down.  He said that he wants
to speak to you and won’t move until he has done so.”

“Very well, let us play his game,” replied Holmes.  He moved
himself in front of the police officers and called out, “Wood, this is Sherlock
Holmes.  What is it that you wish to tell me?”

The murderer looked over at Holmes and, in a mocking voice,
called, “I intend to give you a chance to satisfy your insatiable need to catch
criminals, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes felt the scorn in Wood’s words, as he asked, “What do
you mean, Wood?”

“You now know that I am the murderer you have been seeking,
Mr. Holmes.  Well, come and catch me.”

The great detective stood perfectly still, and waited to see
how a lack of action, on his part, might provoke Wood.

He did not have to wait long, as Wood began to taunt, “Come
on, Mr. Holmes.  It’s cold up here.  I don’t want to stay up here all night. 
Are you too
afraid
to catch me?”

“Very well, Wood.  I shall come and get you.”

“You can’t!  Don’t be a fool, Holmes,” pleaded Watson.

“I must,” replied Holmes, as he looked back at Watson.  He
then smiled and started to climb up a ladder that was fastened to the side of
the roof from the fire escape to the top of the building.

The frost lay quite thick on the apex of the roof, making
progress exceptionally dangerous for Holmes.  He knelt down and slowly started
to make his way along the rooftop, towards Wood.

Holmes felt his heart beating heavily, as he carefully
inched his way along.  His hand fell upon a loose slate, which slid out of
place causing him to tip and loose his balance.  He grabbed the top of the roof
with his other hand to stop himself from falling off.  He pulled himself back
into position and held his breath, as he remained motionless whilst regaining
his courage.  When he overcame the shock of almost falling, he slowly continued
along the rooftop.

“It’s a beautiful sight, do you not agree, Mr. Holmes?” said
Wood.  Holmes stopped and looked over to the murderer, still clinging onto the
chimney, whilst looking out at the view.

Holmes looked out in the same direction as Wood and had to
admit that it was a beautiful view.  The lights emanating from the city shone
brightly against the backdrop of the night sky.  Below, there was a thin band
of mist coming from the river but, otherwise, the night was clear.

When Holmes was about six feet away from Wood, he looked
over to him and asked, “Have you any intention of coming back off of this roof
with me?”

“I spent a great deal of time thinking whilst I was
incarcerated, Mr. Holmes.  The best games take a great deal of time to conceive
and plan, and this one is no exception.  The game’s a head, Mr. Holmes. 
Remember those words?  Yes, it was I who said those to you.  I have been leading
you along a path that I devised long ago.  I have anticipated every move that
you would make in my game.”

“I realised that you were taunting me, Wood.  It was obvious
that you were leaving clues, like bread crumbs, for me to follow.  But now,
here we are on this roof and your options are, decidedly, limited.  What do you
intend to do, Wood?”

The murderer seemed calm, as he smiled and continued, “Every
game has a winner and a loser, Mr. Holmes.  You have played your part in the
game well, but now it is over.  It is time to find out who wins.”

Wood stood tall on the roof and shouted, “Play on, Sherlock
Holmes,” as he let go of the chimney, slid down the roof and fell off the edge. 
Holmes watched, in horror, as Wood fell through the air, his arms and legs
flailing around and his voice screaming in terror.  His fall was abruptly halted
as he hit the top of a street lamp.  The pointed top of the lamp pierced Wood’s
stomach and his screaming immediately stopped.  Wood’s impaled body violently
twisted and contorted, as he tried to free himself.  Blood spewed from his
mouth onto the pavement and road below.

The onlookers on the pavement had all backed away, and all
had their attention transfixed on the writhing body above.  Blood ran down the
glass of the gaslight rendering its glow red, as Wood continued to struggle.

As life started to slip away from Wood, his movements became
weaker and slower.  His head dropped and his legs hung still.  The only
movement was a slight clawing of his hands, but this, too, soon stopped.  His
arms and legs started to twitch for a few seconds and then he became perfectly
still.

Holmes, witnessing this spectacle from above, knew that
Stephen Wood was dead.

Curling veins of smoke rose from the pipe clasped in
Sherlock Holmes’ hand, as he sat in his favourite armchair at 221b Baker Street.  He looked over at Dr. Watson, who was standing by the window and looking out
at a bright, sunny morning.

“Watson, I have been thinking about this case, or ‘game’, as
Wood described it.  Just before he fell to his death, he mentioned that every
game has a winner and a loser.  He went on to say that it was time to discover the
winner of his game.  It seems to me that, ultimately, he was the winner.”

Holmes puffed on his pipe, waiting for Watson’s response.

Watson turned from the window and asked, “How can you say such
a thing, Holmes?  After all, Wood is dead.”

“That is true, Watson,” smiled Holmes.  “However, his game
was about making a travesty of our legal system.  He even wrote that the ‘
law
is devoured
’ in one of his notes, and he managed to manipulate events to
make that statement true.”

“I fail to understand.  Would you please explain yourself?”
asked Watson, with a puzzled expression on his face.

“As you are aware, Watson, there were six intended victims
that Wood had planned to kill, including us.  All six played their respective
roles within the legal system, resulting in Stanley Wood being sentenced to
death.  The six people abided by the law and received no reward for doing so. 
The law also judged Stephen Wood insane and he was placed in an asylum, accordingly.”

“I still don’t follow you, Holmes.”

“This is where the travesty occurs, old man.  The same legal
system, that was indebted to the six people, decided Stephen Wood was sane and,
subsequently, released him.  In doing so, it, effectively, sentenced the six
people to death.  So, it proves that we have a foolish legal system that,
unwittingly, assisted Stephen Wood in his dark plan.  Six people helped the
legal system to sentence a maniac to death, and the same system allowed four of
them to be murdered.”

“Come now, Holmes.  You can’t believe that.  After all, we
are still alive.  That proves that Stephen Wood didn’t achieve his objective.”

“Are you certain, Watson?  Perhaps we were meant to escape
with our lives.  When Wood told me that his game was over, he realised that I
knew he had won.  I believe that he always intended to kill himself; it was the
final part of his game.  I believe he was well aware that our final encounter
would be his day of reckoning.  He had planned to either kill me, or take his
own life.”

“Why would he do such a thing?”

“After failing to kill me, his other option was to ensure
that I should live with the knowledge that I could never catch him.  He knew
that his game was over, but that mine would not end if he, ultimately, evaded
me.  I believe that is why his final words were ‘play on, Mr. Holmes’.  He knew
that I would play on.  He left this world with the satisfaction of having
escaped justice.  At the same time, he knew that I will never be deterred in my
endeavours to catch criminals.  Perhaps, his final words were a compliment to
my enduring tenacity for fighting crime.”

Watson wondered how his friend’s mind always managed to make
such amazing connections when interpreting evidence.  He had learned a great
deal having helped Holmes work on many cases, but he could never see things in
the same way as the great detective. 

A small smile broke out on Watson’s face as he remarked,
“Holmes, have you considered the fact that Stephen Wood can no longer harm
anyone?  He will never again be a burden to the state, or to society, in
general.  That is in no small part due to your efforts, so I believe that it is
you
that won, not him.  Also, we are now in a position to inform Miss
Spencer that her sister’s killer is now dead.”

Holmes glanced up at Watson and a smile broke out on his
face.  “You are quite right, old fellow.  Wood has gone and the world is a
better place for it.  We will go and inform Miss Spencer of the news, shortly.”

Holmes settled back in his chair, feeling contented, as he
watched the curling veins of smoke rise from the pipe he clasped in his hand.