The Last Confession of Sherlock Holmes by Kieran Lyne Page B

my good fellow; you will need to remove these items and take them back to Kensington where they belong, I have need for these rooms once more. And so, if I may be so bold, do you Watson, should you be willing to take up your former residence once more?”
    â€œMrs Hudson!” I cried. “Sorry, old boy, but if you are to go into your usual amount of detail we will need some tea.”
    â€œAh, Mrs Hudson,” said Holmes, rising from his chair, “how wonderful it is to see you again.”
    â€œMr Holmes!” she exclaimed, clutching the door to prevent herself from falling. “This is the most unexpected of pleasures! But I hope you have not returned from beyond the grave to haunt me with your eccentricities?”
    â€œBut my dear woman, why else would I be here?” replied Holmes. “I am sure you will have ample time to complain of my habits later, but for now I am a trifle famished, and Watson is being made to await a truly fine tale. If you could bring us some tea and two plates of your fine luncheon, I would be most grateful.”
    Along with the whole of the country, I had of course read the correspondence from Jack the Ripper. I consider it to be the first duty of any man to protect a woman, no matter what her circumstance.My blood had boiled, and I had had stern words with any children I passed playing in the street who were naively re-enacting his terrible legacy.
    Despite my publications and association with Holmes, I have always looked on in disgust at the relish of the public for such events. The fascination of murder has an immoral place in our society, and to revel in such violence is a notion I find most repulsive. Melodramas fill theatres: street-ballads and ale-house songs amalgamate and echo throughout the city; and I even hear how murder-souvenirs are savoured by those who can afford such perverse luxuries. Though his crimes may have ceased, I found no comfort in the knowledge that the beast may simply be lying dormant, waiting in the shadows. It therefore came as a great delight that we were about to end this most infamous of chapters in London’s great history.
    â€œIt must be Moran,” I remarked after Holmes had finished his narrative.
    â€œMycroft drew the same conclusion. He is convinced that it was a ploy of the Bagatelle-Quartet.”
    â€œHave you any theories as to their activities?”
    â€œNine, but that is immaterial to our investigation at this time, for now we have more decisive work on our hands than to speculate over mere conjecture.”
    â€œCapture Moran and await the affect; or catch Jack the Ripper in the act?”
    â€œBravo, Watson, I see you are still as sharp as a hunting knife. But it is Moran who we move upon tonight, and as you correctly deduce, we shall be forced to simply await the consequences; hardly a desirable solution, I concede, but for the moment the most practical. If we are successful in our exploits, we shall bring a conclusive end to this deadly collaboration. As for Jack the Ripper, if he remains a figure of the shadows, then, although we may never truly be certain, we may rest somewhat safely in the assurance that he was most likely to have already been consumed by the depths of Reichenbach.”
    â€œWhen do we leave?”
    â€œOh, not until tonight, but I do have a slightly unusual task which needs performing before we vacate.”
    â€œShould we not inform Mycroft of these developments? You say he is anxious to hear of your capturing Moran.”
    â€œNo, Watson, Mycroft has faith in my abilities. A man of his position has enough on his plate without needing to hear of my every movement. He will remain upon his rails and simply be delighted with our results when we produce them at one of his stations; should he wish to hear of our methods at a later date, I am sure I will either pay him a visit, or he can simply read them through my esteemed biographer.”
    The task of which Holmes spoke