LAST WORD — Chapter 10 of 'Sherlock Holmes and the Scarlet Thread'
Welcome to Sherlock Holmes and the Scarlet Thread, the first novel in the Sherlock Holmes: Thailand mystery thriller series. Each novel is a standalone mystery.
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Previously in The Scarlet Thread…
The murderer, Jefferson Hope, has been caught.
Sherlock Holmes explains how he solved the case.
Chapter 10: Last Word
“I would not have missed this investigation for anything,” Sherlock Holmes said. “Few have been better within my recollection. Simple as it was, there were several most instructive points about it.”
“Simple!” Watson and Lertsiri shouted simultaneously.
“Well, really it can hardly be described as otherwise,” Holmes said, smiling at their surprise. “The murderer was found using only a few ordinary deductions.”
Holmes stood across from John Watson and Detective Lertsiri outside the main entrance to Bang Kwang Prison. He set his arms behind his back, adjusting his posture. It was finally time for him to reveal exactly how he had caught Jefferson Hope, the murderer of Enoch Drebber and Joseph Strangerson.
“Now let me endeavor to show you the different steps in my reasoning,” Holmes said. “Let’s start at the very beginning. When Watson and I first approached the police tape outside the abandoned building on Soi Lambda, I naturally began by examining the grass. I saw clearly three tire marks, which undoubtedly belonged to a tuk-tuk. The marks were so deep that they must have been made in heavy rain, meaning they were made the night prior. This was the first point gained.
“After Office Boonya allowed us past the police tape, I trained my eyes upon every mark made in the grass from where the tuk-tuk had been parked to the building’s entrance. There is no branch of detective science which is so important and so much neglected as the art of tracing footsteps. Happily, I have always laid great stress upon it, and much practice has made it second nature to me. I saw the heavy footmarks of the police officers, but I saw also the track of the two men who had first passed through the grass. It was easy to tell that they had been before the others, because in certain places their marks had been entirely obliterated by the others moving over the top of them. In this way my second link was formed, which told me that the nocturnal visitors were two in number, one wearing boots and the other wearing sandals.
“This last inference was confirmed the moment we entered the crime scene. A man in sandals was sprawled on the floor. The man in boots, then, had done the murder, if murder there was. Enoch Drebber had no wounds on his body, but the agitated expression on his face assured me that he had foreseen his fate before it came upon him. Men who die from heart disease, or any sudden natural cause, never by any chance exhibit agitation upon their features. You may recall that I sniffed the dead man’s lips. Upon doing so, I detected a slightly sour smell, and I came to the conclusion that he had taken poison. The fear and hatred expressed upon his face told me that it had been forced upon him. Do not imagine that it was a very unheard of idea. The forcible administration of poison is by no means a new occurrence in criminal history. The cases of Dolsky in Odessa, and of Leturier in Montpellier, will occur at once to any toxicologist.”
Watson and Lertsiri exchanged a glance. It was clear that neither of them had heard of either case.
“And now came the great question as to the reason why Enoch Drebber had been killed,” Holmes continued. “Nothing was taken, so robbery had not been the object of the murder. Was it politics, then, or was it a woman? Political assassins are only too glad to do their work and to fly. This murder had, on the contrary, been done most deliberately, and the man responsible had left tracks all over the room, showing that he had been there for some time. It must have been a private wrong, and not a political one, which called for such a methodical revenge. When the inscription of ‘Rache’ was revealed upon the wall, I was more inclined than ever to my opinion. The thing was clearly a blind. When the ring was found, however, it settled the question. Clearly the murderer had used it to remind his victim of some dead or absent woman. It was at this point that I asked you, Detective Lertsiri, whether you had contacted the Cleveland police department as to any particular point that seemed crucial. You answered, you remember, in the negative, saying that you had asked broadly for any information that could assist you.
“I then proceeded to make a careful examination of the room. I had already come to the conclusion, since there were no signs of a struggle, that the blood which covered the floor had burst from the murderer’s nose in his excitement. I could perceive that the track of blood coincided with the track of his feet. It is seldom that any man, unless he is very full-blooded, breaks out in this way through emotion, so I hazarded the opinion that the criminal was probably a robust and flush-faced man. Events proved that I had judged correctly.
“Having left the crime scene, I proceeded to do what you had neglected, Detective Lertsiri.”
“And what was that?” Lertsiri asked.
“I sent an email to the head of the police at Cleveland, limiting my inquiry to the circumstances connected with the marriage of Enoch Drebber. The answer was conclusive. It told me that Drebber had already applied for the protection of the law against an old rival in love, named Jefferson Hope, and the man had no current address registered in the United States. I knew then that I held the clue to the mystery in my hand, and all that remained was to secure the murderer.
“I had already determined in my own mind that the man who entered the house with Drebber was none other than the man who had driven the tuk-tuk. The deep marks in the grass showed me that the vehicle had been parked for a length of time that coincided with the events that took place inside. Where, then, could the driver be, unless he were inside the house? Again, it is absurd to suppose that any sane man would carry out a deliberate crime under the eyes of an unknown driver, who was sure to betray him. Lastly, supposing one man wished to dog another through Bangkok, what better means could he adopt than to disguise himself as a tuk-tuk driver? All these considerations led me to the irresistible conclusion that Jefferson Hope was to be found among the drivers of the city.
“If he had been one there was no reason to believe that he had ceased to be. On the contrary, from his point of view, any sudden change would be likely to draw attention to himself. He would, probably, for a time at least, continue to perform his duties. He would most likely be wearing some kind of covering in an attempt to appear like a local and not draw any unneeded attention. I therefore organized my street detective corps and sent them systematically to every tuk-tuk driver in Bangkok until they ferreted out the man who fit Jefferson Hope’s description. How well they succeeded, and how quickly I took advantage of it, are still fresh in your recollection. The murder of Strangerson was an incident which was entirely unexpected, but which could hardly in any case have been prevented. Through it, as you know, I came into possession of the pills, the existence of which I had already surmised. You see the whole thing is a chain of logical sequences without a break or flaw.”
Sherlock Holmes’s words hung in the air. It seemed as if he wanted to take a bow, but was restraining himself.
“That’s incredible!” Watson said. The words burst out of him on their own, but they were undeniably true.
Holmes beamed, but his voice was cool. “It’s elementary.”
Detective Lertsiri had his hands in his pockets, then fumbled with his jacket, then returned his hands to his pockets. “No, Holmes. John is right. It’s incredible.” The words were earnest and spoken clearly. But then his tone shifted and his voice became small. “Absolutely incredible.”
“Thank you, detective,” Holmes said.
Lertsiri cleared his throat, looking back at the police car parked nearby. “I have to give that press conference.” He paused. “And I think you should join me. You deserve the credit for this case.”
Watson’s head snapped toward the detective. He couldn’t believe Lertsiri had made such an offer. It wasn’t like him at all.
Holmes nodded kindly. “I appreciate the sentiment, Detective Lertsiri. But I don’t need credit for anything that has transpired. I’m just happy to have been of some help.”
Detective Lertsiri’s face cleared. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
The detective extended a hand. “Thank you for all your help. I really appreciate everything you’ve done.”
Holmes shook Lertsiri’s hand and the two exchanged respectful nods. Then the detective turned to Watson.
“John, I have to thank you too,” he said. “I’m sorry you were dragged into all of this. I’m sure the last few days haven’t been easy. You’ve played a big part in this whole thing. Thank you.”
“Of course, Narong,” Watson said. “I’m glad everything worked out.”
The two of them shook hands. Watson couldn’t recall when they had last shared such a civil moment, if ever.
“And don’t think I forgot,” Lertsiri said. “A deal’s a deal.” He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a plastic bag. Inside, a silver chain and heart pendant sparkled. “I’ve been carrying it with me.” He removed Ploy’s necklace from the bag.
Watson accepted the necklace and took a few moments to admire it. He felt an overwhelming sense of happiness to finally have it back. Everything looked in order, Drebber hadn’t caused any damage. All the trials and tribulations had resulted in success. He would be able to give Ploy the necklace for her birthday. “Thank you, Narong. She’ll get it tomorrow.”
Lertsiri exhaled deeply, glancing at the ground. “Maybe it’s not the end of the world that you two are together.” He adjusted his tie. “I should get going. It’s going to be a long night, but we can rest assured knowing that we have Jefferson Hope’s full confession for the trial. Again, thank you both.”
Holmes and Watson both said their goodbyes and the detective made his way to the parked police car. As he opened the door to the front passenger seat, he shouted back to them.
“I’ll see you around, John,” he said with a wave. “And Holmes, if I ever get into another bind, I may just reach out.”
“Please do, detective,” Holmes said.
Detective Lertsiri ducked into the front passenger seat, closed the door, and the car drove away.
* * *
The entrance to Bang Kwang Prison was in the distance. Holmes and Watson walked along the sidewalk outside the complex, headed toward the line of taxi cabs parked ahead. It was a cool night, and a slight breeze rattled the leaves in the trees.
Watson held the necklace tightly in his hand. When he bought the gift, he could have never expected the journey it would take him on. Even though he was elated to have the necklace back and to be able to give it to Ploy, part of him was sad that the journey was over. The few days he spent with Sherlock Holmes had been filled with anxiety and horror, but there was something so thrilling about the experience. He was proud of himself for being able to go along for the ride, and realized he had barely thought about his shoulder. The visions of the Cambodian border hadn’t played in his mind. He had felt like his old self again, and that was an incredible feeling.
Now, as he approached the taxi cabs with Holmes, he struggled to find the words to mark their departure. He had known the man for less than forty-eight hours, but he knew their experience would impossible to forget. Would he ever even see Holmes again? It was unlikely he would require his services; the stolen necklace was an extreme situation compared to Watson’s everyday life.
“Well,” Watson said. “I really have to thank you. For everything. I don’t know if I can thank you enough.”
“There’s no need, doctor,” Holmes said. “I should really be the one thanking you. I mean it when I say that I would not have missed this investigation for anything. Our study in scarlet has truly been a most singular experience.”
“Holmes, I really owe you. You got the necklace back like you said you would, but things became much more complicated than I ever could have expected. Listen, I know you said you didn’t want any money—”
“And I still don’t.” He added in a joking tone, “Besides, shouldn’t that necklace be the last expense you make for a while?”
Watson laughed. “You’re probably right about that. But if you won’t take any money, how about you come to 221B some night for dinner? Mrs. Hudson would obviously love to cook for you, and afterwards we could go out and I’ll buy you a beer. I’ll be busy with Ploy tomorrow, but how about the night after?”
Holmes smiled weakly. There was a look of sadness in his eyes. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to, doctor.” He paused and let out a sigh. “When we first met, you might remember me mentioning, almost to myself, that I was running out of time. Well, indeed I am.”
Watson thought back to meeting Holmes two mornings before. He had in fact mentioned something about running out of time, but had quickly brushed away the topic. “What do you mean?”
“My visa. It expires soon. I have to leave Thailand the day after tomorrow.”
The news hit Watson like a punch in the gut. “You have to leave? But where are you going?”
“That’s what I stayed up all night thinking about in front of the fire after the debacle with our visitor and the ring. For the first time in ten years, I don’t know where to go next.”
“Back home to London?”
Holmes shook his head. “No, it’s not time yet. But don’t worry, doctor. I’ll find some new problem to occupy my attention. I always do.”
The reality that Sherlock Holmes was actually leaving slowly sank in. Watson had known that Holmes lived a life on the road, but never expected him to be moving on from Thailand so soon. “So this is it then?”
“It appears so.” There was a long moment of silence and then Holmes extended a hand. “Thank you for knocking on my door. It’s been quite the adventure.”
Watson shook Holmes’ hand, not knowing what to say. “Goodbye, Holmes.”
With a final wave, Sherlock Holmes turned and walked in the other direction, away from the taxi cabs. Watson watched as he lit a cigarette and a cloud of smoke floated in his wake.
Something had been on Watson’s mind while Jefferson Hope had recounted his story. The question clawed at his brain. He couldn’t let Holmes leave without asking. “Holmes!” he called out.
Sherlock Holmes looked back, puffing on his cigarette.
“I have to ask you something,” Watson said.
“Yes, doctor?”
“Jefferson Hope spent all those years away from home, traveling around the world. He was searching for something. For justice, for revenge, whatever you want to call it.”
Holmes exhaled smoke. “And?”
“You’ve spent all these years away from home, traveling the world. What were you searching for?”
Sherlock Holmes took a drag of his cigarette and a smile crossed his face. “Goodnight, Doctor Watson.” He continued down the sidewalk, smoke drifting behind him, and faded into the shadows of Bangkok.
* * *
The last rays of sunshine filtered through the tree branches and danced on the surface of the shimmering water. The man-made lake was surrounded by a wide concrete path crowded with walkers and joggers. The sounds of the city seemed a world away. Locals and tourists alike roamed through Benjakitti Park during the final moments of daylight.
In a patch of grass with a view of the lake framed by skyscrapers in the distance, John Watson was lying on a blanket. Ploy Lertsiri reclined beside him, her head against his chest. She wore a sundress, and a necklace glittered in the fading light. A silver chain with a heart pendant.
Ploy sat up. “John?”
He sat up too. “Yeah?”
She held the heard pendant in her fingers, sunlight glinting off the surface. “You may have spent too much.”
Watson laughed. “I knew you would say that.”
Her nose crinkled as she smiled. “You did not.”
“I definitely did.” He leaned forward and kissed her. “Don’t worry about the money. I wanted to do something nice for you.”
“I love it.” She wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him hard. They fell back onto the blanket.
Watson held her close as they watched the sun set. The day had been perfect, everything going according to his plans. They had eaten a delicious multi-course Thai dinner at a restaurant near Asok. Afterwards, they strolled to nearby Benjakitti Park and wandered through the manicured landscape, hand in hand. He had spotted a park bench in a secluded area surrounded by rows of immaculate flower bushes. They sat down, and that’s when he gave her the necklace. Her cheeks turned rosy and she brought a hand to her mouth, lost for words. He then pulled her long black hair to the side and fit the silver chain around her neck.
It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. They continued through the park and eventually found their way to a grassy area by the lake. He unrolled the blanket he had brought in his backpack along with some snacks. As they rested beside each other and admired the crimson and violet sky, all the stress that had occupied his mind for the last few days faded away. But a new thought quickly occupied the space.
Ploy ran a finger across his chest. “Everything okay?”
“What?” Watson said, distractedly, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
She sat up and brought her face close to his. “I’ve known you forever, John. I can tell when something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking.”
She looked at him, eager to listen.
“I’ve been writing again,” he said.
She beamed. “You have? Oh, that’s so good to hear!”
“Yeah. I wrote for hours last night. Just kept writing and writing and writing. I couldn’t stop.”
“About what? Is it the same story you were working on before… everything?”
As he looked at her eager face, he decided that he didn’t want to keep secrets from her anymore. He didn’t care if she knew that the necklace had been stolen. It hadn’t been the end of the world. He had risen to the occasion and gotten it back. Like his old, competent self.
He told her everything. About waking up Friday morning and discovering that the necklace had been stolen. About going to meet “the wizard” that Mrs. Hudson had recommended. About Sherlock Holmes and his strange method of thought. How he didn’t know the earth went around the sun, but could take one look at someone and know everything about them. How they stumbled onto the crime scene of Enoch Drebber and helped the police solve the case. He left out the detail about Narong arresting the wrong man, but told her that they had shook hands at the end of it all, and how he had thanked them.
Ploy listened to the story without interrupting. Her first reaction was of surprise, but the more he explained the happier she appeared. “That’s incredible!” She hugged him tightly, burying her face into his neck. “I’m so sorry that my gift led to all that. But I’m so proud of you. I didn’t realize all that you were going through.” As she pulled away from him, her voice became small. “But John, why didn’t you just tell me when all this started?”
“I didn’t want you to think anything was wrong. For the first time since getting shot, I just wanted something to go right for once. And it went about as wrong as it could have, but ended up working out in the end.” He paused. “Except, now I have this strange feeling. Like I’m dreading things going back to normal. Mr. Holmes is leaving tomorrow.”
“He is? Where’s he going?”
Watson shrugged. “He didn’t know yet when I asked him. He travels around on a whim, helping locals and police with their problems. It sounds made up, but it’s real. I stayed up all night writing down everything that happened over the last few days. Even though I lived it, I can hardly believe it’s real.”
“If he doesn’t even know where he’s going next, why does he have to leave?”
“His visa expires tomorrow.”
“Hmm.” She stared at the grass, thinking. “And that’s the only reason?”
“I know he probably doesn’t want to risk getting into legal trouble with the Thai government. But it seemed like if he didn’t have to go, he wouldn’t.”
“If only you knew someone who worked for the Immigration Office.” A soft smile creased her face.
Watson blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if only you had a girlfriend who worked in the Immigration Office and knew of a way to help your friend.”
Ploy tossed her head back and her long hair fell behind her shoulders. She looked up at Watson and he became lost in her brown eyes.
* * *
John Watson watched the clock in the sitting room of 221B Soi Baker, drumming his fingers against his armchair. The minute hand ticked. Sherlock Holmes was supposed to have arrived five minutes ago. Ever since speaking with Ploy the night before, a meeting with Holmes was ever-present on his mind.
Watson had awoken that morning to a text message from Narong Lertsiri. It was an article by Sue Valentine of the Bangkok Post. Watson fell back in bed as he read the first few paragraphs. Jefferson Hope had died the night before in Bang Kwang, barely twenty-four hours from the time of his arrest. His heart had finally exploded. There was a lengthy quote from the “competent” Detective Lertsiri. Watson had wondered why Narong sent an article instead of just relaying the information himself. Whatever the case, he realized it was the first text message he had ever received from him, so it was a start.
The minute hand on the mantelpiece clock ticked again. Watson bolted to his feet, stepped to the window, and looked out. Where was Holmes? Surely he wouldn’t have gone straight to the airport. Outside the window, the regular crowd was bustling about on Soi Baker. It was late morning on Monday so all the shop owners and street-vendors were busy at work.
A yellow-and-green cab appeared in the distance. It continued through the soi and rolled to a stop right outside the building. The passenger door opened and Sherlock Holmes stepped out, a canvas backpack slung behind his shoulder. The door to the building opened and Mrs. Hudson emerged onto the sidewalk, shuffling to Holmes and giving him a hug. She tried to take his backpack from him and carry it inside, but he politely declined.
Watson spun away from the window and heard footsteps on the stairs. It was only a matter of seconds now. He took a deep breath, going over the words he had been rehearsing since his conversation with Ploy.
There was a soft knock and the door opened.
“Mr. Holmes is here,” Mrs. Hudson said.
“Great,” Watson said. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”
The door opened further and Sherlock Holmes stepped inside, removing his sunglasses from his face and fixing them to his collar. He placed his backpack against the wall. “Hello, Doctor Watson. Please don’t tell me you’ve lost another necklace.”
“Not this time. Thanks for stopping by, I just—” Watson was about to start his speech when he realized Mrs. Hudson was still in the room, watching Holmes with an eager smile. “Mrs. Hudson, do you mind if I talk to Holmes in private?”
She stomped her foot. “You say I can stay!”
Watson raised an eyebrow. “I definitely never said that.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Hudson,” Holmes said diplomatically. “I’ll make sure to say my goodbyes before I leave.”
She bowed her head. “Okay. I see you.” She drifted out of the room.
“Sorry about that,” Watson said as the door closed. He pointed to Holmes’ backpack on the floor. “So, have you decided where you’re going next?”
“Not yet. I figure I’ll make a decision at the airport.” Holmes put his arms behind his back and grinned. “So, you’ve started writing again, I see?”
Watson glanced down at himself. “How did you—?”
“Your hands, doctor.”
Watson examined his hands and saw that the sides were smeared with blue ink.
“Returning to your manuscript for A Study in Black?” Holmes said. “Or perhaps chronicling the details of our study in scarlet?”
Watson was astounded. The more he had gotten to know Holmes, the more the man seemed like an actual wizard. It was almost unbelievable. “I know you say that you don’t care about getting credit for the problems you solve. But I think people should know about the things you can do. If you won’t tell your story, I’ll gladly do it for you.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, Doctor Watson. But I’m guessing you didn’t ask me to stop by on my way to the airport to sanction the publication of some kind of biography?”
Watson shook his head. “No, there’s something else I want to ask you.”
“And that is?”
Watson took a deep breath and said the fourteen words he had been thinking about all day. “If you didn’t have to leave Thailand because of your visa, would you stay?”
Holmes’s grin returned, but wider. “What are you really asking me, doctor?”
“Okay, hear me out for a second. I know I don’t have to tell you that Ploy works for the Immigration Office. You would probably have been able to tell even if she wasn’t wearing her uniform when you met her.”
“Correct.”
“And last night was her birthday, as you also know. I gave her the necklace, and some time after I told her the story of how it had been stolen.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes, I told her everything. About going to you for help, getting involved in a double-murder case, and all the other crazy things we’ve gotten up to the last few days.”
“And what did she say?”
“At the end of the night, she said that she hadn’t seen me this happy in a long time. When we were talking about your visa situation, she had an idea.”
Holmes’ head tilted, and he gestured for Watson to continue.
“What if I told you there’s a way for you to stay in Thailand as long as you wanted? You wouldn’t have to leave. Ploy knows all the details and can handle all the paperwork. But it basically involves you starting a Thai business. You could help people or police solve problems like normal, there’s just some paperwork attached.”
“Interesting.” Holmes began pacing, placing his fingertips together. “You know I have thought about starting a more formal agency.”
“The only thing is…” Watson felt his stomach tighten as he went into the next part of his rehearsed words. “The laws are very strict, so you wouldn’t technically be able to own the entire business. On paper, a Thai national needs to control at least fifty-one percent. But that’s really only a formality. Someone just needs to sign the papers with you.”
Holmes paused and was silent.
“And let me just say…” This was the part Watson had been dreading the most. “I would be happy to sign the papers for you. But I don’t want any actual part of the business, of course. It will just be a formality. You will control what you do, all the money, everything. My military pension is enough to cover things for now, and once I’m fully recovered, I’ll go back to medicine.”
Holmes chuckled and pointed at Watson’s ink-smeared hands. “Are you positive about that?”
It was like Holmes had read his mind. “We’ll see what the future holds, I guess. And I don’t even have to be the one who signs the papers. I’m sure Mrs. Hudson would sign, and Ploy said she would too. Or if there’s someone else you know—”
“Nonsense!” Holmes said.
Watson’s felt his stomach drop. How could he have been so stupid? It was such a dumb, forward idea. Why did he ever think Holmes would go along with it?
Holmes stepped across the room and stopped in front of Watson. “No one else will sign. I trust you, doctor. I think it’s an excellent idea.”
“Great!” Watson said. It seemed the idea wasn’t so dumb after all. But his planned remarks weren’t finished yet. And what he was about to say next made him even more nervous. “And speaking of Mrs. Hudson, I told her about your visa situation and Ploy’s idea. We got to talking, and she said that if you ended up staying, she would be willing to rent out the other room to you indefinitely.”
“Reside at 221B Soi Baker?” He scanned the space. “Interesting.”
“I think she’ll be happy to not rent the room out to strangers anymore since the last… well, you know. And she gave me a pretty good price that we would potentially split.” Watson relayed the monthly price that Mrs. Hudson had quoted and Holmes’ eyebrows shot up.
“That is a very good price,” Holmes said.
“I thought so too.” He clasped his hands together. “So that’s it, that’s my speech. What do you think?”
Holmes seemed even more delighted at the idea of living at Soi Baker than he had at being able to stay in Thailand. But he cautioned himself. “Well, it’s just as well for two fellows to know the worst about each other before they begin to live together.” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t mind the smell of strong tobacco?”
“Not really. My father smoked like a chimney.”
“I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?”
“Not at all.”
“I would need to use the sitting room as a place of business, for visiting clients.”
“No problem.”
“Let me see, what are my other shortcomings? I get in the dumps at times and don’t open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I’m sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I’ll soon be right.”
Watson laughed at the cross-examination. “Don’t worry, I won’t be offended.”
Holmes smiled. “How do you feel about violin playing?”
“Depends on the player. But I heard you playing the other night. It should be fine.”
Holmes gazed around the room then looked directly at Watson. “I appreciate all this, Doctor Watson.”
“So what do you say?”
Holmes strolled across the room and stopped at the window. “I have spent ten years traveling the world and can confidently say that Bangkok is a city unlike any other. The people in particular stand out for their incredible kindness and hospitality. Yet the numerous benefits of such a place are not what attracts a person like myself. My mind needs to be stimulated. I need problems to solve.” His voice became more serious. “But there’s another side of this city. A darker side. A criminal element lurks throughout that is almost begging to be isolated and exposed. Such a task seems like a suitable endeavor for my particular talents.” He turned away from the window. “The answer is yes, doctor. I would be happy to stay.”
Before Watson could respond, a cry of joy rang from the stairwell and the sitting room door shot open. Mrs. Hudson ran inside and wrapped her arms around Holmes, squeezing tightly.
“You stay! You stay! You stay!” she said, jumping up and down.
Holmes patted her on the back. “Thanks to all of you, yes.” His voice had a note of sentimentality that Watson hadn’t heard from him before.
For the first time in ten years, Sherlock Holmes would have a permanent address. Whether an individual or the police, rich or poor, local or tourist, all who had a problem could find help at 221B Soi Baker.
THE END
Holmes and Watson will return in…
* * *
The Red-Headed Woman:
A Sherlock Holmes Thriller
(Coming Soon!)
🔍 What did you think of ‘The Scarlet Thread’?
Thank you so much for reading! I’ve had a great time serializing this story over the past few months.
I’m already working on the second novel. The Red-Headed Woman reimagines the iconic events from Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Red-Headed League. It picks up less than a week after the events of The Scarlet Thread, so you’ll see the early days of Holmes and Watson as roommates. Mrs. Hudson, Ploy, and Detective Lertsiri will return as well.
Stay tuned!
— Michael Chambers
Wow. A great ending. I look forward to the next novel.