Halfway through The House of Silk — a lost tale which purports to take place a decade before the great detective “was found dead at his home on the Downs, stretched out and still, that great mind silenced forever,” and has been hidden from the public since because of the scandalous social and political revelations depicted within — an unshaven Sherlock Holmes stands trial for the crime of murder in the first degree. That he has killed this poor person is allegedly
beyond question. In fact, even the imaginative powers of his biographer would be unable to raise a shred of doubt in the minds of his readers. At the scene of the crime I observed that the gun in his hand was still warm, that there were residues of powder blackening his sleeve and several small bloodstains on his coat which could only have arrived there if he had been standing in close proximity to the girl when she was shot. Mr Holmes was semi-conscious, still emerging from an opium trance and barely aware of the horror of what he had done. I say “barely aware” but by that I do not mean that he was completely ignorant. He knew his guilt, your honour. He offered no defence.
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