Devon Holmes The Dragon's Mark by BONITA HIGHLEY - HTML preview

At the table, the butler along with the maid sat upright in contemplation. As the maid, fussing over him with her hands upon his head wound in care with ice bag.

Atkins McCurry went to his loyal Butler. “Mr. Phineas Blaine, will you please tell Detective John Watson and Detective Devon Holmes about your most unfortunate plight.”

Phineas, speaking in his Old-English accent. “It was the most hideous thing I ever saw in me life. The image of a fiery breathing dragon etched upon the wall, right in front of me. I tell yah, if I were to be alive, would have bitten me!”

John, writing down the statement on paper. “Right. Did you see anyone else in the room?”

Phineas, with a nerve wracking snarl. “NO!”

Atkins McCurry went to his new maid. “Norenda, you need to tell Detective John Watson and Detective Devon Holmes about your part.

Devon, sees the poor young lady trembling with acknowledge fear, goes to her, places her hands upon her shoulders. “Calm yourself Maid Norenda Alister. When you’re ready. Please proceed.”

Norenda, letting go of the Butler’s wound. Getting a grip on herself. “It was horrible. Just horrible. I was ever so frightened, I couldn’t help it, I just had to scream. But in my scream, I saw a ghastly figure of a person immediately leave the room.”

John, with care. “Can you describe this unknown person?

Norenda, looked down desperately trying to recall. “No. I can not.”

Phineas , inserted. “That’s just it. The room only had a table, a chair I was sitting in cleaning my silverware. Nothing more than that. There was no one else in the room, I tell you! Just me, a table, a chair. Other than those it’s just an empty room!” He emphasized. The thought of someone wanted to frighten me out of room and I say, did a jolly damn good job doing of it, then, like that of someone or something I tripped over, landing me to the floor, then out like a light, I was!”

John, in question. “What do you mean by, ‘like that of someone or something I tripped over?”

Phineas, repeated. “It’s just that Sir. I was away from my table, near the fireplace. There was nothing else there to trip on. Apart from my table, it was simply, the empty room.”

John, looking at Devon, then back to the butler. “Right, I think we have enough to go on. Thank you both for your

cooperation. You may leave back to your duties now, thank you.”

Atkins McCurry escorting the butter, and maid left the room.

John, with Devon, side by side, stood in sleuthing contemplation while watching them leave the room.

John, in acknowledgement. “Someone else unknown was in the room.”

Devon, in same. ‘Someone waiting for the perfect opportunity to scare the living daylights out of the butler, to get him out of the room, then make their move to the next step of lords knows what.”

John stood with possible reasoning. “Or the man is on some sort of hallucination on sort kind of drugs.”

Devon, indented her brows, looks at him. “That’s a rather shrewd hypothesis Watson.”

John, giving her a sly smirk. “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

Devon, with a sly grin back in return. “And the game is a foot.”

They walk around the empty room with the only one table, one chair.

Devon, looking at the image of the dragon, stood staring at it.

John, observed her. “What is it Dev?”

Devon, with sigh. “I’m not sure. The image of the dragon. An eerie familiarity I suppose. Like I’ve seen this ‘Dragon’s Mark’ before.

Immediately going back inside their home, Devon, going directly into the old office room of the book of Cannons of Sherlock Holmes, speedily using her pointed finger searching for a certain book, then, finding it, pulling the book, ‘The Sign Of Four’ from the bookshelf, flipping through the pages, she stops. “It's mentioned that Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, refers to Sherlock as a "Slayer of Dragons," implying that Sherlock sees himself as a hero who tackles formidable challenges and evils. This is portrayed as a metaphor for Sherlock's work as a detective, where he confronts the complex mystery and villains who are perceived as "dragons" that need to be "slain". Sherlock even refutes this idea initially but later asks Mycroft why he wouldn't send him on a particular mission, and Mycroft responds, "Because...here there be dragons," further reinforcing the idea of Sherlock as a metaphorical dragon slayer. Therefore, while there's no actual dragon, the word "dragon" is used to draw a parallel between the elements of "The Sign of Four".

But this mystery. It’s like trying to place a square into a circle, rather than placing the circle into a square. It doesn’t fit into making sense.”

John, interjected. “Unless, the square is slightly bigger than the size as the circle. And vice versa.”

Devon, “Yes, but in the Sign Of Four was meant to be seen as though a signal is about to commence. And now, another book. She pulls out ‘The Problem of Thor Bridge’, from the bookshelf, flipping through the pages, she stops. “The bow and arrow Sherlock used.”

Later that day…

Devon Holmes Watson, sitting alone in an upright chair in her bedroom in meditation. Her back in straight position, her legs curled up as her hands and arms lay lose and free upon the armed chair. Her eyes closed, her thoughts, clear and concise. In her mind, her vision is focused upon finding the balance between her female feelings and within her woman’s intuition of her own logic of enmeshed male concept and to solve the meaning behind mysterious dragon’s mark.

Devon, suddenly opening her eyes, in conclusion of deducement, a mystery has unraveled. Unfolding her legs, she lift herself out of the chair, scurrying off.

John and Devon Holmes, going back to the Grange Hall, with bow and arrow in her hand, treading down the corridor with John Watson, stops at the door’s opening.

John, prepared. “I sure hope you’re right in this.”

Devon, prepared. “Well there is only one way to find out, right?” Then, with placing the arrow onto the bow, entering inside, stood In place.

John stood as stand by next to the door.

Devon, affixing her sight upon the dragon’s mark. Raising her arrow’s tip-to -bow to her eye level, aim at her target, the image of the dragon. Pulling back the arrow’s string, focused in the center of the dragon, then about to trigger, she halt for a moment when her attention turned to the sight of the very person hidden in the nook awaiting for her.

Devon, with wry grin of her hypothesis come true, in skill of accurate precision, releases her fingers, as the arrow flew across the room, hitting perfectly upon the centered bullseye of the dragon, signaling of her arrival.

The unknown person coming out from the nook’s shadows, front and center, stood a foot of each other, woman to woman. “Well done Miss Holmes. You have solved the mystery so complex to some, yet, you have decoded my depiction in simplicity.”

Devon, stood, places her bow next to herself. “You have concealed the truth, but I have revealed it.”

The unknown lady, just as sly. “Yes. You have. The mark was not intended for the Butler, but for you. It can be hard for us women to endure the cross between the logic of a man and a woman’s wisdom tormented by emotions. And now, since we are on safe ground with each other, I give you full answer to this mystery. I cleverly lured you here to tell you I am descendant of Irene Adler. My name is not of importance. Your Great-Great Grandmother Miss Violet Hunter Holmes and my Great-Great Grandmother knew well of each other. I have come here for the sake of safety to personally deliver an added kin, a distant under age cousin in your challenge to your powers of deducement.”

Devon, in a moment of silence, sees a young man come walking out from the shadows, then stops, stood. “Hello, cousin.”

Devon, taken aback by the sudden announcement.

Harold, Clara, with the family behind her, walk into the room, one at a time in sincere acknowledgement of the missing piece of lost kin.

The Uknown lady, about to leave. “Mr. Moriarty almost had him, I took him from Mr. Moriarty. And now, he’s yours. And Now, I bid you the last farewell and good bye.” She leaves the room.

Devon, about to go after her.

John, grabs her preventing her. “Let’s just let it go. He is ours now.”

Devon, turns to look at her mother, Clara in question, as Clara looks at Devon.

Devon goes to her mother.

“Clara….Mother?”

Clara, smiled with clarified reason. “ He is my sister’s child, Henry.”

Devon, seeing the joy in her eyes, she goes to her newly founded cousin. “Henry Holmes. Your bedroom is at the end of the hall. Be sure to keep it clean. I can’t stand a messy house.” She grinned at him, giving him a welcomed hug.

Henry, feeling welcomed, smiled back.

John and family gathered are him.

John Sherlock, looks at his younger brother, Hamish Mycroft. “Brother mine. Well done on sending notes to the unknown dragon lady of Mr. Moriarty’s threats to take the boy within prison. Our 3rd Great-Grand Father would be so ever please with you.”

Hamish, gave him an annoy look. “It’s Hamish, The Mycroft, mind you!”

John Sherlock, giving him a love smack on his shoulder.

Cathern, placing her arm on her second brother’s shoulder.

That night….

Devon, going her great uncle’s Harold’s and Clara’s home, directly into Lestrade’s room seeing him in bed rustling with video games of little knowledge of how, sees here with invite.

Devon, going to him, sitting next to him.

Lestrade, with leisure look at her. “Yes, I heard. Your cousin. He’s in safe hands with his family now. Teach him all you can, just like have taught you. John Sherlock with his brother Hamish had a hand in this you know.”

Devon, with humble grin. “Yes, I know all about it.”

Lestrade, taking her hand. “John Sherlock is the mirror of his 3rd Great Grandfather, Sherlock Holmes. Hamish Mycroft, the embodiment of Sherlock’s brother Mycroft and Cathern, the magnification of the both of them. They all acquire the bloodline power of deducements that will be in themselves canonized.”

Devon, in a far off distant look into the future, taking his hand tighter, held it in acknowledgement of this truth.