Echoes of Sherlock Holmes: Stories Inspired by the Holmes Canon(105)

Finally, I cleared my throat and said, “Holmes sacrificed his life to protect the world from Moriarty.”

“He did,” agreed Dupin, “but the matter has greatly disturbed me, for the way in which it played out offends logic. Having read your account I know that it offends you, too.”

“For someone who has never met Sherlock Holmes or Professor Moriarty you profess to know much about them and their motives.”

Dupin nodded. “It is my particular, ah, method to try and open a door into the head of a person in order to try and think as they think. It is a kind of subjective analysis overseen by logical process, do you follow?”

“I believe so.” And I did, because I had read about it in Poe’s stories—and seen examples of it with Holmes. To understand a criminal, or at times a victim, he needed to tune his thoughts to what he supposed theirs must have been. I said as much to Dupin and he nodded.

“Very good, Doctor, and well put. You are a remarkable fellow and perhaps do not give yourself enough credit in your accounts of M. Holmes’s investigations.” He patted his thighs with his palms. “As for Messieurs Holmes and Moriarty . . . their actions trouble me because they are out of keeping with who they were. Moriarty was, at least in terms of his dominance of crime here in England, a Napoleon of sorts. Holmes was, inarguably, an intellect of the first order. If you have not exaggerated his powers—and I believe the contrary to be the case—one might say he was a Da Vinci. Ahead of his time, and energetic enough to make sure that he did not squander his gifts. For my part, Doctor, I confess that I have been content to allow the police to consult occasionally with me, but I seldom went in active pursuit of a case. My family was once wealthy and we fell upon hard times, and perhaps I suffer from a kind of familial ennui. I have my skills, but I have always lacked the energy to find new battles in which to test them.”

I immediately thought of Mycroft Holmes, who Sherlock said suffered from a similar kind of lassitude.

“Unlike me, M. Holmes appeared to believe that he had some obligation to oppose villainy. Perhaps it began as a hobby, something to satisfy a mind that needed some problem upon which to chew, but I do not think so. Was he not already studying the science of criminality in its many forms when first you made his acquaintance? Medicine, surgery, anatomy, chemistry, and more? His natural gift of intelligence may explain the curiosity he had for knowledge, but it cannot explain the depth and breadth of the specific fields of knowledge to which he became addicted.”

I almost flinched at that last word but managed to keep it off my face. “What is your point?”

“Holmes was not born to a study of crime,” said Dupin, “but instead made it his particular field of expertise. It is possible that he will influence the next generations of actual police detection, should they actually begin to study his methods. They should. Some are poking at it even now.”

I nodded. That was true enough. Since we met, in 1881, I had seen some Scotland Yard detectives attempt to employ Holmes’s method of evidence collection and analysis. Not to great degrees of success, but the influence was there to be seen.

“That M. Holmes was making inroads into the local empire of Professor Moriarty is evident. But there was a greater battle to be fought and surely Holmes was aware of it. The larger—the true—empire of crime is still out there. I cannot and will not believe that Sherlock Holmes was unaware of it, or indifferent to it.”

“And if he was?”

“Then why throw his life away in a senseless battle? Why die to remove a rook or bishop from the board when the other side still has so many pieces? Why leave the ruling pieces in play?” He shook his head. “No, Doctor, M. Holmes’s death as it appears spits upon logic. It offends M. Holmes’s own methods. He would not sacrifice himself when there is so much work still to be done.”

“He did it to save others,” I said. “There were threats made—”

“Doctor, please,” said Dupin. “Although you believe Holmes to be sentimental toward you and a few others, he was a general in the midst of a great war. When the stakes are this high then what are a few lives?” He paused. “Oh dear, I can see that I am being offensive once more.”

“Continue with your argument,” I said, my words squeezed from a tight throat.

He sighed. “It would have been much smarter, much more in keeping with the subtlety and vision of a man like Holmes, to simply put a bullet in Moriarty’s head. No, don’t yell, Doctor, I am being practical. This is war of which we speak, and although there are not vast armies marching under banners or cannons firing, have no doubt that nations could fall. The lives of many thousands of innocents are at risk. Knowing this, what would it be to a general to kill an enemy who has vowed to continue doing great harm? Would you, a former soldier, eschew taking such a shot if you knew it would have saved the life of your friend? Could you sit there and tell me with a hand raised to all that you believe, that you would not fire a bullet into the heart of a monster who would willingly kill the helpless and innocent? Yes, of course you would, because even though you are a doctor sworn to protect life you are also a practical man of the world. Wars happen and wars need to be fought.”

“Perhaps,” I said softly.

“The war rages on, Doctor,” he said, and he sounded sad. “If I were a younger man I might even shake off my laziness and step onto the field. I daresay I might have struck a blow or two—yes sir, I may have.”