Devon Holmes: The Mastermind's Apprentice by BONITA HIGHLEY - HTML preview

Devon Holmes

The Mastermind’s Apprentice

By Bonita Highley

Copyright©BonitaHighley2023

Seven AM in the morning. A man kept ringing the doorbell. ‘RING….RING…RING!

Devon Holmes Watson, in annoyance, “What could possibly be of such anxious greeting at this time in the morning?” Opened the door.

A broad shouldered man with beard and mustache, widen eyes in quite a hurry, in no time wasted. “Devon Holmes?” He stumbles, then falters his way down to their living room’s floor, falling in front of Devon.

Devon crouched down to see the man’s face. The man stretched out his arm as a note fell out of his hand, passed out. “Watson! Come quickly!”

Devon, taking her hand, gentle patting him unto his face. “Sir! Are you ok!?”

The man becoming conscious one again. “Please forgive me. I am much devoted in my service as you can see.

I can get a tad bit overwhelmed. I am Mr. Wallace. This note is to be delivered to you.”

Devon, accepting. “Mr. Wallace. You couldn’t have done better in Morse code, you rang that doorbell like you had decoded half a century’s mysteries by now.”

Mr. Wallace- “Yes. Best to ready to retire I suppose. And I also know of a Detective Lestrade now living close to this premises.”

Devon, giving him a concurring glimpses, taking her cell phone, tapped onto it. “Lestrade. I have a peculiar man on my floor. He says he knows you. A Mr. Wallace?

Please come, I’ll need your service.” She tapped off.

Taking the note from his hand, she read the note: To Devon Holmes,

There has been a discrepancy in terms of decoding a case of a Sherlock Holmes. The case of The Mazarine Stone. I admonish for your service with disclosure of this information. Signed, The Scribe.

“Quite odd, this message. But what does it mean?”

Detective John Watson entered into the scene. “Look, if it’s about that? I nearly found it.” Sees the man on the floor. “What in the blazen has happened?”

The doorbell rang.

John opened the door. “Lestrade, nice to see you again Sir. Come in.”

Detective Greg Lestrade, steps inside, takes a look at the man. “You have taken a tumble, I see. Mr. Wallace, I presume.” Reaching out his hand to him, along with john, they raised him from the floor up onto his feet.

Mr. Wallace, “May I use your bathroom before leaving to freshen up myself before leaving?”

John, “Yes of course, just down the hall to the right. I’ll show you.” Escorted him.

Lestrade, “Most unfortunate man. But I need to tell you.

I vaguely have no recollection of this man. But I could have overlooked. I will check on records.”

Mr. Wallace, “I shall be going now. Thank you for your care.” He bends over ready to fall again.

Clara coming into the room. “Oh you poor man. You must stay here. I’ll call for a doctor.” She fussed over him propping him up onto the couch.

Harold, taking a hot cup of Herbal Tea with crumpets to him. “There you go. Take care. My Niece Clara will be watching over you.”

Little John running happily into the room in play with his toy airplane with the inscription logo, ‘British Airways. ”

ROOM-ROOM-ROOM!”

Mr. Wallace, seeing the logo. “You’ve been to England?”

John, “Yes. In search of an important documentation.

But it was all finalized.”

Mr. Wallace, “And Clara. You came back safe with the rest of the family?”

Clara , “Yes, that’s right. Tell me Mr. Wallace. How did you know?”

Mr. Wallace, “I’m only the messenger, that’s my job. Just casual comings and goings of insight. But this was my last I’m afraid, the bumbling old fool that I am.”

Clara with care. “Oh don’t you worry about a thing.

We’re here to take good care of you.”

Harold, in agreement. “Did you hear that old fella. Until you are fully well.” He patted him on the back.

Mr. Wallace, taking out his airline ticket, showing it to Little John. “Here, A magic trick.” He hides the ticket into the palms of his two hands, blows on it, then opens up his two hands again as it reappears.

Little John, fascinated. “Do it again!” he smiled ear to ear.

Once again, Mr. Wallace repeated his magic trick.

Once again, Little John squeals in joy magical joy. “HaHa, Ha, Ha!”

Devon, John, Lestrade, Clara and Harold, smiled.

The next day…..

Devon , entering into her office, abruptly stopped whilst seeing Mr. Wallace quickly placing down one of a book canons. Then veered at her. “Mr. Wallace. May I help you?”

Mr. Wallace, stumbling with trouble, replacing the book back into the shelf. “No, I’m perfectly ok I’m just impressed by your fine set of books. One can find the right kind of information, if needed. I’m especially fascinated with stories of your Sherlock Holmes’

disguises, very ingenious indeed. Right, I’ll be going now, oh, I hope I didn’t startle you?”

Devon, with smile. “No, you didn’t. But I must go to work now.”

Mr. Wallace grinned with gratefulness. “Right, I’ll be going then.” Left the room.

Devon, in her intuition, picks up the very book he handled, entitled, The Adventure Of The Mazarine Stone.

With a questionable side view to him as he left the room, her focus settled upon a barely opened-previous-creased page, he tried to replaced back inside the shelf.

John Watson, entered into the office, sees her busy reading the book. “Devon. I Have another surprise for you, my dear. Taking his hand, pulls the small cloth off the computer.

Devon, views to her side to see. “Yes, I can see that. A computer.”

John, “Yes. But what is programed on this computer will help you in our case. Devon Holmes Watson, I give you, all the book canons on file, on this computer.”

Devon, placing down the book, she goes to the computer. “Seriously?”

John, “Yes, It Took a while, but yes, seriously.”

Devon, grinned, giving him a kiss on his lips. “Thank you John. This most certainly will help.”

John, pulling her close to himself. “Our son has been pestering me lately. He wants a brother to play with.

After all he is two years old.”

Devon, “Humm. But even Sherlock was seven years younger than his older brother Mycroft.”

John, began kissing her over and over.“ Surely we’re not going to make him wait for that long.” Clutching her face with his hands, continued with longer lingered passionate kisses.

Devon, “We have a case to solve.” Kissing him back.

John, heavy on kisses. “I’m going to spare you of his impending pestering upon you.” He picks her up, takes her into their bedroom, shuts the door-locked.

Later that day…

In discrete, Mr. Wallace crept quietly among the serene forest in back of the house.

The next day…

Devon Holmes Watson, sitting at her computer, types up the document under the file: ‘The Adventure Of The Mazarine Stone.’ In a moment, the file pops up. Tapping onto the computer’s mouse, the file opens as the words, reveals:

‘Top Secret: The Case Of The Mazarine Stone’.

The Year: 1921

Description of case. The Mazarin stone, a large, highly sought after, incredibly valuable and diplomatically sensitive diamond precious stone of extreme value, was stolen. The British Prime Minister wants Sherlock Holmes to investigate the theft but he is unavailable. His brother, Mycroft Holmes is available and takes up the challenge. The prime suspect is someone familiar to him: Count Sylvius. The stone once belonged to Cardinal Jules Mazarin, who, upon bequeathed to the French monarch a collection of eighteen diamonds thereafter called the

‘Mazarin Diamonds’, then retrieved back to its rightful owner. As reward for Mr. Mycroft Holmes, he was rewarded of wealth into retirement by the British Prime Minister, The Mazarine Stone, from his majesty of gratitude, now resides in the possession of Mycroft Holmes. And as a result upon him and his younger Brother, Sherlock Holmes, is also rewarded into retirement with knighthood. Post note: In the year, 2022. The Mazarine Stone was passed down to Mr.

Harold S. Holmes in secret safe keeping. Location, unrevealed.

Devon, sat back in her chair with sly pride. But also with answers of their knighthood. But why did Mr. Wallace choose that one book, she suspiciously questioned in her mind.

John with little john on his back, came galloping into the office. “Devon… “

Lestrade followed after him, quite intrigue in their relationship of father and son.

Devon turned to him. “Lestrade.”

Lestrade, in regard to her. “I have looked up about this man Mr. Wallace. Apparently there is nothing illegal on him that is legally binding. But, I found that he indeed comes from England with no price upon his head in any illegal activities to show. Until, another unnamed person from a newspaper clipping telling of his conning ventures, kept secret from public.”

Devon, “I see.”

Lestrade, with care. “Devon. You are my apprentice.

Keep your focus my dear. Make your Sherlock proud.”

Devon, stood from her chair. “And you, Lestrade are the real Mastermind in this.”

Later…..

Mr. Walllace, in the bathroom, taking a glance at himself as he looked into the mirror. Taking his hands under the running water, closing his eyes, he washed his face, taking a towel to dry his face, then left the room.

Devon, seeing him outside the doorway, takes a first then a second glance at him. “Mr. Wallace. Did you just shave off your mustache?”

Mr. Wallace, stood stunned for a moment. “Why do you say that?”

Devon, “Oh nothing. You look very dapper without it.”

She smiled, went on to her duties.

Mr. Wallace, quickly going back into the bathroom, goes directly to the mirror. Seeing his mustache missing from his face, he hurriedly around looked for it, thrashing his feet around, kicked the mustache out of sight, kept searching, but couldn’t find it. In acceptance of her words, went onward his way in pretense leaving the room.

Devon, carrying laundry of towels into the bathroom, placed them inside the towel racks, one falling to the laminate flooring. Bending down to pick it up from the floor, she discovered a cloth with underneath sticky glue mustache, picks it up, takes a good look at it, then realizes the possibility, but without facts. In her theory, in her flurry investigation, ventured out from the bathroom, proceeded onward and out to the hallway in a burst of unsettlement. Straight down the hall , in her mind putting all the facts with logic together.

John, coming from the opposite direction. “Devon, what’s wrong!

Devon, ignoring him, continues her walk past him.

John. “DEVON!!!”

Devon turns to him. “How could I be so blistering ignorant!”

John, “What do you mean?”

Devon, beyond herself in disbelief. “It was all made up.

How could I be so inundated ignorant! How dare he try to outwit me, the smug-man! Apparently he left behind a part of himself yet doesn’t fit his accurate description.

Exhibit ‘A’.” She showed the cloth mustached to him.

John, by her side. “Maybe. But you still lack the evidence of all other facts.”

Devon, “The note is signed by ‘The Scribe, who is the Scribe?”

John, ready to answer. “Ok, I think it could have been himself.”

Devon continued. “Your right Watson, he also has looked into one of my canon books, with some intrigue of The Mazarine Stone, then this, a fake mustache. An unknown man from England with prior conning testimonies but no mentioning in police record. So we get the evidence of facts. Let’s gather the rest of the evidence. I’m calling for a gathering, Lestrade at the forefront.”

John, reasoning with her. “Devon, we can’t arrest the man merely on him being a phoney.”

Devon, continued in her steps. ”He’s up to something.

I’m going to find out. The game he’s been playing with us. And I tell you John Watson, the game is afoot.”

At the kitchen table. Detective Lestrade, sat at the forefront table next to Devon.

Mr. Wallace entered into the room, sees everyone around the table, with two other men not met before, sat on the opposite side in front of her in leariness.

John Watson by her other side, watched him carefully.

Devon greeted.. “Mr. Wallace Welcome, your just in time. Come, take a seat.”

Mr. Wallace with wry face, “ I-have-decided, I am well enough to leave now.”

Devon, unamused. “Not without a send off on the truth.

I found this on the bathroom floor. Can you explain it? It must have been a very painful experience to have it ripped off from your face, in your haste of CONTEMPT

for me.” She showed the fake mustache to him.

Mr. Wallace. “Your findings of that mustache was accidental. Even an amateur could find that. For I could even do better.”

‘Devon, unamused. “ Mr. Wallace. Are you trying to challenge me? I must admit, In this investigating mystery. How could I be so ignorant in helping a seemingly helpless elderly man in need of my help. But in my powers of great deducement is not beyond my ignorance to the fact, that this so called helpless man is actually, in fact, in your disguise,……Mr. Jack Moriarty!”

Mr. Wallace, immediately pulling from his chair, away from the table, stood up, staring down at to her in more contempt.

John, seeing this, immediately stood from his chair for her protection.

Lestrade, sitting non nonchalantly next to Devon , with a watchful eye of adamants at Mr. Wallace.

Devon, unwavering, keeping her eyes on him. “Take it off.”

Jack Moriarty, “What? “

Devon, “Remove your beard. Or I shall have it forced off.” Her stiff face of vengeance.

Mr. Wallace, not budging the truth, suddenly turned to swift escape.

John, with the other two men, alias, the police, swiftly jumped to their feet nabbing him. The police holding him.

John, taking his hand to his face, begin peeling off his beard to reveal his true identity, as they see him once again as Mr. Jack Moriarty.

Devon, satisfied of answer. Stood. ”Jack Moriarty. How dare you come into my home, like a thief into the night with that disguise, charading in disguise around my son, rubbing elbows of deceit upon my family, just for even a

bit of your great-great grandfather’s information to destroy my surname, all in the name of Professor James Moriarty. Well then take this back with you. We have made special arrangements for you to leave back to England to face court trials for bribery of extortion under false deceit of pretense. Therefore, Do not ever let me see your face in your fake mascaraed or real ever again.

And yet, I shall break your very soul-GET THAT!”

Moriarty, in struggle. “I’m not here for your pitiful surname! I was looking for something more of worth!!!”

The police taking him away.

Lestrade, hanging around her. “ So, my apprentice. Tell me , what was he looking for?”

John, near them listening.

Devon, “Something of great value. Something he couldn’t find, even an amateur could find, as simple as that.” She said sarcastically.

At the river’s edge. They stood.

Harold, in puzzlement. “And why have you brought us here our Devon?”

Devon, not surprised, but convinced. ”You know as I do.

The Mazarine Stone. It is here. Or rather it’s at the bottom of this river. Isn’t it just like you my Great-Great uncle, with your knowledge of what knights used to do with their swords of weapons, hiding it from the enemy.

With your proper safe keeping. Jack Moriarty was after the stone, and not after to seek revenge to destroy our surname in retaliation. The demise of the Moriarty surname. That had already went down with the last Moriarty. That’s why he read the context of the book. To find the most valuable stone worth millions to take back to his home to England. But he could not find it. He simply lost in this game. And now, I’m going to retrieve it. Uncle. The coordinates please.”

Harold, Sighed entrusted. “You are approximately above it. But don’t tell that to your mother, Clara. I shall never hear the end of it.”

John, admonished her not to. “No Devon. I don’t think so.”

Devon, “Don’t worry, it’s only a few feet deep.” She went to the edge, taking an estimated look at the distance between her and the length from the embankment, then to the edge of the water. The memory account of her Great-Great Grandfather,

Sherlock Holmes’ struggled fight with the plight of Professor James Moriarty at the Reichenbach falls, between good and evil, her flight about to fall. Then, suddenly she leaped from the edge, as Sherlock fell, free falling straight down, her arms folded inward prepared for the plunging hard impact into the depths of cold water, she submerged.

John, seeing this, went to the edge. “ DEVON!!!!” Going after her, free falling in same manner, straight down with great impact, submerged deep into the water.

While down, sees her grabbing hold of a long steel sword. Helping her surface to the water’s top, as like Sherlock in resurrection, the sword in his hand.

Devon, pulling herself out of the river and unto dry land, John following behind her, as they fell to ground breathing for air, their clothing soaked.

Harold, Lestrade, quickly going to them.

John, taking a strong hold onto the sword, pulls off the pommel, as it revealed the Mazarine stone in all its shining glory.

Everyone smiled, then chuckled in laughter. PRICELESS!

Later that night….

Clara, just after tucking in her grandson for the night.”

Little John. Goodnight my little love.” Kissed him. Left the room.

Devon and John, ready for bed. Little john gets back out of bed, rushed to his mother’s front, whamming into her.

“MoMMY, DADDY!!!”

Devon, taking her hand holds it over her abdomen in protection. “Oh Little John, we don’t want to do that.”

Clara, John giving Devon a strange look, then their faces turn into joy.

John, “Little John, to bed. Devon, you come with me to our bed.”

Clara takes him back into his bed.

Devon, following John, slipping into night clothes, gets into their bed.

John, going to her, pulls off his shirt. “Now, my wife. Is there something you want to tell me?”

Devon, “Oh, like what?” She pretended.

John, “Like, how far along are you?”

Devon, sighed. “Do you want calculations or something?”

John, gave her a look of ‘exact’.

Devon, sighed. “Exactly two months, two weeks, three days.”

John, loss for words, but gently smiles upon her. “ Devon Myra Holmes Watson, you did it again.” His face close to hers.

Devon, cleverly smiled back to him, moved closer. “John Hamish Watson. I could never do it without you.“

Simultaneously, as through from their first kiss, so it was.

A Letter of endearment [As John Watson stands watching his family]

In my time of being transferred to America, The amazing adventures I have witnessed as a husband, consulting detective, friend and confidant and now, father to our now, two boys, I have never seen anyone with such diligence in living for in the now. The lively enlightenment she presents to me on a daily bases, nothing can compare to the days of her forefathers’ intelligent of simply being intelligent. With such amazing qualities, her beauty surpasses the strength of today’s woman, yet she still holds within her an inner turmoil that will never end of controlled emotions, yet within her, the mode of yesterday’s woman of Victorian times, yet, in today’s world, even at that, her love for me, as it were, she holds me at the helm of steering. I have no more want but from what I already possess.

As my Great-Great Grandfather, Dr. John Hamish Watson, in his written stories, would write the stories in his times about his adventures of his friend and colleague, the great Sherlock Holmes of 221B Baker street in London, England, I also have written of my own testaments of the great, Detective Devon Holmes of 2215 Bakersfield, United States.

The great powers of detection that was instilled into him, Sherlock Holmes, throughout the generations did indeed from for better or for worse, indeed, from her birth, flowed through her own veins in her own power of deductions. Her parents, Great- Uncle who know her of the name of Devon Mya Holmes Watson, But to me, she will always be the one and only, Devon Myra Holmes.

Signed, Detective John Hamish Watson.