Letter to Holmes

Dear Sherlock Holmes,

           

Just so we’re clear, this is your fault. It was your books that led to this murder, your tales of the almost magical world that is detective drama stories that guided my hand to become one of your villains. Of course, I’m talking not only to the fictive detective, but also the real ones that will find this, but at the same time I know that they will not be able to solve my case. So, Sherlock, this letter is addressed to you, the one man that could.


Let me begin by describing to you how this all began. When I was young, I lived in a small farmhouse on Sussex Downs. There used to be a man who lived a little while away from me, but was still the closest house. He kept bees. He was extremely odd, oftentimes disappearing for months on end, times when some other, younger man would come and take care of the bees. I always found his eccentricity and apparent lack of social life somewhat fascinating. I saw in him myself. Despite this, the man remained distant.

It wasn’t until one summer that I noticed he was gone and I made my way quietly into his home. It was here that I found the Sherlock Holmes stories that I would come to love after sneaking into the home again and again, each time taking another book and replacing the one I’d taken last. However, there was something else I found. Something much more interesting than the books that have inspired me to write this letter today. It was a slim Moroccan leather case that held a syringe and a tiny vial of some solution. Naturally, I stuck myself with the stuff, and found myself addicted. And that was how my life as a criminal began.

It wasn’t until much later, as you police already know, that I would find my true calling within the criminal underworld. No, that would not be until I found myself a young man in the Diogenes Club, a club that, if you have never been, you will never understand. Sherlock, of course, knows well of the place, so I will not waste my time describing it. But, the point is that it was here that I overheard of a man that was served almost as a computer for the government, a man that was so smart, he was said to occasionally be the British government. And, as anyone else who understood the implications behind such a powerful man would, I killed him. Police, you already know of this, because of the last letter I addressed to Holmes that you couldn’t help but turn into a huge news story.

It has been some time since I’ve killed. But I have once again. Which is why you will find this next letter next to the dead body of the man who started it all. The beekeeper. Hopefully, one day, someone will see him, lying there on the ledge of Reichenbach Falls. But until then I remain waiting for Sherlock to crack the case. And before I leave, know that my killing, my letters, they were all inspired by you, wise detective.

            Sincerely,

            Professor James Moriarty