Charles van Heck's Woodhull Journal

One morning⸺ it was on the fifteenth of May⸺ I was returning from visiting a colleague in Oxford when I entered that well-known door on Baker Street.  Violin music, played with fierce energy, wafted from those rooms Sherlock Holmes inhabited. Mrs. Hudson greeted me. She appeared distraught. “You have to make him stop, Watson,” she pleaded.  “What seems to be the problem? Is he using again?” I inquired. “Certainly not. It is that unceasing playing of Paganini. He hasn’t stopped playing Paganini Caprice #24, Opus 1, since you left four days ago.” She hastily added that Holmes hadn’t eaten. I immediately understood the urgency of the situation. “Make us some tea, Mrs. Hudson. I will have a word with him,” I replied.

With a kindly eye, my friend turned to me. He lowered his bow. “Ah, Watson, your timing is most convenient.” He put away his violin. Then, he rubbed his long, nervous hands together. “My eyes tell me you have yet to return to your wife. You hurried here from the train station.” Before I could question his observation, Holmes chuckled. “Your shoes are scuffed. Your suit is creased from days of continuous wear. You haven’t wound your watch since you arrived in Oxford.” Before I could inquire how he could deduce that, Holmes said, “Tsk. Tsk. It is elementary. The chain is absent from the buttonhole. You tucked your watch into your pocket upon arriving for your Oxford holiday. Time was of no essence. You and your friend dined at the Royal Blenheim yesterday. There are stains of beer, port, and the horseradish you had with cold beef on your shirt and jacket. Your eyes are bloodshot from a night of drinking. Mary Jane would never allow you out of the house looking so disheveled.” He waved a hand, motioning me to my chair, with a look of self-satisfaction. “We have a guest.” Just then, the door opened.

Mrs. Hudson stood before us. Behind was the shadowy figure of the most devious criminal mind.

“Ah, Professor Moriarty, do come in,” Holmes greeted his archenemy with such delight that I could scarcely have thought these two brilliant minds had ever thrust and parried.  My jaw dropped. “John, close your mouth,” Holmes said. “Did you miss me, Sherlock? Moriarty asked. “I thought you were dead,” I stammered. “No, Watson, our guest has been in America. Mrs. Hudson, put the kettle on and bring us some of those biscuits you are baking,” Holmes commanded. Mrs. Hudson muttered something unprintable here and hurried off. “I am impressed, Sherlock. How did you know I was in America?” Moriarity sat down. “Elementary, Professor. Your suit is perfectly customed tailored in the fashion of the Washington elite…” I wished my friend to stop showing off.

“Boring. You’re so predictable, Sherlock.” Moriarty’s neck cracked as he shook his head. “So nice to be here to have a proper conversation. Did you miss me?” Sherlock folded his hands. “Momentarily.” Moriarty smiled. “You can do better than that.” He glanced around the room. “Crime is more entertaining in America. Open season in this Golden age. It became B-O-R-I-N-G here after we took that fall, but we had our moments, predictable as they were.” I removed my notebook and pen to make notes. “What do you want?” I asked. “Do you treat all your guests with such impertinence, Doctor?” A smile twisted his lips.

“Our guest has come here to boast about his extraordinary career, John.” Moriarty rolled his neck with a loud crack. “You have my full attention. Do go on, Sherlock.”

“The professor has organized…” Moriarty interrupted Holmes, “I prefer the word masterminded. I am a specialist.” Holmes nodded. “He has organized a network of the most vile criminals. His first-rate mind has sown discord in public opinion. Abuse of government agencies. Ethics violations. Attacks on the judiciary. Weakening the authority of Congress. Undermining civil liberties. Obstruction of justice, witness tampering, lying to Congress, disrupting longstanding international relationships, monetary and trade instability, and discrediting the free press. All of this, besides an act of military aggression, he has accomplished in 155 days.” Holmes brushed the air with a quick wave of his hand. “What deviousness, Holmes,” I said, Knowing Holmes would want details of every word and action, I made copious notes.

“Did you get all of that, John?” Moriarty asked. “Yes, I did.”

Holmes closed his eyes. “Our friend, Professor Moriarty embodies the most chaotic and unpredictable force we have encountered in our detective work.”  

Mrs. Hudson entered with a tray. She glowered at the professor.  “I don’t want him in my house,” Mrs. Hudson snapped, placing the tray on the table. “Manners, Mrs. Hudson. Scowling doesn’t become you,” Moriarity said.  Holmes poured the tea and placed a biscuit on Moriarty’s saucer. “Did I miss anything, Professor?” Moriarty made a brief gesture.

It seemed to me that Moriarty was in a most exuberant spirit. He was watchful of every movement Holmes made and scanned the room to take in the most minute of details as we sat drinking our tea and eating the freshly baked biscuits. Then, Moriarity abruptly inquired, “How is the woman? That is how you refer to Irene Adler, isn’t it?” My hand trembled. “How do you know about her?” I blurted. My companion’s tightened jaw revealed he had been caught off guard. Moriarty’s mouth curled in the most nefarious grin.

“I should leave. I have a train to meet.” Moriarty, having finished his tea, rubbed his hands on his pants legs. Holmes said, as the professor stood. “You will leave for Paris, then The Hague, followed by Berlin. From there, you will resume your journey to Moscow. After that, you will be traveling to Beijing.”

“You are good at this game of ours, Sherlock.” Holmes shrugged. “Elementary. You have continuously glanced at the wall clock. The train for Paris leaves at 6:04 this evening. You have other business to attend in London. Otherwise, you would have sailed directly to France.” The criminal genius nodded. “And the rest of my itinerary?” A faint smile came to Holmes’s face but did not extend to his eyes. “I noticed your tickets in your left suit pocket when you sat. More chaos to seed.” Holmes stood in front of the fireplace with his back to our guest.

Turning at the door, Moriarty said, “I hope you don’t intend to follow me, Sherlock.” Looking over his shoulder, my friend replied, “I fancy my intent is quite obvious.”    

Image: Sherlock Holmes

Artists: Sidney Paget

Source: Historic UK. Com