Based on the characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle



Sherlock Holmes was sprawled on a leather couch, staring at an unexpected guest who had requested Holmes’ audience.

“Mr. Holmes, I’m sure you’re familiar with the murder of those…..women, cruelly done by the twisted soul known as Jack the Ripper,” the stranger said gravely.


“Yes, in fact I have been tracking him for weeks, and I believe I’m near to discovering his current whereabouts. It is a most peculiar case indeed…..but before we get into any sort of conversation, would you care to release your identity?”


The stranger blushed, and then stated, “My apologies. After what I have seen, I’m a little shaken and not thinking clearly. First of all, my name is Doctor Neill Cream, and I have recently arrived here from Chicago, in America, to set up a clinic. The incident which I am about to describe to you occurred on Tuesday the seventh; this was exactly a week ago. I had found a preferable flat to set up my business, and I was returning to my current lodgings when I heard a faint scream. I followed the screams, obviously a woman’s, to a back alley. When I reached there, I saw the unimaginable.”


“I have quite the imagination,” Holmes interrupted with a sly grin on his face.

Cream frowned, and then continued, “Well…anyway, I looked into the alley and saw a caped man, and I believe he was wearing a top hat; repeatedly stab a woman with a butcher’s knife. I was stunned by the carnage; I couldn’t even breathe. After what seemed like hours, it was probably only thirty seconds, he threw the body onto the street like a child who was done with a toy. He began to quickly look left and right; he immediately spotted me. I awoke from my trance at the last second, running for my life through the twisting maze of the alleys. I thought I had shaken him off, but I was gravely wrong. The man, who I’m assuming was The Ripper, had found an alternate path through the jumble of the district and when I turned a corner, he was standing there. I stopped dead in my tracks, and for just a breath, I could have sworn I saw him grin.”


“I made a desperate leap toward a broken window, but he slashed my arm with a quick downward thrust. I tried to ignore the burning hot sensation in my arm, and I grabbed a large stone with my good hand, and hurled it at him. It knocked him off his feet, and I made my escape through the window. I lay hidden inside a delivery room for hours, listening to him search for me.”


“On what street did this whole affair occur?” Holmes asked.




“Bradley and Pine.”



“Did you happen to catch the name of the building in which you resided while being hunted down?”


“Yes, it was the Victoria Glassworks. Why does that matter?”

“Nothing of importance. Please continue,” Holmes said.


“Alright…..well, I waited for hours, as I had said, and after I was positive that he had discontinued his search, I retreated to my lodgings and did a small surgical procedure on my right arm. Being that I am a doctor, it can be considered legitimate.”


“May I see the scar?” Holmes asked.

“Certainly. Anything to help bring in a criminal,” Cream unrolled his right sleeve, and he cradled his arm toward Sherlock.

“How interesting. I would have assumed a doctor wouldn’t carry a scalpel in public, never less inside the home of a man who had not requested a house call.”

“What?”


Holmes shook his head. “Why Doctor, don’t tell me you always keep a medical tool hidden in your sleeve. Also, I’ve noticed a strange crimson stain on your shoes as well as a strand of light blond hair on your left pant leg, which I presume was caused by you throwing that poor woman to the ground, yes?

Cream tried to protest, but his nostrils flared, giving Holmes reason to resume his monologue.

Holmes continued. “The injury you’re showing me now, you inflicted unto yourself to make your tale more believable. This is evidenced by the small puncture wound, which could not be caused by a slash. Instead, it was caused by you wielding a knife with your opposite hand, which you were unsteady with; as I have noticed the arm which has the scar is your dominant hand. And one more thing, Mr. Cream, the Victoria Glassworks doesn’t have a delivery room, as it sells its wares in a shop in the front of the factory. Besides those little inaccuracies though, the story itself is fantastic,” Holmes smiled savagely.

Cream’s face darkened. “You knew the whole time. Didn’t you?”



“
That you’re the Ripper? Actually, at first I didn’t. But as I have already demonstrated, the evidence became clear as you spoke.”


Cream slowly pulled the scalpel out from his sleeve. “Your deductive powers surprise me, Mr. Holmes, but they will be of limited importance when compared to the blade.”

Holmes smiled.

“What’s so funny, Mr. Holmes? Do you find the prospect of death a fun subject?”

“Oh no. Not at all. I’m just looking forward to seeing what my good friend, Doctor Watson will do to you.”


Cream twists around, and there stands Doctor Watson, leaning on his cane.




“Holmes, isn’t there a fifteen thousand pound reward for The Ripper, dead or alive?”

“Why Watson, what makes you think my good friend, Doctor Cream, is the Ripper?”


Cream suddenly lunges at Holmes with the scalpel, but Holmes knocks the scalpel out of his hand and then jabs him in the face, all in one smooth action. Cream backs away from Holmes, his nose bleeding profusely. As he tries to avoid Holmes, he inadvertently stumbles toward Watson.

“Elementary, my dearest Holmes.” Watson tugs on his cane handle, and it slides out to reveal a pepperbox revolver, and it immediately spits lead into Cream’s chest. Cream’s eyes grow wide, and then they close.

“Took you long enough to get here,” Holmes said.

“You’re the one who sent me out to check that report on the east side.”

“Yes, well…as I was saying, what would I do without you?”