Sherlock Holmes and the Missing Shakespeare

SHERLOCK HOLMES

and the Missing Shakespeare

by

J.R. RAIN

and CHANEL SMITH

Acclaim for the Stories of J.R. Rain:

“Be prepared to lose sleep!”

—
James Rollins
, international bestselling author of
The Doomsday Key

“I love this!”

—
Piers Anthony
, bestselling author of
Xanth

“
Dark Horse
is the best book I’ve read in a long time!”

—
Gemma Halliday
, award-winning author of
Spying in High Heels

“
Moon Dance
is a must read. If you like Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum, bounty hunter, be prepared to love J.R. Rain’s Samantha Moon, vampire private investigator.”

—
Eve Paludan
, bestselling co-author of
Witchy Business

“
Impossible to put down. J.R. Rain’s
Moon Dance
is a fabulous urban fantasy replete with multifarious and unusual characters, a perfectly synchronized plot, vibrant dialogue and sterling witticism all wrapped in a voice that is as beautiful as it is rich and vividly intense as it is relaxed.”

—
April Vine
, author of
Unbound

“
Is it possible to redefine two genres in one book? I don’t know, but J.R. Rain has left a lasting impression for the vampire and mystery genres.”

—
P.J. Day
, author of
The Sunset Prophecy

Other Books by J.R. Rain

STANDALONE NOVELS

Robotica (coming soon)

Mr. Invisible (coming soon)

The Pure Cold Light in the Sky

Winter Wind

Silent Echo

The Body Departed

The Grail Quest

Elvis Has Not Left the Building

The Lost Ark

The Worm Returns

Lavabull

Jack and the Giants

Dolfin Tayle

Dragon Assassin

The Accidental Superheroine

Lost Eden

Judas Silver

The Vampire Club

Cursed

Glimmer

Bound By Blood

The Black Fang Betrayal

VAMPIRE FOR HIRE SERIES

Moon Dance

Vampire Moon

American Vampire

Moon Child

Christmas Moon

Vampire Dawn

Vampire Games

Moon Island

Moon River

Vampire Sun

Moon Dragon

Moon Shadow

Vampire Fire

Midnight Moon (coming soon)

SAMANTHA MOON CASE FILES

Moon Bayou

Blood Moon

Moon Magic (coming soon)

SAMANTHA MOON ORIGINS

New Moon Rising

Pale Moon Calling

JIM KNIGHTHORSE SERIES

Dark Horse

The Mummy Case

Hail Mary

Clean Slate

Night Run

Hold Tight (coming soon)

THE WITCHES SERIES

The Witch and the Gentleman

The Witch and the Englishman

The Witch and the Huntsman

The Witch and the Wolfman

The Witch and the Hangman (coming soon)

The Witch and the Bogeyman (coming soon)

THE PSI SERIES

Hear No Evil

See No Evil

Speak No Evil

Touch No Evil

Kiss No Evil (coming son)

Love No Evil (coming soon)

NICK CAINE SERIES

Temple of the Jaguar

Treasure of the Deep

Pyramid of the Gods

DEAD DETECTIVE SERIES

The Dead Detective

Deadbeat Dad

THE ACCIDENTAL SUPERHEROINE

The Accidental Superheroine

My Big Fat Accidental Superheroine Wedding

THE SPINOZA TRILOGY

The Vampire With the Dragon Tattoo

The Vampire Who Played Dead

The Vampire in the Iron Mask

THE ALADDIN TRILOGY

Aladdin Relighted

Aladdin Sins Bad

Aladdin and the Flying Dutchman

THE WALKING PLAGUE TRILOGY

Zombie Patrol

Zombie Rage

Zombie Mountain

THE SPIDER TRILOGY

Bad Blood

Spider Web

Spider Bite

SHORT STORY SINGLES

Skeleton Jim

Moon Love

The Vampire on the Train

Vampire Requiem

Ghosts of Christmas Present

Easy Rider

Dark Side of the Moon

Blue Moon

Vampire Gold

Halloween Moon

Vampire Dreams

Vampire Blues

Vampire Nights

Teeth

The Bleeder

COLLECTIONS

The Sands of Time

Red Rain: Over 40 bestselling Stories

Samantha Moon: The First Eight Short Stories

Dark Rain: 15 Short Tales

Blood Rain: 15 Short Tales

Black Rain: 15 Short Tales

Vampire Rain and Other Stories

The Santa Call and Other Stories

Chronology

Primetime

Naughty or Nice

Sherlock Holmes and the Missing Shakespeare

Published by J.R. Rain

Copyright © 2016 by J.R. Rain

All rights reserved.

Ebook Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. All rights reserved.

Sherlock Holmes

and the Missing Shakespeare

Introduction:

Mr. Sherlock Holmes

The simplicity with which the details of this latest case fell into place was not particularly unusual but it had amazed nonetheless for it.

Even now, as I think back to the mystery of the Missing Shakespeare, I am hard pressed to comprehend all the fine details of how my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, had ever managed to unravel some of the key evidence surrounding the matter. At the time, I had chalked up a lot of his cursory deductions to his in-depth knowledge of the British aristocracy; the man is a veritable walking glossary for Burke’s Peerage, Baronetage and Knightage. It was only later, as I put pen to paper to transcribe our adventure in my journals, that it occurred to me just how he’d done it.

Backward reasoning
was what Sherlock called it; the ability to recreate a sequence of events which produced a result.

In my reverie and my renewed admiration for Mr. Holmes, I was taken back to how I’d completely and unexpectedly met my dear friend and colleague all those years ago. Some might even say
randomly
, but not Holmes. No, he believed quite rigidly that everything meant something, everything had a purpose for happening or existing.

In 1878, I had received my degree of Doctor of Medicine from the University of London, and proceeded to enroll myself in the course prescribed for surgeons in the army. But when the training was completed, I was attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, a regiment that was stationed in India at the time, as an Assistant Surgeon. And before I could join them, the second Afghan war broke out.

I served at the fatal battle of Maiwand where I was shot in the shoulder. The bullet shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. At that point, I might have fallen into the hands of the enemy but Murray, my orderly, managed to transport me away from the battlefield and safely back behind British lines.

I rallied from my wounds in the hospital and had improved greatly when I was suddenly struck down by enteric fever. For months, I was in despair for my life when at last I came to myself and finally began to convalesce. I was so weak by then that I was immediately sent back to England.

Naturally, I made my way to London; a city where fortunate and unfortunate alike mingled freely. Despairingly, I was in the latter category, for I had neither kith nor kin there, only an army pension of eleven shillings and sixpence a day. Oh, and regular sessions with a mental therapist to carry me through the transition.

I resided for some time at a private hotel in the Strand, where I managed only to spend what money I had in a considerably freer way than I should have. Soon, the state of my finances became so alarming that it was clear I would either have to leave the metropolis for somewhere in the country, or make a change in my style of living. Of course, having grown accustomed to city life, I chose the latter alternative, and decided to look for some less pretentious and less expensive domicile.

On that very same day, I was standing at the Criterion Bar, when I was tapped on the shoulder by a young man I recognized as having worked as a dresser under me at Bart’s Clothing before the war. Stamford was suddenly a friendly face for me in the great wilderness of London. I greeted him with enthusiasm, and, in turn, he appeared to be delighted to see me. In the exuberance of the moment, I asked him to lunch with me at the Holborn, and we set off to our destination in a hansom cab.

On the ride over, I gave him a summary of my adventures, and hardly managed to conclude the tale by the time we reached our terminus.

“Poor devil!” he’d said. “What are you up to now?”

“Looking for lodgings,” I’d replied. “In particular, a comfortable room at a reasonable price.”

“That’s a strange thing. You are the second man that has expressed this need to me today.”

“And who was the first?” I’d asked.

“A fellow who is working in the laboratory up at the hospital. He was rather upset this morning because he could not get someone to go halves with him in some nice rooms he had found, but were too much for his own limited purse.”

“By Jove!” I’d cried. “If he really seeks someone to share the rooms and the expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner to being alone.”

And with that, Stamford had taken me to meet Mr. Sherlock Holmes and I could never, with clear conscience, record that the encounter had been anything but bizarre. Despite the strangeness of the whole affair, however, he had turned out to be quite a memorable man and one whose convictions I could agree with. So, I broached the subject of sharing residences with him. Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his nice rooms with me.

“I have my eye on a suite of rooms on Baker Street,” he’d said. “I do believe that they would suit us rather well. You don’t mind the smell of strong tobacco, do you?”

I shook my head. “I always smoke ‘ships’ myself.”

“That’s good enough. I occasionally conduct experiments and almost always have chemicals about. Not too annoying, I hope?”

“By no means.”

“Let me see—what are my other shortcomings? It’s just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together, wouldn’t you agree?”

I agreed and laughed at this cross-examination, then threw in my two pence. “I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours and I am extremely lazy.”

“After effects of the conflict in Afghanistan, eh?” he’d surmised more than asked.

I nodded and continued, “Often, I record my days or interesting things of notice in a journal. I do that to calm my frayed nerves, and when I journal, I am prone to become somewhat withdrawn. There is a whole other set of vices I exhibit when I’m well, but those are the principle ones.”

“Do you include violin-playing in your category of rows?” he’d asked, anxiously.

“It depends on the player,” I’d answered. “A well-played violin is a treat to the ears—a badly-played one, however, is altogether another matter!”

“Then it’s all quite set then, isn’t it?” he’d cried out, laughing merrily. “I think we might consider it settled—that is, if the rooms are agreeable enough.”

“When shall we see them?”

“At noon tomorrow. Call for me here and we’ll go together and get everything settled,” he answered.

“All right—noon it is,” I’d said, shaking his hand.

We left him working among his chemicals, and Stamford and I walked back toward my hotel.

“By the way,” I’d asked suddenly, stopping and turning upon Stamford, “how the devil did he know that I had been in Afghanistan?”

My friend smiled an enigmatic smile. “That’s just one of Holmes’s little peculiarities,” he’d said. “And believe me, a good many people have wanted to know how he finds things out.”

“Oh! A mystery is it?” I’d cried out, rubbing my hands together at the thought of a challenge. “This is all very piquant. On a more serious note, though, I am quite obliged to you for bringing us together. ‘The proper study of mankind is man’, as they say.” For I am always eager to learn, especially from my fellow man.

“You must study him, then,” Stamford had said. “You’ll find him a knotty problem, though. I’ll wager he learns more about you in a thrice than you ever do about him in a lifetime.”

We said our goodbyes and I strolled on to my hotel, completely obsessed with my new acquaintance.

The very next day we inspected the rooms at number 221b, Baker Street, just as we had arranged at our meeting... and that was the beginning of it all. And you all know how things progressed from there, don’t you—the adventures, the mystery, the murders, and, eventually, my own marriage? Yes, I’m absolutely positive that you do. Call it a deduction of my own.

So you see, my dear friends, our choices in life lead us down many roads. Most of the time, we are quite hard pressed to decipher where the destination will be and those are the times when we should try to enjoy the journey the most. Indeed, my own convoluted road had been leading me to Sherlock Holmes my entire life, and I would have it no other way.

John Watson, M.D.