Following the prologue, we can now go back a year to start to see how we got there .....
All characters are the intellectual property of ACD.
Chapter 1
Friday, August 15, 1919
The official-looking car sat in the lane outside the small Sussex farmhouse, the engine still warm. The country air was full of birdsong; but despite the warmth of the summer's day, the atmosphere inside the house's kitchen was frosty.
The recently retired, former Chief Inspector Gregson stood uneasily before Sherlock Holmes. Holmes' more welcome visitor, Doctor John H Watson, was sitting at the breakfast table, upon which was still laid the morning's meal. The food was, however, ignored as he leaned forward in amazement at the news the veteran ex-policeman had brought to the quiet Sussex cottage. Holmes was gazing in shock - it was in fact Watson who broke the silence.
"But how could this be? It is twenty-five years since Moran was locked up for ever for his heinous crimes – including, I remind you, the attempted murder of Holmes. As we all know full well, dozens of others died at his hand, at the behest of Professor Moriarty. Yet now you tell us he is released?"
"I cannot explain in more detail, Doctor Watson," replied Gregson uncomfortably. "He was lately interred at Bescott House. He volunteered – or was volunteered – for medical treatment."
"The same Bescott House which, you now tell us, is run by the Government," muttered Holmes angrily. After the rigours of the early War years he had again been enjoying his retirement, and the unwelcome news that an old foe was unexpectedly free had come as a great shock to his increasingly frail health. "Come, Gregson, you are going to have to give us more than that. Don't let me down – I've always considered you one of the brightest of the 'Yarders. It sounds too much as though undue influence has been brought to bear in this matter. I never did know why he did not swing." Watson muttered in agreement. "But at least we thought we could all rest safe that he'd spend his days safely locked away. If you were to tell me that he had friends in very high places who wished to see him preserved, I would not be surprised. Come, have the courtesy please to tell us more."
"I can't say more, Mr Holmes, for I don't know any more," Gregson replied uncomfortably. "Clearly it all got caught up in the business of the War. Not to start with of course, but it was just as well he was spared the noose. Maybe they could see what was coming even back then. Moran's skills and his connections across the Empire came in very useful when the War started. He has served the country well." He put up his hand to stop Watson's interruption. "As was indeed your own contribution, sirs, I won't make small of that. Masterful work with Von Bork, Mr Holmes. But they tell me that history will record with thanks Moran's actions, which have saved so many lives."
Watson's face showed his fuming anger only too clearly. "He only served his country under some compunction, though," he replied, glancing at Holmes, who nodded. "So whilst I spent more time in the Fusiliers, he was being waited on hand, foot and finger by those who sent me there. It was not pleasant in Belgium, Gregson," he concluded, bitterly.
"No need to tell me that, Doctor. But, to live for so long under such a sentence does things to a man," came the unconvincing reply. "He obviously came to the point where he recognised that he had been spared and given another chance – another life to live, to prove he was not rotten to the core. The nature of the sentence obviously worked on his mind. Granted, it took a long time for him to submit to the treatment, but in the end he did so with good grace."
"I never did have any time for such quackery," cut in Watson curtly. "It is ridiculous."
"To submit to treatment, or to spend the rest of your life in that hell-hole? What would you have chosen, Doctor?" asked Gregson. "From what I have seen, Bescott is no holiday hotel, I can assure you. I am not supporting what was done, merely telling you of the situation."
Holmes stood angrily. "'What you have seen'? So instead of Moran being locked away to rot, he has been helping to advance the cause of medicine, as some sort of social experiment."
"I do not see how it was an easy choice." Gregson's temper was rising, his face reddening. "The treatments could have killed him for all he knew. Or burnt his brain out. It was not the easy choice. From the reports I have been privy to, I can assure you that the man is no longer any threat to anyone. And you must surely accept that they know what they are doing."
"I do not. I think you are too trusting, Gregson," Holmes replied. He thought for a moment, remembering the affair at Baskerville Hall on Dartmoor all those years previously where Selden, a victim of similar experiments, had been loosed. He sighed. "But at the end of it all, he has been released," he continued, as Watson stood and walked across the room to gaze out of the window across Holmes' small garden. To the left of the lawn, bees going about their business in the morning sun filled the air with their noisy buzzing. To them the cares of the world were as nothing compared to the collection of nectar for the queen bee. "No. It is of no comfort, Gregson," he continued. "I fail to see how the Ministry could condone this."
"Now, Mr Holmes," said Gregson. "He has changed. Away from Professor Moriarty's influence he has found again the decency denied him for so long."
Holmes sighed again. Watson looked at him with concern – his friend of so many years seemed to be ageing before his eyes. At the mere mention of Moriarty's name he seemed to fall deeper into melancholy. "So you would have us believe. I am sorry, but I am with Watson. A saying springs to mind, my old friend – 'a leopard cannot change its spots'."
Gregson smiled ruefully. "So they say, indeed. But perhaps this leopard can. I have seen him."
"Oh, better and better!" exclaimed Holmes. "So this now has the sanction of the Force, does it?"
"Only in that it was our job to monitor him, to make sure his rational behaviour at Bescott continued once he had submitted to the treatment. It fell to me in the last days of my service to watch over him. And I have only now retired content that he was reformed. It seems all perfectly reasonable. I am not surprised they have finally decided to release him. He can do no harm."
"You kept me in the dark, Gregson," said Holmes, not without bitterness. "I thought I knew you. I expected better of you. This is a man, I would remind you," he continued, "who takes the life of a man with no concern or thought. No regret or sensibility. He has no moral compass."
"The doctors at Bescott believe he has. And what is more, they believe that he has re-found that compass."
"He can only find something he once had!" exclaimed Holmes.
"We have no right to challenge this?" interrupted Watson.
"It has already been done; it is too late. I learned that he has been released this morning," replied Gregson. "And before you ask, you will of course understand that I could not tell you of his whereabouts, even if I knew – which I do not. I am breaking a number of direct instructions from my former superiors by my even being here." He paused, and then continued almost plaintively, "I think you are being harsh on me. I am here because I am your friend, whatever you may think, Mr Holmes."
"I think we both understand the situation only too well," replied Holmes. He knew how hard Gregson found it to bend the rules. He turned to Watson with a resigned sigh. "Ah, well, my old friend, and to think I retired here safe, so I thought, in the knowledge that my life's work had been concluded and that, in my own small way, I had helped to bring justice to this part of the world. It is strange, is it not, how mistaken one can be?"
"I really think you are taking this too seriously, Mr Holmes." Gregson tried for the last time to reassure the two friends, but they were having none of it. Within a few minutes he was back in his car, making his way back up the road to London. In the cottage Holmes and Watson were both sitting dejectedly in the kitchen of the cottage, with a glass of brandy before them to fortify their spirits. The uneaten part of their breakfast was left on the table.
"Absolutely unbelievable!" spat Holmes. "They cannot see where this will lead. Gregson left it too late - he's too old for the game if he takes what they say for granted."
"They?"
"Gregson has been leaned on," replied Holmes. "Clearly we were not supposed to know about the release. I will allow him credit for that – at least we now know that Moran is free. The Ministry obviously did not want us to know. The release is as much a part of the experiment on Moran as was the treatment. Sterling war service indeed! There is something going on here, Watson, and I don't like it."
In spite of the dark news, Watson found himself smiling at Holmes' faint praise of Gregson. "You fear that Moran will seek to remedy the injustices he thinks he has suffered, don't you, Holmes?"
"Of course he will. We can both see it."
"I was afraid you would say that. Most of that upset, of course, he latterly suffered at your hand. He was brought to whatever justice he has received, by your actions alone. I'll never forget that look on his face as he realised the game was up regarding Adair. I'll warrant he bears something of a grudge towards you, my friend."
"Exactly," mused Holmes. "The Adair affair was most invigorating. And yet, they think he has now reformed. But what if he has not? I have 'upset', as you put it, many people, some of whom remain in positions of power to this day. Perhaps they show their hand in allowing his release."
Watson topped up the brandy glasses. "I have read of the treatments, Holmes," he said. "The Americans have a term for them – 'snake oil'. To suppose that electric shocks and brain surgery can give a man back his right mind is at best extremely hopeful and at worst potentially lethal."
"And they will not tell us where he is." Holmes would not be deflected.
"Only that he has been released this morning."
Holmes got up and walked across to the small kitchen sink. Through the window behind it the meadow was a picture of summer flowers. A hammock swayed gently in the breeze as the wind ruffled the trees in the orchard, the buzzing of the bees adding an almost soporific quality to the air. He stood silently for a few moments, as though running through a number of scenarios in his mind.
"Perhaps, he has reformed?" Holmes' voice, now trembling almost plaintively, could not hide the hope he held. Watson sighed, got up from his chair and joined Holmes at the window.
"In truth?" Watson shrugged. "I don't know, Holmes. Until he puts a foot wrong, I suppose we have nothing to fear but fear itself. Perhaps it is as they say, that he is a new man. Maybe we're getting too old, too distrustful. I know I am. I feel so tired of it all, Holmes."
"The problem of course will be if he proves everyone wrong. With me – or even worse, us." Holmes paused, thoughtfully observing the bees as they entered and left the hive. "I wonder if that's what someone hopes?" he mused. "And if so, who? The list would doubtless be a long one! So after all these years, in the frailty of old age we now find ourselves hoping that a former opponent is either older and slower than we are, or has been so completely reformed that it is as though sixty years of his old self has been erased at a stroke."
"Holmes, maybe we should just accept the situation. He is now – what? - close to eighty? He will certainly be slower, and more tired, than us! The world has changed over the past decade, after all. Perhaps there is nothing to fear. I know the initial shock was as great as anything I have known, but now, on reflection, it might be nothing ....?"
Holmes smiled at his old friend. "Hope on, Watson!" he laughed. "I think you underestimate what years of feeding your soul with bitter thoughts of revenge can do! But, oh! It is good to have you around. These forty years of knowing you, and it is still as refreshing as ever. Yes, you hope if you will. But like you, my old friend, I am getting too old for all this. For the first time in years, I will be tempted to lock the cottage door tonight."