--Watson--

McKinn refused to say another word, save for repeating his disturbing poem again and again. Lestrade beckoned me to retire home for rest, promising to fiercely interrogate McKinn and to notify me the instant that anything transpired.

On the cab ride home, I found it impossible to distract myself from thinking up a myriad of horrible situations in which Holmes awaited his death. I knew that he was relying on me to solve the case and get to him in time. But I was not accustomed to deciphering riddles and solving the unknown. I was not Sherlock Holmes and I needed him.

I could not help but wonder if Holmes was alive after all. McKinn could merely have been tormenting me by giving me the miniscule amount of hope I possessed.

I mulled over the priest's taunting riddle in my head. None of it really helped me. Somewhere dark…somewhere he can't be heard…where Satan's wife did teach…Satan's wife…but Elisabeth Godber had not been a teacher. From what Lestrade had told me, she had been an apprentice dressmaker, a seamstress.

My thoughts faded quietly into the night as I entered our flat, feeling helpless and defeated.

--

Sunlight slowly filled the sitting room. I had barely slept a wink, my obsessing thoughts keeping me too frightened to leave wakefulness for very long.

I suspected the same was true of Mrs. Hudson, since I had let her know all that I did about Holmes' disappearance. Confirming my suspicions, she brought tea and a light breakfast much earlier than was usual.

Her expression was somber. "I don't suppose you were able to sleep either, Doctor," she said. "I didn't want to fall asleep for fear of the nightmares I might have."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson. We'll figure something out and will find him in time," I said, for her sake and my own.

She took a seat across from me. "I just can't stand the thought of it, Doctor. I hope that you arrest every single one of those cult members. I shudder to think that such a horrible affair was being carried on in this city—and in a church! Children attended the services there!"

She carried on in this fashion while I began to reason out this notion. "Mrs. Hudson," I interrupted her. "If they have children attending the church, do you suppose that they have confirmation classes?"

"Well, I believe it is likely, sir…"

I nearly leapt to my weary feet. "Mrs. Hudson, I apologize for asking you this again, but please have inspector Lestrade meet me at the church. Urgently. I believe I know where to find Holmes."

I neglected to grab my coat as I left our housekeeper staring at me, askance. I hustled into a cab and set off once again for the cathedral, one line from McKinn's riddle repeating in my head: Where Satan's wife did teach. McKinn had insisted that Miss Godber was very involved in the church and I was willing to wager that she was responsible for a confirmation class.

Don't worry Holmes, I'm on my way.

--

Once again I barged into the deuced cathedral, startling an old woman who sat praying in front of the altar. I was glad to see someone who would know more about the church than I did. "I am terribly sorry for this intrusion, Madam, but where are the children's confirmation classes held? Please, this is very important police business." Not an outright lie.

"As far as I know, they are all held upstairs…Officer," she guessed.

"Very good," I said. My heart had begun pounding in my chest. "Thank you."

I ran back into the foyer and raced up the stairs. I came to a lone hallway lined with doors. All my hopes of finding Holmes hinged upon him being concealed in one of the study rooms. I flung open the first door, calling his name. The room was silent and empty, without so much as a coat closet that could hide the great detective. I checked all the rooms, becoming more frantic and yelling his name louder as I grew closer to the end.

Desperation struck me as I reached the final door, unable to control my trembling hand upon the doorknob. To my surprise, this door led to another short flight of stairs. I took them faster than seemed possible to ascend such a steep staircase. I pushed the door at the top of the stairs open and it was wrenched away from me by a strong wind.

I was on the roof. I nearly sunk to the floor, weeping in despair, but I knew that Holmes needed me, depended on me. I had to keep trying.

I met the old woman again as I entered the foyer. "Sir, did you find what you were looking for?" said she.

"No," I nearly choked. "Was Miss Elisabeth Godber's class taught in that hallway?"

The woman smiled sadly. "Elisabeth was my granddaughter. I loved her very dearly. I was just praying for her as I have everyday since…" Her voice left her and a look of immeasurable sorrow overcame her face.

"I am very sorry for your loss," I said. Bitterly, I wondered if I would soon hear these words for my own loss.

The grandmother regained her composure. "Elisabeth taught her class faithfully every Sunday in the second classroom on the right." I could only nod, willing myself to control my despondency. "But sometimes on a warm summer morning, she would take the children to have their lessons outside," she said with a nostalgic smile.

It may have been foolish, but I gripped this small shred of hope as tightly as I could. "Outside in the courtyard?" I asked.

"Yes," the woman said, surprised. "Underneath the big tree on the grass."

"Bless you," I said, taking her hands into mine briefly before I ran outside. I arrived at the back of the considerably large church and spotted the tree. As I approached it, I began to feel silly, wondering just exactly what I expected to find.

The yard was very substantial and had richly green grass. I placed my hand upon the tree and took a brief glance around. On the other side of the tree near a fence that barricaded the courtyard and a small cemetery, there was a long plot of dirt that had recently been dug up. It stood out in sheer contrast to the well-kept lawn around it. I approached it apprehensively. It didn't look like a plot for flowers besides which there were no plants anywhere in the courtyard. It may have been a burial site, except there appeared to be plenty of room in the adjacent cemetery.

A shimmer of metal in the dirt caught my eye. I reached for the object, feeling its great weight as I did. I gasped out loud. It was an iron star symbol, the same as the one on the ritual book and in Holmes' research book.

Could it be? I wondered. Did they bury him? I thought back to the poem. Where the sun does not reach, where Satan's wife did teach, where no voice can escape…As these thoughts sunk into my consciousness, I began to fiercely claw at the moist dirt. I pulled fistfuls away from me, flinging them behind me like an old hound.

I had only dug about two feet down when I realized that the task was going to require a spade. I rose up from my sodden knees, hastily searching the area for such a tool. Blessedly, I found one leaning against the opposite side of the barrier fence.

I returned wildly to my digging, the effort seemingly unending. Sweat fell down my face, even in the chill of the winter morning without my coat. My chapped hands and my shoulder ached but I petulantly disregarded them.

I was nearly jarred out of my mind when the shovel struck a hard surface. I pulled dirt away from the object, finding that it was a piece of wood. As I dug further, the piece of wood became a plank of wood, which became a sheet of wood, which became a box, broken in some areas.

"Dear God," I whispered. It was a coffin. Now, slowly and with my hands, I pushed away the remaining dirt so that I could open the casket.

It was with trepidation and fear that I removed the lid and revealed the contents to myself and the clouded sun.