How Sherlock Holmes Should Have Ended

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Lord Blackwood had decorated every wall of his prison cell with engravings of an occult nature. The man himself was reading what sounded like scripture from the Book of Revelations but Holmes wouldn't be surprised if he was paraphrasing. That Blackwood could touch the Holy Bible without burning his fingers reinforced Sherlock Holmes' view that God had created a rational universe and that witches and warlocks needn't apply.

Blackwood was pretending not to notice him. A bit of cheek considering that a meeting with Sherlock Holmes was the condemned man's last request before his legal execution today. Holmes had to admire his calm.

"I like what you've done with the place," the great detective quipped.

Blackwood paused dramatically without getting up from his book or even turning to face him. "So glad you can accept my invitation."

"I just have a small point of concern," Holmes said to Blackwood's back.

Another pause from Blackwood as he concealed a small smile. "How can I help?"

"I've already followed the murders with some interest and while my heart went out primarily to the families of the victims I couldn't but notice a criminal mastery in the stroke of your brush."

"You're too kind." Blackwood's reply was almost uncomfortable.

"However by comparison your work in the crypt was more akin to finger painting," Holmes said with a faint hint of disappointment.

Only now did Blackwood close his book and turn to look at the man who had caught him. "So now you're curious as to whether there's a larger game afoot."

"Either that or um," Holmes shrugged in a false apology. "Shortly my friend will pronounce you dead and I thought I might keep him company."

"Your mistake is to imagine that anything earthly has led to this moment," Blackwood announced dryly. "Your error of judgment is to assume that I'm holding the brush at all. I'm merely the channel."

"Well my only wish that I could have caught you sooner, you see." No trace of mockery was in Sherlock Holmes' voice this time. "Five lives might've been spared."

"Mm," Blackwood nodded thoughtfully. "Those lives were a necessity."

Holmes' grunt indicated his skepticism.

"Sacrifice," Blackwood clarified. "Five otherwise meaningless creatures called to serve a greater purpose."

"I wonder if they'd let Watson and me dissect your brain?" Holmes teased. "After you hang of course. I'd wager there's some deformity that would be scientifically significant. Then you too, could serve a greater purpose."

SIX HOURS LATER…

"I can't believe that they're letting you two perform an autopsy on Lord Blackwood," Inspector Lestrade shook his head as he gazed upon the body of Lord Blackwood lying on a table in the city morgue.

"It helps to have friends in high places my dear inspector," Holmes bragged. "In this case, my brother Mycroft, who doesn't merely work in the British government, at times is the British government."

"I can only hope that he uses his powers for good instead of evil," Lestrade shook his head in disgust as he left the room.

"So much for Inspector Lestrade," Holmes clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Now then my dear Watson, what is it about the dearly departed Lord Blackwood that has you in a twitter?" "It's the body Holmes," Sherlock Holmes' friend and companion, Doctor John Watson replied. "I can't explain it, but it seems Lord Blackwood is just as much a mystery in death as he was alive."

"How so my dear fellow?" Holmes asked as he removed his jacket and waistcoat.

Watson had already done so and had rolled up his shirt sleeves. "Well just take a look. It's simply bizarre."

"Oh!" Holmes smiled as he rolled up his sleeves. "I like bizarre."

"That's good, because this one is as queer as it gets!" Watson announced in a mocking tone before crouching over the corpse. "See here, Holmes, look at his neck. It's perfectly intact." "Why so it is," Holmes frowned as he bent over to look at the body.

"And there's no bruising!" his friend continued. "There should be ligature marks, but there's nothing! This man was hanged and somehow is body is completely intact! Pristine, even!"

"They did hang him didn't they?" Holmes asked dryly.

"Yes of course!" Watson nodded. "I was there myself! He was hung, then they carted the body in and I examined it. There was no pulse, no breathing, no signs of a heartbeat. But the body is untouched and yet," he looked down at the corpse helplessly, "this man is dead. If he wasn't hung, what killed him?"

"Quite the mystery," Holmes admitted.

"Yes, and you're going to solve it with me," Watson announced.

"I am?" Holmes asked innocently. "I thought you were through working with me what with your coming nuptials and all."

"Blackwood is our last case together and I want us to see it through to the end," Watson proclaimed. "Yes," Holmes agreed smugly. "Us."

"Don't start Holmes," Watson groaned as he rolled his eyes.

"Very well," Holmes said as he picked up a scalpel. "White or dark meat?"

"I'll do the preliminary cutting if you don't mind," Watson grunted as he snatched the surgical instrument out of the detective's hand. "You can assist, and chime in with a stroke of genius when the mood strikes you."

"I am ever your faithful servant my dear Watson," Holmes purred.

"All right," Doctor Watson said as he crouched over the body and held the knife against the sternum. "Making the preliminary cut into the epidermis now," he murmured as he made the first cut.

Holmes frowned and squinted as he looked over his friend's shoulder. "I say, is a dead body supposed to bleed that much my good doctor?"

"I should say not!" Watson grunted. "What the devil's going on here? I could've sworn this man was—" Lord Blackwood chose that moment to open his eyes, sit up, and scream bloody murder.

Holmes and Watson reacted by backing away and screaming like schoolgirls.

So loud were their cries that the door burst open and Inspector Lestrade charged into the room with a pistol in his hand. "What the devil? What's going on in h-? Cor Blimey! Lord Blackwood's come back from the dead!" As Holmes and Watson crouched against the far wall Lestrade fired his gun at the man who had been executed only hours ago.

Blackwood shook with every pistol shot before finally falling down dead. As Holmes and Watson picked themselves up to examine the fallen murderer, Lestrade was heard to exclaim. "I don't believe it! How many times do we gotta kill him anyhow?"

THE END