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Holmes’s rapid footfalls across our sitting room floorboards softened as he crossed our Oriental rug, and then slowed and stopped as the latch in our entry door clicked open. “Mycroft,” Holmes said in greeting. “Do come in.” My heartbeat quickened as I heard the name. Whatever had brought Mycroft Holmes to Baker Street would be momentous. Only the most extreme national peril would induce Holmes’s brother to leave his familiar, well-protected universe in Whitehall. I opened my bedroom door and, coming down the small flight of stairs that led from my room to our sitting room, I saw the faint glow of the street lanterns below our bow window, along with another light at the entrance to our chambers. There, Holmes’s older and magnificently corpulent brother stood patiently just inside our doorway, holding a brass candleholder with a lit candle. In the yellow-gold candlelight, Mycroft’s round face shone beneath his top hat and above the cape that enfolded his body. His facial expressions conveyed concern, embarrassment, and a sense of crisis. Holmes, clad in his dressing gown, said, “You were too overwrought to notice the switches to our electric lamps.” “The matter is urgent, as you have deduced.” “What time is it?” “5:40. I did not want to wake Mrs. Hudson. Where is Watson?” “Here,” I said from my stairway. “Ah. Watson, good morning. Sherlock, get dressed.” “Tell me why.” “The Prime Minister is waiting. Lansdowne and Goschen are with him.” I recognized the names of the Secretary of State for War and the First Lord of the Admiralty. “Where?” Sherlock asked. “St. Thomas Hospital.” He gave a curt nod. “So there is a body. Whose?” “I have a carriage outside,: Mycroft answered. “At the hospital you will learn all about the case.” No details? I pressed my lips together. That meant whatever the case, it was not only urgent, but dire as well. Continue Reading The Last Moriarty (A Sherlock Holmes and Lucy James Mystery) for FREE with Kindle Unlimited when you click the DOWNLOAD Button Today!