SHERLOCK HOLMES AND MORIATY: A GAME OF CHESS OF TWO HALFS
CHAPTER ONE: A NEW CASE AND AN OLD ENEMY COMES ALONG
The rain was falling hard, bouncing in the gutters and making swirling rings around the drains of London. Overhead it was foggy so you couldn't see more than a few metres. But you could hear footfalls clicking and splashing through the water that had fallen. Look! Over there! It's our favourite famous detectives. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor (Dr) Watson. They're walking this way, and entering an anonymous looking building through its green door. They don't stop to look at the brass doorknob, the brass letterbox, or the brass foot scraper by the bottom of the door, because they're here on business. Business of investigating crime. This is an important case, for the world's greatest detectives. And they had to get dry and start looking for clues.
They'd been sent by the chief of police inspector Lestrade, because he couldn't even get close to crackling it. He didn't like using them, he thought they were either amateurs who always got lucky or maybe they were committing all the crimes and then solving them. He had no proof, but he really liked his hunches. They got him a long way, and his wife and brother liked that. Anyway, the detective and his ally were now walking down the corridor, led by a trusty lieutenant of the inspector, to keep and eye on them and report back any findings. They entered the Room of The Crime with solumn occasion. Holmes looked grave and concerned, and Watson looked curious and was also writing notes in his notebook so he could write up the story later in in the newspaper of London.
In the centre of the room, which was actually a laboratory, there was a dead body of a man lying face down in the floor. And there was blood everywhere. It smelled so much, so the police officer had to go outside with a hanky over his nose. Dr knelt down to look at the body, whilst Sherlock poked around the edges of the room with his special detecting kit. He was pushing tweezers behind things to find clues. "What do you reckon, me Sherlock?" asked Watson. "Well good sir, I believe it was strangulation". "But why Holmes! What about all the copius blood? I am a doctor, as you know, and that does seem a trifle strange". "A mere ruse my friend, have I not told you many times this is all a game? You just line up the pieces, and come to a conclusion." Watson sighed his acknowledgement of this deductive line of reasoning, and continued to look for a pulse. He may not be a detective, but he knew medicine and he would at least be useful there.
I had no clue how he did it, but somehow the detective of fame always saw the clue. He'd followed a trail of seemly random broken glass, and seen a code in it. He was following a trail only he saw, again at a higher mind level than us. He stopped suddenly, squinted, and rolled up an immaculate sleeve. "Ah...now...here we...go...as I...expected...it...to...go" muttered Holmes to himself as he reached all the way behind a cupboard with his arm and kit. "Aha! Ha! I knew it!" he cried with glee, and he produced from behind the cupboard a small envelope. As he brought it over, he slowly flipped it over to show me the inscription. I could scarse believe my eyes. "I can't even believe it, my friend." I said to him, trying to keep my composure. Even after many adventures – like last week's case of the Shempleton well – I never lost my sense of wonder at what will next befall us. Because of the back of the envelope there read the following inscription:
"So, my great foe! We meet again. Only, I am afraid I can't be with you. I see you cracked my 'RED CODE'. Ha ha, such a jolly wheeze that was, to run the police a merry chase. But I knew you would get it. Until we meet again, be ready for the next chain in my plan. It begins with this letter, but did you listen? Yours, M."
"Good Lord!", I cried out "it's your nemesis again the maths professor Moriaty. "Of course, of course" he was muttering to himself. "Come, Watson old friend! He shouted at me suddenly, the game is afoot!" He sprung over the poor body of the poor unfortunate in the room, forgetting it immediately, and ran to the door and through it. I must admit in the excitement, I lost all interest in the sad man below me, and trod quickly through the red pool beside him. God forgive me. I made to follow the great man, but he suddenly stopped still as if in shock. "What are YOU doing here?" He asked I know not who. But then I saw the shadow and knew immediately what was up. It was gross and deformed and cackled like a man possessed. SH had already pulled out his knife and was standing at the ready for the great confrontation with his other nemesis. I reached the doorway and leant out to confirm for myself I saw the prone form of the police officer who had been sent to escort and spy on us. He looked like he was breathing, so that was good. But he couldn't help us because he was knocked out cold. As time slowed down, I looked up and saw to my horror the 'man' who confronted us in the hallway. He had yellow eyes and a red face, as red as the blood I had earlier stepped through. He was dribbling on the floor and cursing us both and God. His cloths were ripped and torn and he was thrashing his claw like nails around as he approached. It was Mr Hyde himself! The good Doctor (Dr) Jeckyl had evidently lost his latest fight with madness and come looking for us. And had found us, for some more sport, like had so many times before.
Holmes was not afraid though. He stould his ground though and had his knife in his hand, and was ready for the confrontation. As well as the greatest mind in the empire and beyond, he was also really good at fighting. The shadow approached. Holmes waited. The shadow got closer. Still Holmes waited ready. The shadow was upon him and me, and I could scarce know what to do. I was close to fainting in horror. Homes just stood there, calm and sure in the storm. The shadow loomed, and Holmes sprung into action. What happened here, dear Readers? Tune in for the next exciting stage in this strangest, most terrifying, and villainous of plots.