A Study of Death

by Teel James Glenn

About the Author: Teel James Glenn has killed hundreds of people—and been killed hundreds of times—on screen, in a forty-year career as a stuntman, fight choreographer, swordmaster, jouster, illustrator, storyteller, bodyguard, actor and haunted house barker. He has two-dozen books in print in a number of different genres and has stories in over a hundred magazines from Weird Tales, Spinetingler, SciFan, Mad, and Fantasy Tales, to Sherlock Holmes Mystery, as well as tales in close to a hundred anthologies in many genres. He was also the winner of the 2012 Pulp Ark Award for Best Author. His short story “The Clockwork Nutcracker” won best steampunk story for 2013 and has been expanded into a novel. His website is: theurbanswashbuckler.com

Excerpt

It was only a few months after the horrible incident at the Reichenbach Falls where I lost my dear friend Sherlock Holmes when I received a most unusual summons from his brother, Mycroft, to meet him for luncheon. I was not to meet him at his habitual residence or offices at Whitehall nor the Demosthenes Club, but at a nearby restaurant across the street in Pall Mall.

“Took a slow rug uptown, John?” Mycroft Holmes said with a slight smile. He was seven years older than his brother, whom he resembled and though almost my height was considerably stouter. He had alert steel grey eyes with which he regarded me with almost scientific precision.

“Mycroft,” I said, as I extended my hand. I had not seen him since Sherlock’s funeral and had concentrated on my private practice to distract me from grief.  He, I suppose, had returned to his routine working in a shadowy department of the Foreign Office. I had never seen him express much emotion, much like his brother, but I think, much like Sherlock he simply masked powerful emotions with a screen of reason.

We were in the stylish, quiet restaurant, the gaslamps casting slight yellow light on us. The corpulent Holmes ordered a plate of beef stroganoff and ale. I had only soup and some wine. We sat quietly until the food came, at which point my curiosity was at a peak.

“Talk to me, Mycroft,” I said between sips. “Your note was mysterious—you implied this was important.”

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