Whitechapel: The Final Stand of Sherlock Holmes by Bernard J. Schaffer

the letter into my pocket and crossed to the window. “My Mary is as perfect as anyone could possibly desire, Holmes. Takes no rubbish from me, I can tell you that. Ah! Here we are, Holmes. I think a bit of fresh air should help sort you out.” I grabbed the window frame and gave it a good yank, trying to loosen the grime sealing it shut. “What the bloody deuce,” I said, shaking the window so fiercely that the contents of my pockets were nearly spilling out. I shifted the letter delivered by Mrs. Hudson to my other pocket, when a vise-like grip seized on my arm. “Let go of me, Holmes. What are you doing? Go sit back down.”
    Holmes gripped me so firmly that I winced, holding me in place while he fished inside my pocket for the letter. “Give it to me, Watson. At once.” Holmes found the letter, lifting it close to his face for inspection as he turned it end over end, then held it to his nose, inhaling deeply.
    “You should not be standing, Holmes. Come, sit down,” I said, taking him by the elbow. “Whatever are you carrying on about?”
    “Do you not recognize this envelope, Watson? Have you not seen precisely this same paper stock once before?” His voice was shaking. Holmes cocked his head to the framed photograph hanging on the far wall.
    I looked again at the letter and my eyes widened. The air whistled from my pursed lips. “Her?”
    “The woman.”
    We both knew that for Sherlock Holmes there could only ever be one woman. In March of that year, Holmes received a visit from a client who claimed anonymity. He was the King of Bohemia. King Wilhelm required Holmes’ professional assistance, and was willing to pay handsomely for both a resolution to the matter, and the utmost discretion. Holmes was not only famous for sorting out cases that baffled the Inspectors of Scotland Yard, but his was also a preferred method because he could be trusted not to reveal any of the sometimes damaging details of his findings.
    The King confided to us that he was engaged to marry a woman of great standing and repute in the near future. He mentioned that the woman’s lineage would link him to Scandinavian royal family, and boost both his standing in the international community, as well as his coffers. We congratulated him, but the King’s face turned dark. Recently he had been contacted by a woman in possession of a photograph depicting him in a somewhat compromising position.
    King Wilhelm advised us that he was being blackmailed over the photograph by a woman of iniquitous genius. The Great Detective would find himself evenly matched. My written account of the incident reflects that the King referred to his nemesis, Irene Adler, as extraordinarily “quick and resolute”. In truth, it would have been more accurate to say that his words were, “She is an evil, cunning wench.”
    Holmes was tasked with retrieving the photograph by any means, going so far as to commit arson to create a distraction while he searched for it, but was thwarted by Adler again. One day, in the midst of it all, Adler simply vanished. She said she had grown tired of the game. Her last communication was in a letter to Holmes left in an envelope matching the one delivered by Mrs. Hudson. The envelope contained a photograph, but not the one the King sought. That one was safely tucked away, Adler wrote, as insurance in the event that she should ever need it. The new photograph was a portrait of Irene Adler, displaying a subtle, mischievous smile.
    The King, satisfied that his wedding could commence without Adler’s interference, offered Holmes a priceless emerald snake ring from his own finger as a reward. Holmes refused, asking only that he be allowed to keep that new portrait of Irene Adler.
    At first, I suspected he meant only to have a photographic record of such a capable opponent. When it appeared on our wall several days later, I began to think that finally my best friend had found something to appreciate in the finer sex besides their