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A Curious Series of Events
A Curious Series of Events
A Curious Series of Events
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A Curious Series of Events

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A lawyer who investigates bank fraud and an obstetrics & gynecological surgeon have no intention of being caught up in a world of crime. But when a friend who's never taken a drug in his life dies of an overdose, John Watson can't help but be suspicious. His reluctant boyfriend, a hard-headed, high-living lawyer who responds only to his surname – Holmes – is convinced that it's just his partner being over-dramatic.
But as death seems to be stalking London’s West End and their friends and associates becomes more complicated to the point of suspicion, Holmes is reluctantly forced to step in and use his superior mind, Watson's consummate social skills and sometimes even his own handsome body to make sense of it all. But in a modern London full of scandal, intrigue, crime and of course, plenty of hot men will he and Watson unravel the mystery fast enough to prevent further deaths?

LanguageEnglish
PublisherRichard Saw
Release dateOct 5, 2015
ISBN9781501071560
A Curious Series of Events
Author

Richard Saw

Richard Saw is a long time London resident who fell in love with the city when he fled his native Australia in the vain hope that he’d land a real job. Author of ‘From Breakfast to Whenever: The Eating Guide to Soho’ and a struggling media executive, he started writing the Holmes & Watson novels as a love letter to the city, the men and the lifestyle he’d fallen in love with.

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    Book preview

    A Curious Series of Events - Richard Saw

    A Curious

    Series of Events

    A Holmes & Watson Mystery

    Richard Saw

    Copyright © 2003 by Richard Saw

    First published as an ebook in 2012

    The moral right of the author has been asserted.

    All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

    That being said, some famous people do turn up in this and subsequent novels to add flavour or perspective.

    All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binging or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.

    ISBN: 978-1501071560

    Thank you to all those people who got slightly tipsy over lunch with me and told me stories which are included in one way or another in this book. I was serious when I told you …that’s going in my next novel.

    Stay in touch with the author on Twitter @authorofholmes, search for Richard Saw on Facebook or if you’re looking for something a little naughtier, check out Todd Mitchell’s twitter account @gayjockgeek or the Tumblr account The Erotic Side of Holmes & Watson by searching for ‘authorinsearchof’.

    Prologue

    ‘It’s turning into a good night,’ he thought. Turning thirty was a watershed for a gay man he’d been told but he’d been unconvinced. It was supposed to be the time when your life changed, when the waiters in Balans stopped looking at you. But he knew his life was going to be different. Things were just getting started for him. He felt like he’d spent the vast chunk of his twenties trying to come to terms with who he was and now he was happy, single and ready to enjoy life.

    He’d often felt like he was on the edge of gay life in London, looking in. He’d pick up the free gay press – the ‘Gay Trash’ as his flatmate referred to it – look at the pictures and think, ‘Why does my life not look like this?’ But after he turned thirty he’d looked around and realised that he was actually living the life he wanted, surrounded by great friends and if he wanted more fun then he just had to go out and take it.

    And so here he was, out all by himself but having a great time. His flatmate had got him into the opening night of the hottest new gay club and supposedly all the right people were there but he had to admit that now he was there too, he didn’t care so much. There were plenty of hot guys and suddenly they wanted to dance with him. Well that wasn’t exactly true but he’d decided that hot guys liked friendly people. So instead of doing his usual thing of brooding in the corner with a beer in his hand, he’d throw himself into the party. And it seemed to be working.

    He saw a friend standing apart from the crowd a little. This man had always frightened him a little, to be honest. He was so polished, so sophisticated, so sexual that he wondered whether he would ever be in the same league as him. The friend smiled politely at him so he danced over and they exchanged a brief kiss. The big muscular arm of his friend rested on his shoulder for a little and it felt good. For a moment he wondered whether this was going to be it – and they were going to go off and shag like bunnies, the way they always seemed to talk about over brunch. But his friend didn’t seem so interested and he decided that it would be silly to try and expect something to happen that clearly would have happened years ago if it ever was going to.

    So he moved off into the pulsating heart of humanity and then… then he saw the one. Well maybe not THE ONE, but the one who’d been one enthusiastic fuck.

    Hey, how are you? Don’t you remember me? he called out.

    Yeah course, the guy said, waving his hand as if to shake off some imaginary shadow around him. He was blonde, he had a good body and he loved sex.

    He’d called him ‘The Blonde’ after that one encounter and the name had stuck for the brief time that they’d stayed in touch. Now the phone numbers had probably changed.

    The fuck-buddy seemed to finally realise who he was and grabbed him in a fierce bear-hug. What the fuck are you doing here?

    Hey, long time no see. Been out of town? He said. The music was too loud, they couldn’t hear one another so it was more luck than good judgement that kept the conversation going.

    Yeah, yeah, the fuck buddy said, looking over his shoulder every so often as if he was looking for someone else. Usually he would have backed away, smiled insincerely and sulked in the corner. But that was his old persona. His new assertive personality give him the willingness to slowly feel ‘The Blonde’ up, moving his hands up to that sensitive part of the neck and sure enough, fuelled by the alcohol or whatever he was on, ‘The Blonde’ started to buck and groan. The constant looking over his shoulder though made it clear that there was someone ‘The Blonde’ was showing off to. This was fascinating, he’d only had the occasional three-some, and this third person who he could see through the gloom seemed to have good potential…

    He took a step back to take a sip from the beer in his hand. It tasted funny. He took another swig, trying to wash it away and it seemed to disappear even if his lips now felt a bit numb. ‘The Blonde’ was talking to him but the music seemed to be getting louder and he couldn’t hear. They seemed to be moving in the direction of this third person. He looked around to see if the friend he’d spotted earlier was still there but there was no sign. It gave him a tiny chill down his spine and he couldn’t really understand why. The lights in the club now seemed much stronger. This third person and ‘The Blonde’ seemed to be talking quite a lot but he couldn’t really make it out. He lent against the wall for a bit, it made him feel better.

    They were walking now. He couldn’t remember when they’d left the club but he was definitely outside now. The roads were wet but not slippery, that much he could tell. He could see scaffolding but it was London. There was always scaffolding. He passed some people and for some reason he thought he should reach out to them. But he found himself unable to speak. The words didn’t come out like he thought they would and the people just carried on as if he wasn’t there.

    There was a gate now. ‘The Blonde’ was helping him through. He thought he saw the gate hit him but he didn’t feel anything so he wasn’t sure if it was a dream. He felt someone taking his wallet. He tried to push against them but his body wouldn’t work. It was at this point that he started to fear for his life.

    A voice seemed to appear out of nowhere, Now be a good boy and fucking die, it hissed. His leg felt wet and sticky but suddenly from deep within himself he found a last reserve of energy. He pushed away from ‘The Blonde’ and grabbed his mobile phone out of his own pocket. But before he had the chance to do anything, he felt it fall from his fingers. He tried to reach for it but nothing happened. He felt his legs go and his whole body crumbled. And then he felt a searing pain as a foot drove into his back quickly followed by one to his head and then it all went black.

    He didn’t know how long he had remained unconscious but he woke up and he could see his phone. His fingers clawed across the concrete until he could touch it. It seemed to take a lifetime but it finally came to life. His fingers felt thick and uncoordinated as he tried to scroll through to the right number. With something of a final miracle he got to ‘H’. He clicked the button and it started to dial. But then the screen went blank and slowly, so did his eyes.

    Holmes… he tried to say but the sound died just as it came out of his lips. And his mouth closed for one final time.

    Chapter One

    Holmes lent back in his chair and put his fingertips together, as was his habit when thinking deeply. There is indeed a pungent stench to this, he said aloud as he ran a finger down the list of figures on the page in front of him. Perhaps he was looking for something that wasn’t on the page. Or maybe a figure whose presence on the page would not have evoked any interest if it was there, but whose absence would be of singular importance. Without a doubt, he spoke aloud again, his mind only on the conundrum in front of him, There is a logical explanation for this missing number.

    The great investigator lifted his head from the papers he was perusing and gazed out the window at the hazy view of Greater London. He sniffed contemptuously at the despondent view, shook his head at the miserable weather and with a snap of his head, turned back to the papers in front of him. His desk was neatly arranged as was his habit. Each selection of reports he would place to his left, read, and then write notes in his spidery hand on the pad to his right.

    He had developed his methodology while studying at first Eton and then at Oxford and it had always served him well. ‘Sherlock,’ others had called him time and again as if the joke never got old. Of course since Holmes had long ago stopped answering to his own first name, he couldn’t dispute what others called him.

    A half hour passed as Holmes continued to write his careful, precise notes, logically working through the information in front of him. He eliminated each available option, knowing that at the end, the only option left would be the one taken. This line of reasoning was not entirely infallible but Holmes’ success over the years had been based on an extraordinary wealth of information stored in his mind, an unemotional understanding of why people acted as they did and the ability to bring those two worlds together. Therefore when it came to potential criminal activity, he was able to see all the possibilities. Despite the long hours that Holmes worked and the various abuses he had committed against his body, he remained a physically striking man. Whether his sense of intellectual superiority added to his physical presence, or that his handsome face and bulging muscularity made people unwilling to defy him, no one was entirely sure.

    Another half-hour passed and then Holmes dropped his pen suddenly. There it was, not so much staring him in the face but peeking at him from behind a piece of paper. He looked at one set of dates, then to another, and then back again.

    Clever, he said. Clever, but just not clever enough, and there was that twinkle in his eye that brought his face alive. It was the twinkle that John Watson had seen many times. It was the twinkle that ensured people told him information they wouldn’t tell others. It was the twinkle that ensured he had a secret army on informants throughout London.

    In this case, there would be no need to elicit a confession from the criminal, it simply meant calling in Scotland Yard and providing enough information for Inspector Pomfrett to clean up the mess. Holmes gathered together the relevant papers that pointed to the crime and began to write down the salient points one after another, on a clean sheet of paper. He was sure it would be taken seriously, for as always he knew his line of reasoning was faultless.

    When that was done, Holmes rose from his desk, walked to the door and flung it open.

    Goodness Mr Holmes! exclaimed Mrs. Hudson, turning to glance in his direction as she heard the door open. I wondered if you were ever going to come out at all! It’s not healthy in stay in your office all day you know.

    Thank you for your deep concern Mrs. Hudson, Holmes gave her an insincere smile. Now if you could type these notes up, file the report where we usually do and then email it over to the Metropolitan Police I can get on with the rest of my day.

    ***

    You are so contrary Holmes, Mrs Hudson replied, venting her frustration

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