Thirteen Authors With New Takes on Sherlock Holmes

by Michael A. Ventrella

  Baker Street Irregulars

  Thirteen Authors With New Takes on Sherlock Holmes

  Edited by

  Michael A. Ventrella and Jonathan Maberry

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 2017 by Michael A. Ventrella & Jonathan Maberry

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email info@diversionbooks.com

  First Diversion Books edition March 2017

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-838-5

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  “’Locked” by Mike Strauss

  Sherlock is the host of a reality show

  “Identity: An Adventure of Shirley Holmes and Jack Watson” by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Sherlock is a young girl in modern New York City

  “The Scent of Truth” by Jody Lynn Nye

  Sherlock is a doglike alien

  “The Adventure of the Reluctant Detective” by Ryk Spoor

  Sherlock is not what he thinks he is

  “A Scandal in the Bloodline” by Hildy Silverman

  Sherlock is a vampire

  “The Fabulous Marble” by David Gerrold

  Sherlock is a bio-synthed, augmented, 7 percent human, upgraded, unmortal, consulting extrapoloid

  “The Scarlet Study” by Jim Avelli

  Sherlock is a worker in a dystopian world

  “Delta Phi” by Heidi McLaughlin

  Sherlock is an eighteen-year-old female college student

  “Beethoven’s Baton” by Austin Farmer

  Sherlock is a musician in Beethoven’s orchestra

  “The Adventure of the Melted Saint” by Gail Z. Martin

  Sherlock is a transgender detective in Charleston

  “Automatic Sherlock” by Martin Rose

  Sherlock is an automaton in a near-future Russia

  “The Hammer of God” by Jonathan Maberry

  Sherlock is a nun who works as a field investigator for the Office of Miracles

  “Code Cracker” by Beth W. Patterson

  Sherlock is a parrot

  About the Authors

  Connect with Diversion Books

  Introduction

  Who is the most popular fictional character ever? Given the number of books, movies, plays, stories, comics, and games about the amazing Sherlock Holmes, the answer is elementary.

  We can’t get enough of the great detective, the most unlikable and unlikely hero. His superpower is his intellect. We could never be Superman, but when Sherlock examines the evidence and provides the solution, we all realize that with proper observation and deduction, we too could be heroes.

  The character of Sherlock is so iconic that he can be rearranged in many different formats and still be recognizable. So when Jonathan and I started discussing the possibility of a collection of “Alternate Sherlock” stories, excitement grew. Sherlock as an alien! Sherlock as a computer program! Sherlock as a monk!

  We invited some great writers to give us their interpretations with the only limitation being that we needed a mystery solved by a personality that was clearly Sherlock’s. Some of the writers kept the names and others created new ones but our favorite detective is still recognizable in each story.

  The game is afoot!

  —Michael A. Ventrella

  ’Locked

  BY

  Mike Strauss

  “You’ve been ’locked!”

  Sherlock posed with an 88 percent audience-approved smug smile and outstretched pointer finger until he was certain the camera had gotten enough footage. Cognizant that there was also a camera on me, I maintained my façade of awe, even while fuming internally.

  I’ve hated that line and that pose for years now. I’ve hated the man who utters that phrase and the exuberant manner in which he does so. I’ve hated his undeserved ego and his constantly increasing monetary demands for the placation of that ego. I’ve hated the way that this insipid twit and his ridiculous slogan have seeped into the public conscious.

  In short, I, John Watson, hate Sherlock Holmes.

  “Cut!”

  The moment the director called the scene, Sherlock’s camera-friendly grin dropped and he immediately stomped toward Mary Morstan, an assistant producer. “Yesterday, when I got back to my trailer, my coffee was cold. If it is cold again today, I want you to fire the entire catering company,” he fumed.

  “Immediately, Mr. Holmes.”

  Mary’s response was precisely the right degree of respectful and groveling to keep Sherlock from lashing out further. It was a practiced response and Sherlock wasn’t discerning enough to realize that he was being handled. The irony of that was not lost on Mary or on me.

  I’ve seen him act like that dozens of times in the past and I still have trouble comprehending how he gets away with it. Admittedly, he is the star of the highest-rated reality show on cable television, but even Charlie Sheen got fired from Two and a Half Men. About the only guess I’ve managed to muster is that he has never abused anyone except for the producers, who pretty much accept his diva attitude as part of the price of success.

  Mary was brought in as an assistant producer literally to be the main target for his bile. Sherlock doesn’t know, but she was a child psychiatrist who specialized in children with high-risk behavior before joining the show. That experience has helped her control and mollify his regular outbursts—though even she occasionally needs to vent a little after one of his tirades. Today looked like it was going to be one of those days.

  The moment Sherlock disappeared from view, she marched over to me, slipped her hand behind my head, and pulled me close for a long, deep kiss.

  “Indian food, a walk by the fish pond, and then a long, hot soak with you rubbing my shoulders.”

  The actions might have appeared abrupt and almost callous to a casual observer, but her fingers were gently massaging my neck and her whisper was passionate. Mary wasn’t demanding of me. She was requesting, just in a way that hid the seriousness of our relationship from any observers.

  • • •

  “I wanted to give you a heads-up, Jack,” she said as I placed a second blueberry pancake on her plate. “The network is looking to boost ratings.”

  “That’s insane. We are already getting three times the audience of the next-highest-rated reality series.”

  “Yeah, but we are about 10 percent down from last year. That is enough to get advertisers worrying.” She played with her eggs for almost a minute before continuing. “Sex and violence get ratings, Jack, and the executives know it.”

  There was something in her voice that made me realize she wasn’t talking about just a robbery at a strip club.

  “What are talking about? Aggravated assault? Date rape?” I asked, frowning.

  “Murder.”

  Shockingly, she was standing next to me with a firm grip on my arm before I could leap to my feet. “I know, Jack. I argued against it, too. But I was outvoted.”

  Mary wrapped her arms around me to comfort me even before I started crying. Her tight embrace warmed my suddenly chill body and dispelled my shivers almost as quickly as they came. She
waited until my storm had passed before speaking again.

  “Honey, you knew from the start that murder was a possibility. If it helps any, I got the executives to agree that this would be billed as ‘A Very Special Episode’ and we’d wait at least three years before doing it again.”

  I took a very deep breath and reached for my tablet.

  “Okay. Have you sent me the scenario yet?”

  “No, and you won’t be getting an electronic copy this time. Verbal scenario only. Absolutely no paper trail on this one.”

  The precautions made sense, but it was a first for me. There were a couple of episodes where the scenario was on a thumb drive and I had to read it on a computer that was completely cut off from the internet. There was even one episode, the one that involved child pornography, where the scenario was handwritten and the only copy was shredded and burned after the episode was complete. But I never expected to have to hear the details of a scenario verbally.

  I poured myself and Mary another cup of coffee. “Best get started.”

  • • •

  “Perfect,” Mary said happily, and gave me a sisterly kiss on the cheek.

  I had just described all the details of the scenario to her, two times in a row, without making any mistakes. All things being equal, the scenario wasn’t too complicated. There were plenty of misdirection points, but the basic scenario was that Jenna Moriarty killed her late husband’s mistress because she had stolen most of the money that Jenna was supposed to inherit and frittered it away.

  Technically, the facts were true, but only because the mistress, Danielle Carter, was previously supposed to be the criminal on a different episode. She stole the money, but by the time we were ready to start shooting, she realized she was pregnant. The producers were not keen on the idea of an episode of ’Locked where a pregnant woman was the villain, so the episode was scrapped and the evidence of the theft was quashed.

  But now everything had changed. Danielle had given birth to a baby boy and couldn’t afford to raise him. At the same time, Jenna was having trouble making ends meet. Despite the fact that both women had received sizable payments for agreeing to participate in the first episode, they were now at the end of their rope and the promise of two million dollars to their children, after taxes, was enough to get one woman to agree to commit murder and the other woman to agree to be murdered.

  Despite the fact that I had been watching people get paid to commit crimes or have crimes committed against them for years, I still couldn’t believe that two people had agreed to this, for any price. But, somehow, they had agreed, and according to Mary, the murder had already been committed. At this point, my job was the same as always: make sure that idiot Sherlock discovered the various clues that would eventually lead him to solve the crime.

  Honestly, the hardest part wasn’t convincing the public that a man who had just barely managed to get an associate’s degree in criminal justice from a community college was an investigative genius. Most of that was accomplished by the editing team. The real challenge was keeping Sherlock from realizing that I knew all the details of the crime and was essentially leading him around by his nose.

  “You okay, Jack? You’ve been really quiet for the last few minutes.”

  “Sorry about that. I was just musing.”

  “Need to talk about it?”

  “Nah. I’d just be venting about Sherlock and that’s the last thing you need to hear.” I smiled at her and then noticed that all the breakfast dishes were still on the table. Cursing, I quickly started clearing the table.

  Mary calmly walked over and slipped an arm about my waist. “No need to rush at this point. A few more hours won’t hurt anything and tomorrow is going to be a long day. Why don’t you put down the dishes, cuddle up with me on the couch, and watch some black-and-white movies with me?”

  There’s a reason I love this woman.

  • • •

  “Action!”

  It was time for my opening monologue. Every episode started with one and while I always prepared a little for it, most of it was ad-libbed. Testing panels showed an unprecedented 93 percent approval rating for the monologues that I ad-lib.

  “London, Ohio, is a small town with a population just under ten thousand. It has roughly the same level of crime per capita as most other towns this size. But London is different from other small towns in one major way. It has the lowest number of unsolved felonies of any town in America, roughly half as many as the next best. What makes London so special? That is simple. London is home to the greatest investigative mind in the country, dare I say the world—Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

  I said that last sentence with a perfectly straight face. Give me my fucking Emmy.

  The camera panned to Sherlock, as is always the case when I first mention his name. The man was really hamming it up for the camera today, casually sitting in a lounging chair and vaping an e-cigarette. The camera always stayed focused on him for thirty seconds at this point, using him as the backdrop for a title sequence that would be added in postproduction. Today, Sherlock pulled out a key guitar and played a few notes of “Every Breath You Take” by the Police. I knew Mary would be fuming at having to pay for the rights to use the song.

  When the camera panned back to me, I continued. “While solving crimes is old hat for Sherlock, today he received a very special case. Instead of getting a text or phone call from the victim of a crime, today Sherlock received a call from Sheriff George Lestrade, requesting assistance with a new case: the murder of Miss Danielle Carter.

  “We are currently standing in the living room of the deceased, inches away from where her body was first discovered.”

  “Thank you,” Sherlock said, putting his e-cigarette away. “Now tell me, Watson, do you see anything suspicious about this scene?”

  The question was patently ridiculous. There were half a dozen suspicious things about the scene. The contracts that the perpetrator and victim both agreed to required them to perform a particular set of actions that were consistent with the narrative of the scenario. One of those required acts was to set up the scene of the crime in a particular way.

  As I looked carefully at the scene, I saw roughly half a dozen books strewn about the floor, obviously having fallen off the nearby bookshelf. Between that and the fact that an easy chair was clearly out of place, it was undeniable that a struggle had taken place here.

  As much as I wanted to point out these things, it was my job to make Sherlock look good, which meant I had to point out something trivial or simply wrong. This was an important episode, so I opted for the latter, because it made Sherlock look smarter.

  “On a cursory inspection, I think it is odd that there is no bullet hole in the wall or floor.”

  Sherlock chortled. “Ah, my dear Watson, as usual you find mystery in the commonplace. The lack of a bullet hole is easily explained by the open window.”

  Actually, according to the autopsy report, the bullet had lodged in the victim’s skull, but postproduction could easily make sure that little bit of information never showed on the air.

  “The important clue is these three open books on the floor. My keen eye for detail has noticed that the word ‘car’ is visible on the pages of all three of them. It is quite clear to me that in her dying moments, Miss Carter intentionally left this clue that would help us identify her assailant.”

  I will admit that part of me was impressed by the insane leaps of logic that Sherlock could make on the spur of the moment. But mostly I was just disgusted by the nonsense he spewed and the fact that the American public fell for it so easily.

  But I enjoyed my paycheck, so I didn’t say that. Instead, I said, “So you think we should look in the car?”

  “So simpleminded, my dear Watson. What would you ever do without me?”

  I was tempted to find out.

  “No, Watson. You have forgotten one very important detail. Miss Carter is a woman who has recently given birth to a child. Her child is the most important t
hing in her life. The word ‘car’ doesn’t refer to her automobile. It is short for ‘carriage,’ as in the baby carriage we passed when we first entered the foyer of this house. That is where you will find the hidden clue.”

  I took off like a jackrabbit, while Sherlock followed at a measured, gentlemanly pace. This was characterization for both of us. At first Sherlock had wanted to be first on the scene for everything, but the producers insisted that he be the sedate one and that I be the aggressive one. It cost an extra thirty thousand dollars an episode to get him to agree.

  This characterization wasn’t just the result of audience polling or the whim of some producer. It was necessary to allow me to hide evidence at whatever location Sherlock had just proclaimed was important, without the cameras seeing me do it.

  This time, as soon as I reached the baby carriage, I hid a small cell phone under one of the pillows nestled inside of it. The cameras were currently following Sherlock, so I knew I hadn’t been caught on film. When Sherlock finally arrived in the foyer, I was diligently searching the exterior of the carriage.

  “Excellent, Watson. Have you found anything?”

  “No, but I haven’t searched the interior yet.”

  I delayed my search a few moments until I was certain the camera was pointed directly at the interior and then began to run my hand along the inside walls of the carriage. Feigning excitement, I triumphantly drew the phone from its hiding place.

  Sherlock immediately grabbed the phone from my hand. “Now let us see what clues this phone offers.”

  A few hours ago I had deleted all of the outgoing calls made on the phone during the last two weeks except for the ones made to a specific phone number. This made it remarkably easy for Sherlock to find the relevant information. Of course, he still spent a good two minutes babbling about investigative techniques and the mindset of the victim.

  “Quickly, Watson, to the car. There is no time to lose. You drive while I research this phone number on my iPad.”