From the notes of Dr. John Watson, April 1886

Holmes silently paced the flat and tackle shop no less than three times, absorbing every detail. I found myself less focused on the contents of the flat, and more suspicious of each sound and flicker of shadow, suspecting to see Sharp behind every corner. Holmes had taken a book from Sharp's desk titled, Roman Numismatics. He tucked it into his coat. We hailed a cab and Holmes, Obie and I rode to the police station.

"No need to mention the watch," said Holmes, patting his pocket as we stepped out of the cab.

By the frantic state of the police station, it was clear that Newman's body had been found and the manhunt for Sharp was already in effect. Constables from other parts of the city were called for support in the search. Holmes gave a statement, then after a few more questions we rode the remainder of the way to Baker Street.

Mrs. Hudson fixed a snack of bread, cheese and sliced fruit for Obie. He devoured the food and promptly fell asleep on the couch. Holmes grabbed a slice of bread and brought it over to his desk, taking out the pocket watch and book for examination. I eased into my chair, the exhaustion of the day catching up with me in a swift moment. Lulled by the quiet atmosphere of the room, and tired from the rush and drop of adrenaline, I slowly dozed off.

I awoke to the sound of a muffled scream down the stairs. It was midnight, and the room was lit only by Holmes's desk lamp. He was still seated at the desk, but swiveled to face the door; undoubtedly he had heard the scream as well. Someone struggled up the stairs. The door burst open and two figures walked into the flickering light. In front was Mrs. Hudson, eyes wide, and held roughly around the neck by a bandaged arm. Her captor brandished an Enfield pistol. We must have been followed at a distance from Dolland Street.

Across the room, Obie was awake. He was still on the couch, paralyzed from the shock. My service pistol was in my room, I had put it away in the drawer upon our return. Holmes looked calm. He remained seated; in his left hand he held the pocket watch, in his right hand he gripped his Webley revolver.

"Morton Sharp, I presume," said Holmes. "My name is Sherlock Holmes."

Sharp pressed the barrel of the gun against Mrs. Hudson's temple. "Lower the sidearm, gent," said Sharp. "And hand over the watch."

"You don't want to shoot her," said Holmes. "Or any of us, for that matter. There's a city wide manhunt, most likely on this very street given that I'm a person of interest in the murder of Philip Newman. I'll return fire, and at this range I'm quite a marksman. You'll be wounded at the very least, and the gunshots will attract unwanted attention."

Sharp tightened his grip on Mrs. Hudson, pistol still trained on her. "You'd shoot through your little old mum?"

Holmes nodded without hesitation. "I would, but I won't have to. I'll give you the pocket watch if you answer my question. Why did you kill Philip Newman?"

Sharp was quiet for a minute, eyes shifting around the room. He was trying to read Holmes. "One less share. I wanted the watch for myself, and he had a loud mouth."

"Does anyone else know about the watch?" said Holmes.

"None," said Sharp. "Now hand it over."

Holmes held up the watch, brass gleaming in the glow of the lamp. He slowly lowered the watch to the floor, and then slid it across the room to Sharp. The watch stopped two feet in front of Sharp. He pulled Mrs. Hudson down with him as he reached for it.

"Jesus, man! Just let her go!" I said, unable to contain myself any longer. I couldn't bear to watch him abusing Mrs. Hudson.

Sharp grabbed the watch and sneered. He dragged Mrs. Hudson to the door, and only released her as he disappeared down the stairs and out onto the street. I rushed to Mrs. Hudson's side and checked her for injury. Thankfully, it was nothing serious. Holmes sprang to his feet as well, darting to the window.

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm sorry," said Holmes. "I never intended for you to be entangled in his case. I hope no serious harm befell you."

Mrs. Hudson rose with my assistance. "I'll survive, Mr. Holmes," she said. "It will take more than that to do me in. I'm just upset that he caught me off guard."

"What should we do Holmes?" I said. "Are you going after-"

I was cut off mid-thought by an explosion outside, as if a hand grenade had detonated down the street. Holmes strode to the door. His face conveyed no surprise, only morbid intrigue.

"Quickly!" he said. "I suspect Sharp tried forcing open the pocket watch."

"What?" I said as we hustled down the stairs and out onto the street. "What are you talking about, Holmes?"

"Before Sharp appeared, I had time to examine the watch," said Holmes. "By the feel of the watch when adjusting the knobs, it was clear that there was some inner mechanism beyond the standard clockwork. Imagine the dial of a combination safe disguised as the face of a clock. I tinkered with the knobs, feeling the pressure and listening to the internal fluctuation, and after many trials I was able to release the inner lock and open the watch face."

"A secret combination lock?" I said. "So, that's why the watch was so hotly pursued."

"Precisely," said Holmes. "There was a note tucked inside that no doubt Sharp and Newman were seeking. The pocket watch was also equipped with an anti-theft measure. When I opened the watch, I saw that it was lined with compacted black powder and flint. If opened via the knobs with the correct combination, the incendiary surprise is bypassed. If pried open by brute force, the powder would likely detonate."

That's when I saw Sharp's body slumped against the alley wall of a tobacco shop. It looked as though a grenade had exploded in his hand while he held it up to his face. I felt like I was experiencing a horror of war on Baker Street, his face torn apart by brass shrapnel, and his fingers no longer connected to the mutilated gore of his hand. On the ground, blown away by the blast, was a singed screwdriver.

"Sharp and Newman knew that Arnold Windlass designed the pocket watch to contain some clue," said Holmes. "Apparently, Sharp attempted to expose the clue by force."

"So, what was the clue on the note?" I said.

By this time, multiple windows of nearby buildings were illuminated by lamplight. A few people had ventured outside to investigate the sound of the explosion.

"A sketch of the hills and cliffside," said Holmes. "And geographic coordinates. On the outskirts of Bexhill, about three hours south of London by train, on the shore of the English Channel. There's an 8:15 Harrogate Limited departure in the morning that will take us there, and we may be able to resolve this investigation."

"My schedule is open," I said. "What do you expect to find there?"

"I can't say for certain, Watson," said Holmes. "If there's anything there at all."

"By the look in your eye, I'm certain that you have a theory or two," I said.

Holmes grinned, but the police arrived and partitioned the scene before he could elaborate. Windlass's attacker, Morton Sharp, and his accomplice, Philip Newman, had destroyed themselves through greed, and now we were left to unravel the final pieces of their puzzle. We returned to our flat once the police had the situation well under control.

In the morning we boarded the Harrogate Limited and began the last leg of our journey. Holmes stubbornly withheld his thoughts on the case for the first hour of the trip, hesitating to spread conjecture without further evidence. I could tell by his demeanor that he was constraining a hypothesis with implications of great magnitude. As we passed through Tonbridge, Holmes gave in to my insistence, and agreed to explain his theory, though he needed to provide the background of another infamous unsolved case for context.

"On August 6th, 1867, a team of archaeologists uncovered an ancient Roman crypt just outside the city of Rome," said Holmes. "The archaeologists discovered a chest of rare orichalcum coins from the reign of Emperor Claudius, minted over eighteen hundred years ago. The coins were stolen on August 20th, 1867. I was only a boy at the time, and I followed the story in the newspaper. It was an international treasure hunt, what boy could be uninterested in such a dramatic mystery? The authorities were confident that Claudius coins had left port the following day en route to Great Britain. They never found the thief, and the coins were never traded or located."

"Do you mean to say that we are on our way to find a chest of ancient Roman coins?" I said. "I understand why you didn't expand on your theory sooner, Holmes. Even for you, this is quite the conclusion."

"I know it seems fantastical, but consider the scattered pieces of evidence," said Holmes. "Firstly, we know that Arnold Windlass left Rome on August 21st, 1867, on the same day that the coins left Rome. Secondly, we know that Morton Sharp and Philip Newman, two sailors aboard The Belmont on the trip to and from Rome, were following clues left by Arnold Windlass to find some treasure, something valuable enough to kill for. Thirdly, Richard Windlass told us that he recalled the name Claude coming up in an argument between Arnold Windlass and two men, most likely Sharp and Newman."

"Emperor Claudius," I muttered. "So, you think they were discussing the coins and Richard misheard?"

"Misheard or misremembered," said Holmes. "He admitted that he could not hear much at all. Finally, last night I found a book in Sharp's study titled, Roman Numismatics. Numismatics is the study of currency, and upon examination of the folded edges of the pages and wear of the spine, it was clear Sharp had paid particular attention to chapters on orichalcum coins, and currency produced around the time of Emperor Claudius. Admittedly, no single clue confirms that Arnold Windlass had a hand in stealing and hiding the lost Claudius coins, but I find it difficult to assume all of these facts are coincidental."

Holmes gazed out the window of the train. We were rolling through the open southern countryside, free from the smog of the city. I reflected on Holmes's theory.

"Assuming we do find a chest of buried treasure," I said. "What will we do then? I suppose I can close up my medical practice and retire handsomely. I'm guessing these coins are more valuable than a military pension."

"Substantially," said Holmes. "But, let us keep our imaginations in check for the time being. We shall soon discover if my theory is any more than a fairytale."

Holmes's theory was not a mere fairytale. By the early afternoon we had followed the geographic coordinates hidden within Windlass's watch. Water lapped against the cliffs, and a cool, salty wind blew past us as we scoured the area. It was quiet but for the seabirds and waves. Holmes pinpointed the burial site based on the sketch of the cliffside, and we picked away at the earth until we struck the buried chest. It was about two feet long, eighteen inches wide, and heavy. We hauled it out of the ground and pried it open.

I gasped at the sight of the ancient coins. They were an alloy of gold and copper, each imprinted with the face of Emperor Claudius on one side, and the image of a military helm on the other. I held one coin in my palm, feeling the weight of history. Atop the pile of coins, there was an envelope dated June 15th, 1869. Holmes opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of parchment.

To whoever finds this cursed treasure, beware.

I happened upon the Claudius coins by chance, and I ashamedly admit that I sinned terribly to keep them in my possession. In 1867, Sicuro Bini was a stowaway aboard my ship. He was fleeing Rome, having stolen the coins from their crypt. I discovered him during our return to England, and in a blinded state of avarice, I stole the treasure again and had Bini sent to the depths of the Alboran Sea.

The coins are a cursed treasure. I was hunted by police and criminals alike. Each day I lived in fear that I would be discovered. In January 1868, my son died at sea, rest his soul. In October 1868, my wife passed from sickness, rest her soul. I now understand that these were punishments from the Almighty. I do not have the strength to destroy the coins, but I know now that I must distance myself from them, and tend to my remaining family. I cannot risk the curse spreading to my grandson or his mother, I love them dearly.

I write this letter as a form of repent, and as a warning to those that would succumb to the magnetism of the Claudius coins.

A.W.

Holmes entrusted the Claudius coins to his brother, Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft held a critical position in the British government, often involved in international diplomacy, and he agreed to correspond with members of the Roman government and negotiate transportation. If it had crossed Sherlock Holmes's mind to keep the coins, I could not tell. For him, the greater prize was the thrill of solving a mystery near twenty years old.

We didn't have a pocket watch to return to Richard Windlass. Instead, Holmes sent him Arnold Windlass's note that was left in the treasure chest. I didn't share the same superstitions as Arnold, but the stabbing of Richard felt like a continuation of the alleged curse that had haunted Arnold. With the closure of finding and returning the Claudius coins, I hoped that the Windlass family could find peace.

END