Sherlock Holmes Blood Orchid
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Sherlock Holmes
Blood Orchid
John Pirillo
Copyright 2017
Table of Contents
Blood Orchid
Incident: Such a Lovely Evening
Chapter One: Harsh Circumstances
Chapter Two: 221B Baker Street
Chapter Three: The Gentleman’s Club
Chapter Four: Late Night Walk
Chapter Five: Tram Station
Chapter Six: Saint Mary’s Hospital
Chapter Seven: Founders Hall
Chapter Eight: 221B Baker Street
Chapter Nine: Founder’s Hall
Chapter Ten: Shadows Move
Chapter Eleven: Saint Mary’s Hospital
Chapter Twelve: Hallway
Chapter Thirteen: Founder’s Hall
Chapter Fourteen: 221B Baker Street
Author's Note
Glossary of the Baker Street Universe
Author’s Note
Review Request
Other Works by the Author
Sherlock Holmes Collections
Sherlock Holmes Standalone Stories
Steampunk Holmes series
Journey to the Center of the World Series
The Adventures of Lord When Series
The Secret Adventures of Alexander Dumas and Jules Verne Series
Jules Verne and H.G. Wells Series
The Rocketman Series
Chesterton K
Angel Hamilton
August Dark Series
Cartoon Series
Raiders of the Dinosaur Skies Series
To Hell and Back
The Hollow Earth Wars
The Perihelion Series
Tales of the Baker Street Universe
Fractal Flame Series
Triple Whammy Bargain Book
Incident: Such a Lovely Evening
Becky Farnsworth believed in God. She believed in the good of man. She believed in a good education. But most of all, she believed in herself. That she could overcome any obstacle, any challenge and make her life better for having gone through it.
Her belief was about to be tested. For as she got off the afternoon tram from Pikwicket, she forgot that she was the only one on the boarding platform. It was late. Later than she usually got back from her visits with her ailing grandmother. But she had thought nothing of it at the time, because her grandmother was doing better with all the attention she was getting.
Had her mother still been alive, she had no doubt her mother would have been living with her, but she wasn’t. And she, herself, was not living with her. Not because she didn’t want to, but because if she left her job in London, she would have to start all over again.
And it was a man’s world; not a woman’s. Even with Queen Mary of Scots leading the foray into women’s rights, it wasn’t propelling the tide of change that much faster. Men still insisted on being first in everything. Of course there were benefits to that. If you found a good man, and that was a big if sometimes, you could be taken care of and provided for and not have to worry about finances.
But she knew few women in that category. Most women worked very hard, even with a husband, because the men expected them to do everything for them and to do their own chores as well. Perhaps they should do more if they weren’t working full time at a mill, the wharves or a warehouse and maybe if lucky, a clerk’s office as most men did.
But men were still being raised and educated in the old ways. It was hard to change tradition and tradition put men in charge, even if common sense sometimes went contrary to that fact…that women should be equally in charge.
The only real difference she saw between men and women was the state of their organs. She tittered into her right gloved hand at that thought, shrugging off the cold air that was blowing in from the Thames.
She rarely thought of sexual things. It just didn’t seem like a good use of time. And all the women she knew who thought of that first before all else, were unhappy. Men took advantage of women who thought first of sex, and all else last.
Men didn’t have babies.
Women did.
“Good evening!”
Becky’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t heard anyone stepping behind her. And yet now she could feel a man behind her. And he felt big. Very tall as she could even see his shadow overlaying hers on the platform from the Tesla lamps behind them.
She could try to ignore him, but that would be dangerous. Never keep your back to a stranger her mom had warned her. Her grandmother had warned her. The constables had warned her.
But she kept her back to him and tried to say nothing. Maybe he would go away. She wasn’t shy. Just not interested. She didn’t prefer men, but she would never say that in public. It was hugely frowned upon.
“Hello!” The man’s voice spoke up again. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?”
This time she felt motivated to speak. His voice was so friendly. The timber so mellow. He must look like one of those kindly proctors at the schools that were so helpful with homework. She had met one once that had understood her sexual preferences and he had been more than kind to her.
She turned around.
He held a huge knife in his right hand. It was held next to the black cloak he wore that fell from his shoulders like which one would imagine a vampire to wear to frighten their victims.
“Hello,” she greeted, the word sticking in her throat as soon as she recognized the object in his right hand.
He smiled.
“Oh, it is such, such a lovely evening.”
The train leaving the station chose that moment to sound its thunderous horn.
No one heard her scream.
Chapter One: Harsh Circumstances
Clifford Marks, or Cliffy, as he was called by his chums, leaned on his cane at the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for his cab to arrive. It always arrived punctually at MidBells, but for some reason this night it was late.
“Are you okay, Cliffy?” The night manager of the Gentleman’s Club asked as he stepped outside to lock the front door.
“Fine, George,” he told the man.
George was a stout man with a brisk mustache that quivered when he laughed and dancing eyes. Everyone loved him. He always made them feel special, which is probably why the club was busy from the moment it opened in the morning at Seven Bells and closed in the evening at MidBells.
“Good, I have a carriage coming for me if you need a ride.”
“No, I have a cab should be here any moment.”
Both men leaned on their canes in a friendly manner, lapsing into a brotherly silence. Both were tired. It had been a long day.
George had spent most of the day doing inventory in the back, which involved heavy lifting and moving of crates and supplies.
Clifford had spent a long day at the office where he had been tackling the tax sheets of his Banking Manager, for whom he worked. City Bank and Investments was the name of the bank.
They didn’t have long to wait.
A carriage pulled up. Its driver touched his cap to both men.
George put his hand out to Clifford. “Well then, good night, Cliffy.”
Clifford took his hand and shook it. “Same time tomorrow then?”
George grinned. “More than likely.”
They both laughed well naturedly, then George climbed into his carriage and it left.
The carriage suddenly stopped.
George hung out. “Sure I couldn’t offer you a lift back home? No bother.”
Clifford shook his head and waved the man off. “My ride is on the way!”
George nodded and his carriage drove on.
Clifford smiled as his friend depar
ted. If only all business men were like him. The Banking Manager he worked for wouldn’t give a child a lift if the town were burning down about them.
On that thought he finally heard a familiar sound.
A Tesla Cab with the yellow light on top that denoted its company, London Taxi, was rolling down the street.
He smiled. Then he yawned. Late. But arriving.
But then he frowned.
What was the crazy driver doing?
The cab ran through a red light. It neither sped up nor slowed down.
A huge lorry barely missed it when it came through its own green light.
The sound of blaring horns and cursing and the driver of the huge truck was off and out of view, but the cab kept rolling closer.
Clifford shrugged.
Maybe the driver was tired.
But then when the cab didn’t slow down, but kept rolling past him, he knew something was wrong. He saw what looked like his driver, but the man was sprawled against the passenger’s window, his eyes looking out, hands splayed to the sides of his face.
Clifford shivered in terror for the poor man.
He must have had something terrible happen to him as he drove, he thought.
He ran after the cab.
He managed to catch up relatively easily, because the cab was going so slow. He opened the driver’s side and grabbed the wheel, and then shoved a foot onto the brakes.
The cab came to a grinding halt.
“Ed!” He called to the taxi driver. He’d known the man for years.
“Ed!” He called again, but the man didn’t stir from his awkward position.
He reached over and pulled the man upright. As he did so, he gently turned the man about.
A huge lorry passed by as he was hurriedly backing out, screaming at the top of his lungs.
No one heard his scream because the lorry’s horn blared loudly as it swerved to avoid striking Clifford, but instead of striking him directly, clipped him.
Clifford was slammed back against the cab. The dead driver tumbled out of the cab and over him as he fell to the pavement.
Again, his screams of pain weren’t heard this time, because the lorry slammed on its brakes.
Chapter Two: 221B Baker Street
“Checkmate!”
Challenger pounded the table with a meaty fist and cursed, “You cheated, Conan!”
Conan began reseating all the players for a new game and ignored Challenger.
Watson, who sat next to Mrs. Hudson with his hands in the air, holding the knitting thread of Mrs. Hudson as she knit, grinned.
“You sound worse than a Cheshire cat screaming for its mate, Challenger.”
“At least the dratted cat has hopes of some kind of satisfaction in the end of it all,” he hissed.
Conan finally spoke up. “Your turn.”
Challenger turned back around from speaking to Watson and immediately moved his knight out in front of the pawn on its left.
He gave Conan a scary look. “This time, anything goes!”
Watson shook his head and smiled at Mrs. Hudson, who loved having her family about her. “Just like old times.”
“Every night,” she told him, repressing a giggle.
“Well almost every night,” Holmes said as he came into the room from downstairs, where he had just entered from the street.
“Watson, soon as you are through holding the thread, we have a new case to attend to.”
Watson sighed. “Why are they always when it’s so late at night and so close to dinner time?”
Challenger peered over at his friend. “Because the night hates you, Watson.”
He burst into laughter.
Conan shook his head and then said, “Checkmate!”
Challenger roared angrily, and then stood up.
“Holmes, mind if I tag along? I need to do something to clear this dratted game from my head.”
He leaned close to Holmes and whispered, “And to get away from that dratted cheater!”
“I heard that, Challenger!” Conan roared.
Holmes smiled.
Chapter Three: The Gentleman’s Club
Constable Evans stood at the door to the club, while various other constables manned taped off sections that blocked traffic from both directions and the sidewalks from both directions, except the other side of the street, where, believe it or not, a small crowd was forming to watch and point as Sherlock Holmes and Watson arrived in a taxi, got out and were followed soon thereafter by Challenger and Conan, who wore coats and hats to keep them warm against the gathering cool night airs.
“Right,” Watson said, carrying on his conversation from inside the cab. “Most unusual indeed.”
He hefted his black medical bag in his right hand and set it down on the taxi’s roof.
“Hey!” The driver shouted.
Watson held up a ten pound note.
The Driver took it and then slid back in his seat, pulling his cap down over his eyes to grab a quick nap until his rides were ready for him.
Holmes smiled at Watson. “Ever the resourceful one, Watson.”
Watson smiled. He pulled out another ten. “With a little help from my friends, of course.”
Holmes chuckled, then arrowed for the street to the left where a body was covered with a tarp. Clifford next to it, looking terrible.
Watson took the man aside and checked his pulse, his eyes and then motioned him to get into the taxi. He did so and sat in the back and shut his eyes.
“We’ll talk later,” Watson said.
Clifford nodded.
Holmes gave his friend an approving look.
“From what Constable Evans told me earlier, this poor man was dead on arrival…in that!”
He pointed a gloved hand at the older taxi that had been pushed to the side of the road. Its driver side door remained open.
“I see. But how did the driver manage to get this far if he was dead?”
Constable Evans joined them. “Don’t mind me I overheard your question, Watson. If you look inside the taxi, you’ll see the steering wheel was locked so it couldn’t vary.”
Watson’s eyes widened. “That explains that mystery at least. But why bother sending it this far?”
“Very diabolical sounding, Watson, but hardly the facts. It seems the man had been dead before the taxi was brought to a stop by Clifford, the man in our ride.”
Holmes walked to the taxi and pointed. “See here, Watson, very little blood on the floor.”
“Then the driver was murdered and then put back into the taxi. I see that, but again, why?”
“I would imagine putting terror into the heart of whoever found the body,” Holmes replied. He eyed Clifford.
“I see,” Watson nodded.
Watson walked to the tarp over the dead man and gently pulled it aside. He dropped to a knee and began examining the body.
Holmes turned to Constable Evans. “My two friends would like to help as well.”
Constable Evans glanced at Challenger and Conan, who were busy arguing over something to do with a cat howling.
He grinned. “Do you ever get déjà vu when you listen to those two?”
Holmes smiled. “All the time. Now if you’ll excuse me?”
“Certainly.”
Constable Evans walked to join up with Challenger and Conan, while Holmes dropped beside Watson. He gently turned the body over. The driver had been wearing a white work shirt and tie. The shirt was shredded from numerous slashes to it. That was also where the majority of the blood loss had come from. Though there was little blood now.”
“I would suspect he was still alive when the cab was several blocks away,” Holmes pointed out.
“I agree,” Watson joined in. “Judging by the fluidity of the blood…the fact that it is just now beginning to congeal, I would guess that the man has been dead for at least two hours.”
“Which beggars the question, does it not, Watson?”
“Which is?”
&
nbsp; “Why would someone go to all the expense of time and danger to being caught by doing such an elaborate hoax as sending a dead man driving a taxi?” Holmes asked and then he pried at the man’s coat, revealing a stunning and still fresh blood orchid, a rare breed of orchid that can last for weeks without welting and had a pulpy flesh like fresh red meat with stripes of crimson red in its throat and a tongue of black silver.
“And why would he be carrying a blood orchid?”
“Blood orchid?”
“Yes, Watson. And we know what that means, don’t we?”
Watson glanced at the taxi.
“Where are they going?” He asked, ignoring Holmes remark for the moment, as he strove his damndest not to remember the last time they ran into that horrid symbol of death and murder.
Challenger and Conan had stopped speaking with Constable Evans and were heading down the street.
Holmes mulled over the clues that were mounting. If they did indicate what Holmes seemed to feel they did, then they were on the trail of a man who should be dead, not alive. And if dead and not alive, then how was he perpetrating these murders?
“I wonder what those two have found,” Watson asked, as his thoughts came back to Holmes and saw his friend was just as preoccupied with his own thoughts as he was.
Holmes turned to look where Watson was looking.
Challenger and Conan were walking the direction the cab had come from.
Holmes smiled.
“Gathering evidence. Come Watson, we need to go over the interior of the cab.”
Watson nodded. He waved a hand at Constable Evans.
“See that the body is brought to the morgue as soon as possible, Constable. I will be over shortly to do an autopsy to define the final cause of death.”
“Looks like the man was stabbed to death, Doctor,” Constable Evans commented.
Watson smiled. “Looks like and is can be two totally different things, Constable.” He held up the blood orchid for the Constable to see.
The Constable’s eyes widened.
“One of those was found at the site of that young woman’s body as well.” Constable Evans blurted out.
Watson’s eyes lit up. “What!”
Constable Evans nodded. “It’s true. I helped clean up that mess earlier this night.”