Sherlock and The Woman (Part 1)

The Woman

Dear Readers,

I must confess the omissions made between 1893 and 1903, a full decade where Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had Sherlock killed off. For Sherlock’s return was swiftly reconciled, but, did it occur to you what took place in that full decade?

Sherlock has entrusted me to recount his decade in your world, the people of 2023, embarking on a course-altering reality in which Sherlock lies at the centre. Of course, it would have been easier for the other Watson to have recounted these tales, but, I think, Sherlock’s sentiments got the better of him, and on this occasion, he much preferred the frailties of a human writer.

Why 2023? For the simple fact that the Sherlock Holmes Estates Ltd. relinquishing its copyright, adding 95 years from 1927. This we felt would be the best time to publish this recollection — to close the loop, maintain the continuum, so that you may learn about the Singularity.

Let us start at the end, the end of Sherlock. The year was 1893 in your world, and 1891 in mine, when Sherlock was pushed over the ledge at Reichenbach Falls, Switzerland, falling to his pitiful death. What a waste for the 37-year-old young Sherlock.

Would it surprise you to learn that Sherlock fell into the abyss of his own volition? That is the greatest mystery which I hope to unravel. A mystery so deep, it will unearth the Singularity and lay bare the truth of Mycroft and Moriarty.

His breath abated. Time stood still. A gush of adrenaline pulsated through Sherlock’s skin, the air enveloped his body, and pockets of oxygen made his hair stand on end. He closed his eyes, and darkness prevailed.

Soon, through his third eye, the Vantablack dissolved to speckles of stars, and out of that haze emerged the grand columns of London’s Freemason Hall.

He had been in your world once before, but this time greater forces would keep him longer than intended. Looking up at the insidious structure, a distinct triangular shape emerged.

“Can you help me get to Guy’s Campus?” proclaimed a flustered, silver-haired man, pacing down the creamy steps of the chequered Hall.

“Michio Kaku, renowned theoretical physicist, hailing from California, visiting King’s College London, an hour late, just flew in, about to give a lecture on Quantum something… have I missed anything?” remarked Sherlock in a deadpan way so as to give an air of showing off.

“I’m not well known in London? Are you from the secret service?”

“Oh good heavens no, given their efficiency, or the lack thereof, I doubt they could detain a terrorist in 24 hours! For I am none other than Sherlock Holmes,” this time he was showing off.

“How then did you deduce my schedule for today? Never mind, can you direct me towards Guy’s?”. The man appeared unimpressed by Sherlock’s abilities, and that bothered him. Could he have met his match? Unlikely.

Sherlock had been here before in 2010 when the Shard was still at its foundations, it would take a mere three years for the monstrosity to overshadow his Victorian London. So, it appeared quite natural to find the nearest Boris Bike, and they both began a convivial conversation.

Michio blundered on about the mysteries of the universe, something about String Theory and another about quantum mechanics, in his new book to be entitled “Strings of Reality”, a unified theory of everything.

He began by explaining the hierarchies of knowledge, at the highest level lay human culture (sociology), then working downwards, human minds (psychology), neural dynamics (neuroscience), molecules (chemistry), atoms and quantum fields (physics), and finally the base layer — a Theory of Everything!

“So you see, as we go down towards the base layer, a mathematical reality emerges, as you go higher up the knowledge domains, the mathematical coherence loses its structure and we enter the realms of chaos. Do you not think it rather marvellous?”

“-Boring. Man, you really are insufferable! How do people tolerate such showy rhetoric?” exclaimed an exasperated Sherlock, “why all this talk of quantum this or that, tell me of the practicalities, man, how does this affect me, what can I do with your balderdash of mathematics, give me logic and deductions which may be of use, not this pseudoscience you speak so highly of.”

The tension became electric, and the two men now rode two seconds apart. A full fifteen minutes had transpired before they alighted at Duke Street Hill, London Bridge.

Another five minutes later, they crossed through the quad and arrived at New Hunt’s House, a shiny, glass-covered clinical building emerged, reflecting a glint of newness.

As Michio rushed into a lecture theatre beside the reception, like a magician’s disappearing act, a well-manicured, looming figure approached Sherlock.

“You must be Mr Holmes, come, we have been expecting you, but first you’ll need DV clearance.”

Sherlock was led towards the first floor of New Hunt’s House, then along a corridor marked for staff access, and ushered into a room. It was dark, and suddenly, a bright light flickered and illuminated the room. It seemed to be a photographic room of sorts.

“Please stand over there, look straight at the camera, keep your face straight and do not smile”, gestured the receptionist.

Snap, snap, snap. Several shots of Sherlock were taken.

Within a minute, a DV security clearance had been created for him.

“This works in two ways, you now have Developed Vetting security clearance, the highest level of security clearance in the UK, giving you access to substantial, unsupervised access to TOP SECRET information and assets. It may have taken a single minute to print, but, rest assured it has taken us a good twelve years to verify your credentials. Secondly, at the university, you’ll find the RFID gives you access to all the doors. All the doors.”

Sherlock was then hurried along. Though he had all the freedom to wander, it seemed that wandering was directed towards the end of the corridor. He tapped his newly minted access card, took a breath, and boldly opened the door.

The room had an oval table, and at its head sat a Woman, short hair, greying, middle-aged, assertive yet unassuming.

“Have a seat,” directed the Woman.

Sherlock obliged.

Find out what happens in Part 2 when Sherlock discovers the true intent of the The Woman during The Interrogation.