The Adventure of the Homicidal Automatons, Part the Last

Last chapter! Thank you for reading! Let me know in the comments if you'd be interested in a sequel...

This is a Sherlock Holmes story I wrote a few years ago, set in an alternate London where the British Empire expanded into the reaches of outer space. This chapter wraps up the story. Scroll to the end for chapter list.

Four days later, at twelve o’clock, I dictated the following to MRS Hudson:

            My dear Miss Morstan,

            Would it be convenient for me to pay a call to your shop at three o’clock? I no longer trust Holmes to re-install the dagger, throwing knife and scalpel in my arm. Thank you for your kindness and generosity.

            Sincerely,

            Dr. John Watson

            I gave it to a message boy, expecting that it would be delivered within an hour or two. I was quite surprised when, contrary to my expectations, the lovely Miss Morstan decided that she would rather come to me.

            “I hope I am not unwelcome,” she said with a smile. “I was paying another house call in the neighborhood and realized that it would be more convenient for both of us if I simply came here.”

            “My dear lady, you are always welcome here,” I stated warmly. Holmes, absorbed in tinkering with an Id, merely grunted.

            Miss Morstan sat me down at the table and began to take my arm apart. “I confess I have another motive as well. I should very much like to hear the conclusion to the case of the Venusian Lubricant. There were a number of loose ends and I would like to know how they were tied up.”

            Holmes removed his goggles and sat down in his armchair, reaching for his pipe. “Ah yes,” he said. “Most interesting.”

             He described to her the wrappings-up of the case. The scientist lackey, McGrath, had been arrested on the spot. The carriage-driver, still in the hospital, was under questioning, although Holmes was required to pay his hospital fees. (At this point Miss Morstan expressed sincere sympathy—she herself had been forced to repair, or rather rebuild, the mechanical coach pro bono and had lost the business of its owner.) The crown had been safely returned to its case, and the security around it doubled. A team of the Queen’s scientists was working on refining the Venusian Lubricant so that it would no longer be susceptible to villainous signals, using the mastermind’s invention in their research.

            Holmes then revealed something he had not yet told me:

            “I went to question McGrath yesterday afternoon.”

            I sat up. “I thought he would not speak.”

            “I questioned him further. At first he was belligerent and would not answer my queries, but when I said that I could have significant influence over his trial if he would cooperate, he revealed some very useful information. He told me the name of his employer.”

            Miss Morstan and I both leaned forward. “What is it?” she asked.

            Holmes sat back, smoke curling from his pipe. “He said it was ‘Moriarty’.”

            There was a silence broken only by the small clanks of Miss Morstan’s tools against my arm.

            “Moriarty,” she murmured, a small frown on her delicate features. “I suppose you’ve investigated already?”

            “I haven’t found very much yet,” admitted Holmes. “James Moriarty was once a professor of considerable mathematical ability at -------- University. He left just over two years ago and nothing has since been heard of him. That is all that I have learned so far. I shall, of course, keep searching, but I believe that our professor has well and truly escaped. By this time he may be halfway to Venus.”

            “In any case, we should keep up the search for a way of refining the Lubricant,” said Miss Morstan. “I think the ideal thing would be to render the oil so that only signals from the metal it contacts directly may be transmitted. Perhaps putting a sample through a Jovian Percolator along with some Aphros seeds would do the trick?”

            The two began one of their technical discussions that I have such difficulty following, but soon Miss Morstan had finished with my arm. She left nearly an hour later, after taking a very pleasant tea with us.

            “What a very attractive woman!” I exclaimed, watching from the window as she hailed a cab and stepped smartly inside.

            “Is she?” replied Holmes. “I did not observe.”

            “You really are an automaton—a calculating machine,” I said. “I think that even MRS Hudson has more of an emotional range.”

            “The only way in which Miss Morstan is remarkable is her intellect,” remarked my companion. “Indeed, it is almost comparable to a man’s.”

            “Above that of most men, I think.”

            “Impossible. For all her intelligence, she is still a woman, and as such she is weak and in need of protection.”

            I looked at my companion, both irritated and resigned. Then a small smile twitched my mouth. “I think she will surprise you, Holmes. I think that she will surprise both of us.”

            “Then you think we shall see her again?”

            “In our hunt for Moriarty? Certainly. She is tenacious enough that she will wish to assist us, and force us to allow her to. And besides,” I said with a smile, “I shall need her to repair my arm, shall I not?”

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