Being a lifelong fan of Sherlock Holmes, I couldn’t pass up the chance to dig into this story. And I wasn’t disappointed.
In this retelling, the infamous Holmes is called into the case of the Ripper of Whitechapel, aka Jack the Ripper. While his investigation gleans more than that of Lestrade and Scotland Yard, they also lead him to an unlikely suspect, his friend and partner, Dr. John Watson.
His investigation becomes three-fold: to exonerate his friend or find him guilty… which he cannot allow himself to believe to be true; to find the real killer committing the heinous murders; and to find out why Watson has been acting so out of character, lying to him, and his wife, Mary.
This fast-moving quick read delivers a more personable Holmes, with less of the arrogance and disdain for everyone around him. He is more honest with and about himself, admitting his own failings and shortcomings. Told entirely from his point of view, there is more compassion for those he encounters and less judgment. Okay, except for Lestrade and the Yard. He realizes their job is not an easy one but still disapproves of their shoddy and sometimes, less than professional investigating.
Before Sherlock can prove Watson’s innocence to himself, the police put him under surveillance, promising to arrest the doctor. Working alone, Holmes tries to beat the clock, losing hope not only when all the evidence points to his friend, but when he’s also involved in a life and death struggle with the notorious Jack the Ripper.
A stellar read weaving the great fictional detective with the real-life unsolved crimes of serial killer Jack the Ripper. I highly recommend!
I am afraid that I, Sherlock Holmes, must act as my own chronicler in this singular case, that of the Whitechapel murders of 1888. For the way in which the affair was dropped upon my doorstep left me with little choice as to the contrary. Not twelve months prior, the siren’s call of quiet domesticity and married life had robbed me of Watson’s assistance as both partner and recorder of my cases. Thus, when detective inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard required a lead—any lead—I found myself forced to pursue Jack the Ripper alone and without the aid of my faithful friend. And all for the most damnedable of reasons:
Early on in my investigations, Dr. John H. Watson, formerly of 221b Baker Street, emerged as my prime suspect.