An Interview with Sherlock Holmes, Harry Houdini and Doctor John Watson. Part Five

An Interview with Sherlock Holmes, Harry Houdini and Doctor John Watson. Part Five

I'm as excited as you are to find out what happens next in this interview. These brave and noble men usually leave my mind twirling all over the place with their constant interruptions, banter and intellectual, as well as emotional outbursts.

While I am a great fan of Sherlock's intellect I have to admit that I fancy Harry's vivant spirit. His colorfulness is something that reminds me of the Sixties and the very outspoken and colorful hippies. So I suppose if I were to call him a Victorian Hippie I wouldn't be too far off the mark.

And yes, I do let them read my words as they are put on paper. It's only fair to give them a chance to edit their remarks, clarify or eliminate clues that might be harmful to their work.

But so far they have been quite generous in both their help and their praise of this work. My goal is quite simply to clarify a lot of the rumors about their lives, as well as to show you how much more complicated they are as individual as well.

So today we continue with the Duel, which it turns out was more important than anyone could have guessed at the time.

The Interviewer

John Pirillo

Edinburgh, Scotland

Now to the interview:

As I'm sure most of you know a very powerful influence was to come into Sherlock's life later on in his sleuthing career and one that almost cost him his life, and in one world did. Professor Moriarity. 

Now how does that enter into this conversation? Pay close attention to the clues in the Duel.

As I consider the above words I'm going to put onto paper Watson explains more about the Duel, which in retrospect to both him and his partner, Holmes, was a day of infamy they are not quite likely to forget.

"You see, old chap." Watson explained. "Holmes and I were concluding a very exhaustive investigation into the mysterious death of a man from Wales. His head had been cut off so neatly that even one of my own scalpels could not have been the weapon of choice. His tongue had been cut out and diced, his throat opened and a tube inserted. He was missing the tips of all his fingers and a needle and thread had been applied to sew on pieces of corn to the tips."

"A most curious thing indeed." Sherlock added. "It took some thought to conclude how he could perform such a delicate operation using a kernel of corn, until we realized the corn had been sewn on after it had been cooked."

"This explained the slightly singed tips of the fingers I noted." Watson concluded.

Harry nodded. "I used my divining powers to pick up a trail, for the night before a great and powerful storm had moved into the region and destroyed all tracks and visible clues other than the dead body."

"His name was Aramin Shame. A most peculiar name." Watson remembered.

"And later on we discovered he had much to be...ashamed of." Sherlock added in his usual aloof manner. "His daughter, whom we found bound hand and foot in her bedroom after a week's searching of records for his dwelling, was barely alive. The poor thing still is wounded severely from that tragedy and a ward of the Queen now in one of her splendid care homes for the weak and poor."

Harry jumped in next. "We found a very unusual trail."

"Quite remarkable indeed." Watson agreed. "It was a psychic trail, left by the murderer. And in retrospect it had to have been deliberately made."

"I agree." Sherlock said. "Often times the perpetrators of such grisly crimes feel a degree of remorse and leave trails so they will eventually be found. Much of my cleverness as recorded by your authors, and even yourself at times, has more to do with their wanting to be caught, than my own so-called superhuman intellect." He smirked then. "Of course, I wouldn't denigrate that intellect any by saying that I am always grateful for help, even if unneeded."

Harry laughed. "Ever the Holmes."

Sherlock bent forward and smiled. "Ever the Harry."

I smiled as well, went back to the frigerator and pulled out some Doctor Zero Root Beer. It was sugarless and used Stevia as a sweetener, so it was sweet and tasty, as well as good for you. "I've been saving these for just such a moment."

I passed them around and they looked at the caps, as if offended and then I realized they didn't understand how they worked. My error. I write about them so much I forget their period of time while being a steam punk kind of alternate reality...in their case Tesla driven...that they didn't have all our conveniences.

"My bad." I told them, and then showed them how to flick the cap off.

Harry did so fast, and clapped his hands before he thought about it, causing half his bottle to fly up into the air. Recovering swiftly, he waved his other hand and froze the liquid midair. He got up and drank it all down, then sat back in his chair. "I love the fizzy stuff in it. What do you call this?"

"Root beer."

He eyed the label. "Oh right. On the bottle. I could make a lot of money from a thing like this back home."

Sherlock cleared his throat. Harry eyed him, and then nodded. "Right, we don't interfere in timelines or alternate realities." He laughed. "Most of the time."

Sherlock almost nibbled at his soda, making tiny quivers of his mouth as he drank it. I suspect both the flavor and the bite of the carbonation were testing his powers of deduction quite a bit. Watson, however was more direct. He guzzled the entire bottle in one gulp, and then looked to me.

I jumped up, fetched another round of drinks from the two six packs I had in the frig and passed them around. After we had all satisfied our thirsts and for them, their curiosity, we continued.

"Anyway." Watson went on. "As we followed the trail it eventually led us to this remote part of Wales."

"There we found that the trail quite literally vanished." Sherlock said with a frown.

Harry spoke up. "But I found it again."

"Had it been buried?" I asked in ignorance.

Sherlock smirked. "Hardly."

Harry laughed. "Don't mind Sherlock, he's been without sleep now for seventy six hours and becoming a bit on the biscuit side of things."

"Biscuit?" Sherlock quarreled. "Is hardly a term for being snappy, irritated and tired."

"The trail ended in Cardiff." Watson came in again, sensing the two other men were about to continue their quarrel. "In a humble fisherman's home. We found the murderer was a fisherman's wife. She had used a titanium fish hook to do the murder."

"This explained the more ragged edges of the cuts on his fingers, if not his throat, which I soon realized had been done by angling the hook for the slice." Sherlock pointed out.

"Her name was Betsy Sliderman." She was an immigrant from the Asias. Her father had renamed her to a more suitable European appellation."

"And also taught her some dark magic." Sherlock noted with much distaste in his words.

"But you don't want to know about all of that." Watson went on.

"No, actually I do. I'm quite fascinated with the lives you lead when I'm not writing adventures for you."

"Hear, hear." Harry teased.

Watson grinned at him, all enmity between the two gone.

"The duel brought into our picture, the investigation, an element we had not known about before. You see, dear Mister Pirillo, our timeline, our world is an alternate to the original one that our dear Conan wrote. In his stories Professor Moriarity came into the picture later on, but in our world he came into the picture quite early." Watson explained.

"It was, in fact, his very machinations that brought us into the duel which very nearly ended our lives if not for Harry and his wonderful surprises."

"Surprise, not magic?"

Harry grinned. "I'm not all about magic, you know. Sometimes I use a trick or two I've learned over the years."

Sherlock gave him an amused look. "Fortunately, you keep most of those to yourself."

"Touché!" Harry said.

"Well, to make a long matter short." Watson continued. "When we discovered the poor girl, it turns out she was a plant by Mister Moriarity."

"But, if as you say, he came early into your world, but you had no other dealings with him, then why would he seek to harm you?"

"Oh, but you are wrong, dear Mister Pirillo." Sherlock interrupted. "You see in our world, he was, since he is not longer alive, my bastard son."

The room grew absolutely still with a silence you could cut a knife through at that moment. Both Harry and Watson were looking at Sherlock as if he had just murdered someone in front of them.

He gave them apologetic looks. "It's a part of my history I'd prefer not to elucidate upon."

They both nodded, and then looked to me.

I recovered from my own shock, and then asked the obvious question. "But you're so young, how could that be true?"

"Looks can be deceiving. As you know I come from a different alternative reality than the one Watson and Harry both live within. I came there by a different route and means, which again, I'd prefer not to go into at this time."

"In the future maybe?" I asked, determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.

"Perhaps." 

And I knew at that moment it would be never, if at all.

Harry jumped up suddenly, his pocket watch in hand. "Oh bloody hell!"

"What's wrong?" I asked, startled by his outburst.

He gave me a sad look. "We must leave immediately, or we'll be stuck here...sorry for that word...in your dimension."

I rose too, but left my cell phone recording.

"I am sorry to see this end so soon."

Sherlock took my hand and shook it. "I rather think you have enough material to fill several novels at this point." He gave me a very uncharacteristic wink and followed Harry out the door.

Watson shook my hand too. "Don't mind Harry, he's just a little boy at times. I'm sure he would've shaken your hand if his mind wasn't all over the place."

He gave me a warm shake and smiled. "For your scones and your wonderful thoughts, we remain indebted to you."

I blushed with embarrassment. "I should be thinking you. Your work is stunning."

He smiled, and then exited the room.

I went back to the kitchen, turned off my cell, then reached into the frig for another Doctor Zero Root Beer. I had a lot of typing to do and I was glad I had the rest of the week to finish all of it. Or at least a lot of it.

And that dear readers is the end of this interview. I later on received a message through an unusual channel, it appeared in my mirror and said we would all be seeing each other again soon, and then vanished.

So I am one to believe they keep their word and once they have, I assure you I will do my best to document it as thoroughly as possible. If you would like to send me any questions to ask them when I do meet with them again, please feel free to contact me.

Most Sincerely,

The Author and Interviewer, John Pirillo