The Last Confession of Sherlock Holmes (20 page)

“You are a weak-minded fool if you underestimate the significance of Professor Moriarty's demise. You call me a madman, but all of the women, with one exception, already lived in the depths of despair. You have seen Whitechapel, have you not? You have seen the degradation of this rancid tumour. One day our glorious nation will be rid of such disgraceful places. But tell me, why do you value the lives of the animals which dwell in the pits of hell alongside those which have made our country great?”

“You cannot tell me that defeating Moriarty could
only
be achieved by mutilating women! Had you joined with your brother, your combined intellectual prowess would have been more than sufficient to bring about the demise of Moriarty!”

“The plan had to be far more subtle than that, dear doctor! Moriarty would have seen everything that we threw at him, not to mention the extra time it would have taken. Sherlock and I are always over indulgent when it came to deliberating together; it is far easier to allow him to take the lead and act accordingly. But why should I share the honours with my brother when I could prove that I am the foremost intellect? Listening to the ways in which the entire nation seems to think that light cascades out of his very being, watching Moriarty inconvenience me and cause havoc in my city on an almost daily basis? Oh no, dear doctor, it was I who would have the last laugh, and would have done had my brother not survived the perils of Reichenbach. As you have witnessed, I had to barely leave my chair to cause the confusion and borderline anarchy of Jack the Ripper; people are even beginning to speculate over ludicrous plots involving the Royal Family. It really is most entertaining.”

“This is madness,” said I. “You have known Professor Moriarty to be dead for some three years. Why bring the Ripper back and choose a victim that Holmes was almost certain to eventually identify?”

“The Ripper was resurrected, Watson,” said Holmes, “because, Mycroft had become impatient at my approach toward the Bagatelle-Quartet. He quite simply did not trust in my ability to resolve the issue readily enough. He did not understand the subtleties of my allowing the Park Lane Mystery to drag on, and rather believed I had lost my touch. He kidnapped Miss Adler to ensure that he had the perfect tonic, should I require any extra motivation. He manipulated the entire situation by embroiling Moran and the Bagatelle-Quartet with Moriarty's false Ripper legacy. The use of Irene Adler was to entwine my fate within the state-emergencies which he so desperately needed solving. It is most unfortunate, Watson, that I did not listen to your advice upon that fateful night.”

“Holmes?”

“I rejected your suggestion of alerting Mycroft as to our movements. Had I done so, Irene Adler would still be alive, and Jack the Ripper would have lived forever as a faceless phantom. Though at least now we know the truth.”

“Oh I
wish
that were so, Sherlock, but I am afraid Miss Adler would have suffered her fate regardless of any news; though had you kept me up-to-date, she would admittedly have suffered a rather less conspicuous death. I knew the companion of whom you spoke in your letters from Montpellier, and assumed that no matter what noble warnings you offered, that such a woman would not remain idle. I awaited your return and had some of my men follow you, all upon the lookout for any unwanted attention. They soon discovered a suspicious character who charted your every movement, and they raised my attention. Of course they believed that it was all for your protection, and would never have dreamt that the person they pursued was actually a woman. I did not care for the possible distraction this criminal offered, having read Dr Watson's account of how she previously bested you. Such a woman was a danger, and had to be removed. Rather conveniently, it transpired that I would soon need another woman for my next exertion, and I saw no reason why I should bother to go out of my way to find and kill another pathetic creature when I had such a fitting candidate standing before me, particularly as she offered the possibility for such an amusing conundrum. Once I abducted Miss Adler, her fate was sealed. I kept her in a secret part of my quarters and used the antimony to maintain her in a sufficiently weakened state. I continued my business as usual, and was prevented the necessity of divulging my secret to anyone else.”

I must confess that I found myself greatly disturbed at the logical reasoning placed before me by Mycroft Holmes: though he was quite clearly the possessor of truly first-class intellect, it was just as apparent that he also possessed a disposition bordering on homicidal-insanity, and he needed to be silenced. I slowly rose from my seat, the barrel of my revolver never aimed so much as a fraction from the centre of his temple.

“Watson!” cried Sherlock Holmes. “Do not be foolish!I have already lost a brother tonight; do not allow me to lose my one true companion by succumbing to the temptation of emptying your barrel.”

But to Holmes's surprise, I turned and strode decisively toward the exit.

“If you are journeying toward the authorities, I really must protest,” said Mycroft.

“You are in no position to protest against anything, Mycroft!” I shouted, turning back into the room.

“I rather think you are wrong there, Watson,” said Sherlock Holmes, knocking the wind from my sails.

“Holmes,” I said, having finally regained my composure. “I know that he is your brother but for God's sake, he is also
Jack the Ripper!
We have no choice but to hand him over to Lestrade and Abberline. He cannot go free.”

“I would rather disagree with you there, my dear doctor,” said Mycroft. “Do you honestly believe that I would have planted those fingers in George Chapman's dwelling if I did not wish Sherlock to discover my secret? Come, I had always believed you were a far more astute fellow than this.”

“You may dress yourself in as much verbal nonsense as you wish, Mycroft, but I refuse to stand here and allow you to walk away! There is not a single reason you can provide which will change my mind.”

“How about anarchy, Watson?” said Sherlock Holmes.

“Anarchy?” I repeated, but even as I spoke, a compromising dawn of light began to break through the clouds of confusion.

“If we go to the authorities and present Mycroft as Jack the Ripper, then the entire country shall descend into chaos. Mycroft Holmes, a man considered by many to
be
the British Government, who has advised the Royal Family, and who effectively holds more power than the Prime Minister himself, is Jack the Ripper. The uproar would be catastrophic: citizens would never trust the government again, foreign nations would cease to deal with us, the Empire would fall into disrepute, and the country would descend into an impenetrable darkness. So you see, Watson, there is a very good reason indeed not only why Mycroft cannot be revealed, but also why he has chosen to reveal himself only to ourselves, to demonstrate just how successfully he has won, beaten us all, in this most deplorable of games.”

It was not until I had heard the dejected self-admission of Holmes's defeat that I regained my composure and returned to his side. Mycroft had manoeuvred himself into a position of complete infallibility. Jack the Ripper could never be caught. What should have been Holmes's greatest achievement would have to be recorded as his biggest failure. He had mocked others, rejected their theories, and acted in a manner suggestive that he would, as he seemingly always did, discover the truth in a flash of subtle brilliance. Now he would have to live with the knowledge that, in the eye of the public, not only had he failed, but in a manner so unworthy of his great mind that it would surely torment him for the rest of his life.

As I pondered the implications of this turn of events, their significance began to dawn upon me: if Mycroft could not be exposed under any circumstances, he needed to be silenced. I could not allow a man with this perverse form of immunity from prosecution continue his life, with nothing but his own conscience preventing him from terrorising London's streets once more. Though Holmes had previously stated that he would not allow for my sacrifice, I came to the conclusion that there was no viable alternative. If Mycroft was to be stopped, I had to be the one to rid the world of Jack the Ripper. Holmes's life was far more valuable than my own.

As I sat back down, it took all of my concentration to prevent any expression which may have betrayed my true purpose. I gripped my revolver, pondering the consequences of the action I was about to perform. The biographer and intimate friend of Sherlock Holmes murders a top-level British politician in cold blood, for reasons unknown. I confess this was a level of heroism I had never expected to burden. I would be tried and found guilty before the entire world and hanged in disgrace. Only Holmes and I would be privy to the knowledge of my noble, yet publicly dishonourable death. The only comforting thought was that I would soon be reunited with Mary. I felt certain the Almighty would forgive my sins and allow me passage into His great kingdom, having slain this most foul and wretched of creatures.

I began to inhale deeply, allowing the oxygen to feed my cells and calm my nerves. I knew I had only one shot, one opportunity to bury my bullet into the temple of Jack the Ripper. I had been covering Mycroft's movements so there would be no sudden rush on my behalf. I steadied my hand and softly began to squeeze the trigger…

“I should of course tell you, Mycroft,” said Sherlock Holmes, suddenly rising from his chair, as if he had sensed my sacrificial intent, “that though you may have positioned yourself quite brilliantly in relation to the law, you have been rather less successful in beating me.”

“Oh really?” said Mycroft, an air of impatience in his voice. “And tell me, dear brother, what trick are you about to pull out of the hat this time? I can see no way in which you could have bested me, I have been ahead of you every step of the way for years!”

“Perhaps; but I think you will find that I have enjoyed the advantage in our more recent contest. First of all, you sent the letter to Lord Balmoral that sparked this whole affair, to bring me back to London in order to investigate and topple the Bagatelle-Quartet. You also arranged for the second letter to be delivered to your lodgings; the man who came to the door upon my return from exile was someone in your service whom you paid to deliver the letter. He was not aware of the contents, or why it was insisted upon that he wore a rather specific and unusual choice of attire. Geoffrey, of course, only reported what he saw, and has no further role to play in this affair. By entwining the fate of the Ripper into that of the Bagatelle-Quartet, you ensured that I would not get distracted and ignore Moran. That much is clear. Now onto more intriguing matters: upon the night of Irene Adler's murder, I sent out lines of enquiry using both official and non-official means. I must admit, it struck me as quite peculiar that Wiggins was completely unsuccessful, for I believed he had the greatest chance of success. It was a problem which continued to baffle me: the woman was clearly of a certain stature; therefore a more notable woman
had
to be missing. I then found it curious that Lestrade and Abberline were rather miraculously drawn to a man with, what seemed to me, an all-too convenient set of credentials. It seems clear that you encouraged a citizen to take on the role of the Samaritan, and that you have had your eyes on a selection of fitting candidates for many years. Of course, after the discovery of Miss Adler's fingers, your purpose was clear: you were single-handedly toying with the entire nation and me. I did not wish to believe that it was you, Mycroft. I can hardly claim our relationship bears any resemblance to one which is close, but the idea that you might be Jack the Ripper was still rather distasteful. But I knew how to ascertain your identity. While we were in the depths of our planning together, I let slip my disappointment in Wiggins's failure to bring me not even one suitable suspect. Only a week or so passed after I divulged this information to you, and then Wiggins placed in my hands the most curious case of Mr Cecil Kirkby. His mentioning of Moriarty was clearly designed to throw me off the true scent, while, I am sure, giving you much cause for amusement at the thought of haunting my thoughts with the ghosts of resurrected Professors. Your vanity and your arrogance were your downfall, dear brother: you had a slight nibble upon the bait but failed to recognise the line upon the end, and I was now certain as to the identity of the fish I was hunting. The question was then, with my newfound advantage, how best to beat you at your own game. The answer was simple. I needed to acquire a confession.”

“Oh bravo!” cried Mycroft, in mock amusement and boredom. “I must admit you outmanoeuvred me with Wiggins, but come, you cannot possibly expect to gain a confession out of me. I am afraid it is
your
arrogance that has failed you, Sherlock.”

“I wonder, Mycroft, whether you are familiar with Thomas Edison's phonograph?” said Holmes. He began to fiddle with an inner-compartment of the desk, before extracting a large box-like contraption and placing it on the desk, a visible hint of amusement on his features. “It is really a rather remarkable invention, used for recording sound. You may also be familiar with speaking-tubes? They are used for communication between the bridge and engine room in steamships, and I have adapted them for my purpose. The phonograph was hidden inside this table, connected, rather ingeniously, to a series of speaking-tubes.”

Holmes turned on the phonograph, and sure enough we could hear, quite clearly, an earlier conversation: though slightly muffled and a little distorted, the identity of the two voices was undeniable. I had kept my aim firmly upon Mycroft for the duration of Holmes's revelation, but it was only during this development that I ever felt I was performing any worthwhile task; the look upon Mycroft's face was that of pure malice.

“So you see, my dear Mycroft, that although we may have reached a stalemate, should you choose to act unwisely in the future, you shall undoubtedly find yourself in checkmate. I am forced to allow you to continue your life as you did before. You may contact me professionally only if our country is upon the eve of Armageddon. Though I dare say it is unnecessary, I feel compelled to warn you that if I hear so much as a whisper regarding Jack the Ripper, the true Jack the Ripper, I shall not hesitate to expose you. I have been responsible for the destruction of Moriarty and his great criminal empire; do not think that I shall hesitate in bringing you and this greatest of empires crashing to its knees, and watching it crumble and burn into the archives of history.”