Free The Last Confession of Sherlock Holmes by Kieran Lyne Page A

quite easily shot me, or had me run down by a carriage the instant I stepped onto the street.
    Aware of my fortune, I quickly returned to the now significantly reduced safety of Mycroft’s lodgings. I did not have time to listen to the moaning of my brother as he awaited my return upon his step; I needed confirmation of what I had seen only moments before.
    â€œGeoffrey!” I cried, running into the sitting room and forcing him into a chair. “What did you see? Tell me exactly what you saw upon opening the door!”
    â€œMr Holmes, what is the meaning of this?”
    â€œTell me what you saw, Geoffrey!” I demanded.
    â€œThere was a knock at the door,” he said tentatively. “I opened it, but there was no-one there; I took a quick glance but I could not see anything, such was the thickness of the fog. I noticed a small stone upon the floor, weighing down the letter, and I delivered it straightaway.”
    â€œYou did not see a man?”
    â€œAt first, sir, no but, having picked up the letter, I thought I could just make out the silhouette of a man on the foot of the path. I called out to him but he did not respond.”
    â€œWhat did this man look like?” asked Mycroft.
    â€œI do not know, sir, I only saw him from behind. He appeared to be a fairly normal-sized man, and the only feature I could make out was that he was dressed in evening attire.”
    â€œThank you, Geoffrey, that will be all. You may retire for the evening.”
    â€œWell, Mycroft, an interesting development indeed,” said I, retaking my seat by the fire.
    â€œSherlock, please, it must be Moran!”
    â€œWe cannot be certain who that man was until we examine the facts. This letter, for example, is a precise duplicate of a Governmental dispatch, so as to ensure that you would read the contents upon receipt. The man is therefore exceedingly intelligent: why then, did he write the letter upon paper which, though to most not instantly recognisable, is certainly discoverable, and then purposefully confuse the spelling, having previously demonstrated competence in this area? He wishes to conceal his true identity, while perhaps pointing us toward false conclusions. If this was Moran, why was I not disposed of in the street? It would have been far easier and far safer to ensure my death as readily as possible.”
    â€œSherlock, think of what you are saying. If that man was Jack the Ripper, yet he was not Moran, or a decoy, you would be forced to conclude there has been a man in London of devilish genius that has completely escaped our attention this entire time. This man would have had to have pulled the wool over both our eyes; it is an absurd hypothesis.”
    â€œI admit such a feat is highly improbable, but surely you would not be so arrogant as to deny the possibility.”
    â€œFor God’s sake, Sherlock, don’t be absurd. There is only one man capable of weaving this web, and it is Professor James Moriarty!”
    â€œMoriarty is dead, Mycroft,” I said, gazing into the fire.
    â€œNo, Sherlock, he is not.”
    Such was my shock at the notion of my brother having developed a sense of humour, I turned my attention away from the embers and scrutinised his features. “I would be fascinated to learn of how he achieved such a feat; no mortal could have survived such a fall.”
    â€œI do not mean he survived , Sherlock,” said my brother, with an irritating hint of elder sibling exasperation. “I am trying to alert your attention to the likelihood that Moran is acting upon a design inherited from Moriarty himself.”
    â€œYou believe that Moriarty ensured I shall meet the end he desired for me, regardless of his own survival?”
    â€œYou know I am correct, Sherlock; that is why you come to me with some of your problems, is it not? Moriarty, in all his infinite deviance, is the only man capable of conjuring such chaos from beyond the grave. I do not