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  SHERLOCK ACADEMY: WATSON’S CASE

  Future House Publishing

  Copyright © 2015 by F.C. Shaw

  Interior illustrations by Tyler Stott and F.C. Shaw

  Cover illustration © 2015 by Future House Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of Future House Publishing at [email protected].

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9966193-0-1 (hardback)

  ISBN: 978-1-944452-14-8 (epub)

  ISBN: 978-1-944452-16-2 (mobipocket)

  ISBN: 978-1-944452-15-5 (pdf)

  Cover illustration by Tyler Stott

  Developmental editing by Helena Steinacker

  Substantive editing by Dominic Scott

  Copy editing by Emma Hoggan and Tara Forbush

  Interior design by KristiRae Alldredge

  To my father-in-law

  Richard C. Shaw,

  For all your support, encouragement,

  and words of wisdom

  Join the Future House Beta Reader’s Club!

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  Contents

  Other Books by F.C. Shaw

  1 – Headlines

  2 – Surveillance

  3 – The Return of MUS

  4 – The First Creepy Thing

  5 – The Second Creepy Thing

  6 – The Newspaper’s Secret

  7 – Sleepy Eyes and Nosey Minds

  8 – Teachers in Disguise

  9 – Deep Digging

  10 – Auntie Ei’s Warning

  11 – The Art of Trapping

  12 – How to Trap a Mole

  13 – Ghosts and Cider

  14 – The Dead Weight of Secrets

  15 – The Wrong Mole

  16 – The Steep Cost of Secrets

  17 – The Phantom Unveiled

  18 – Heirlooms and Promises

  19 – Halloween and a Birthday

  20 – Boxing Day

  About the Author

  Want F.C. Shaw to come to your school?

  Headlines

  The letter and attached parcel were delivered by his roommate before bedtime.

  Eleven-year-old Rollin E. Wilson, known to his friends and adversaries alike as Rollie, was dosing off over his Independent Study homework. At Sherlock Academy of Fine Sleuths, Thursday evenings were reserved for students to finish their Independent Studies of grammar, math, science, and history. These independent assignments were due Friday before students dispersed for the weekend. With this homework and their usual detective studies, students were kept very busy.

  Thump!

  A small parcel landed on the desk, inches from where Rollie’s head of sandy-blond hair lay atop his math textbook. He snapped awake and looked up at his roommate. Rupert Crisp wore a scowl on his round face and a deerstalker hat on his head of mousey-brown hair. He had a stout and pudgy build. He could have been a pleasant-looking boy if he had smiled amiably once in a while, but he never did, so never improved his looks.

  “Hey, that’s my hat!” Rollie declared. “I’ve been looking everywhere for it!”

  After catching the library thief and protecting the library’s secret last month, Rollie had earned Headmaster Yardsly’s trust. He had also earned a deerstalker hat, a special award for his service to the Academy.

  Rollie asked, “Can I have my hat back?”

  Rupert pulled it off his uncombed head and dangled it in the air, as if teasing a cat with string. “I’m not done wearing it.”

  “You have to give it back to me,” Rollie tried again, more firmly.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s mine and I want it back. You never even asked to borrow it.”

  Rupert kept tossing and catching the hat carelessly.

  “Please,” Rollie pleaded.

  “Take your dumb hat!” Rupert flung it across the room where it landed on Rollie’s bed. He turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Rollie stopped him as he read the name and address on the package. “I’m not Rosemary Wood.” He held up the parcel and pointed to the wrong name.

  Rupert blushed slightly, and looked at the other parcel in his arms. With a grunt he dropped it on the desk and ripped the package for Rosemary Wood out of Rollie’s hands.

  “Calm down,” muttered Rollie.

  “Shut up and leave me alone!” hollered Rupert as he stormed out of the dorm room.

  Rollie gaped at him as he left. Though it was no new thing for Rupert to treat Rollie so rudely, it still was surprising how unpleasant he could be. Rollie had no idea why, and after nearly two months, he was growing sick of Rupert and his antagonistic attitude toward him. He was also growing suspicious of Rupert’s constant class absences, and erratic behavior.

  Rollie read Auntie Ei’s note, then excitedly opened the parcel. Carefully, he picked up a folded newspaper yellowed with age. It was the Times, English edition. In small print was the date in the corner: 1894. His eyes lit up and a small smile crept across his face as he read the headline.

  SHERLOCK HOLMES HELPS

  SOLVE MURDER CASE!

  With the aid of Mr. Holmes, Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard discovered hard evidence proving the identity of the killer.

  Details of the case shall remain classified for the security of the parties involved and the nation itself. London may feel much safer knowing crime-solving agents like Inspector Lestrade are keeping watch over the city.

  Rollie knew the real story. Sherlock Holmes had solved the case; Holmes allowed Inspector Lestrade to accept the public accolades out of generosity.

  Rollie flipped through the dusty newspaper pages, looking for a map. He kept flipping, but found only articles, advertisements, and black and white pictures. When he got to the last page, he frowned. Where was the map Auntie Ei mentioned in her note? He turned the newspaper over and started from the beginning again, carefully peeling back the pages and skimming his eyes down them. He found no map of any kind. Had Auntie Ei accidentally sent him the wrong item? That did not seem like her. Based on the marmalade jar Auntie Ei had given him in August, Rollie suspected there was more to this newspaper than its headlines. One thing he knew for certain about Auntie Ei was that she always had a purpose to her actions.

  At that moment, his other roommate Eliot Tildon marched into the dorm room and waved a piece of paper. He had dark shag
gy hair and dodgy eyes full of curiosity. As usual, his trousers fit a few inches too short.

  “I requested an official list of the school rules since Headmaster has added a few new ones this week.” Eliot’s main hobby was giving his opinions and establishing rules, both of which he considered a favor to mankind. “Do you have any tacks?” he asked Rollie.

  “There might be some in the desk.” Rollie opened the top drawer belonging to Rupert. It was packed full of brand-new textbooks and papers with stick figure drawings.

  “What’s that?” Eliot pointed to the newspaper from Auntie Ei.

  “Oh, just a newspaper.” Rollie tried to sound casual.

  Eliot raised his eyebrows. “I need to post these rules on our wall so we can be reminded of them.”

  Rollie handed him a tack he had found in the corner of the drawer, and closed his math book.

  Eliot surveyed the room and finally landed on a wall space next to the bathroom door. He centered the paper on the wall and used his thumb to push the tack into place. Clasping his hands importantly behind his back, he read the rules aloud in a commanding tone.

  “Number one! Students are not allowed to be out of bed after nine at night and ten on the weekends—”

  Rollie grimaced, remembering how he had once sneaked out of bed during the night to catch a thief in the school library.

  “Number two! The Rearranging Library is open daily from two to five and is otherwise locked—”

  Rollie did not care that library time was restricted since he had already discovered the library’s secret: the rearranging shelves were merely a decoy for the secret shelves hiding student information. He was not allowed to share this information with anyone else, so he had to pretend to be just as perturbed at the rule as Eliot was, for Eliot was spending all his free time lately studying the rearranging shelves in hopes of finding his Holmes book.

  “Number three! All incoming and outgoing communications must be inspected and approved by Headmaster Yardsly—including telephone calls, telegrams, and mail—”

  Rollie glanced at his parcel from Auntie Ei. He picked it up and went over to his bed.

  “These rules will be enforced with the help of the security guards hired for our safety. Any violation of these rules will result in immediate suspension.”

  Eliot stood back to admire his handy work, his face reverent.

  Rollie frowned as he put his deerstalker hat on. He knew Headmaster Yardsly had added these new stricter rules in light of last month’s mystery involving Herr Zilch. Most facts concerning Herr Zilch were still a mystery, but there were a few things Rollie knew. He thumbed through his pocket notepad to a page listing facts on the criminal mastermind.

  Herr Zilch is in charge of the criminal band Moriarty’s Underground Society (MUS)

  MUS wants to stop Sherlock Academy from training detectives like Holmes who could stop MUS from ruling the city with crime

  He wants me to stay out of his way

  One of the most unsettling facts about Herr Zilch was that his physical appearance was somewhat of a mystery. Rollie remembered what Zilch had looked like as his neighbor Mr. Crenshaw: an elderly man with a hunched posture and white hair. But that had been a disguise. He had no idea what Herr Zilch actually looked like, aside from his always gloved hands.

  “I see you got your hat back,” said Eliot, nodding to the deerstalker hat.

  Rollie rolled his eyes. “Rupert had it! I can’t believe he just took it without asking. I don’t trust him.”

  “I’m with you there. He’s a despicable roommate.” Eliot pointed at Rupert’s unmade bed. Its sheets were rumpled, exposing bits of trash and stray socks mixed in the folds. The wall above Rupert’s bed was plastered with papers of stick figures he had doodled. “If I were you I’d hide that hat. Remember how he stole your sweets?”

  Rollie squatted next to his bed and worked his fingertips into a seam in the hardwood floor. He pried up a loose floorboard under his bed to reveal his large leather hardback book titled The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Ever since he had received the hollow book with his class schedule back in July, he had utilized it to hide personal belongings. Last week he took the extra precaution of hiding his hiding spot under the loose floorboard. Rupert was the reason Rollie had to keep his hollow Shakespeare book beneath the floorboard. Rollie had put some sweets from his mother in his book, which usually was kept under his bed, but when he came back that night, some of them were missing. He decided to find the culprit by putting capsules full of blue food coloring into several of the sweets. The next day, Rupert’s teeth were a bright blue, and stayed that way for several days. Rollie had decided not to turn Rupert in because his blue teeth were punishment enough.

  Rollie opened the book and tried to lay the newspaper inside, but it didn’t fit. He was about to close the book when he spotted a small folded sheet of paper and fished it out. For the umpteenth time, he read the note written in Zilch’s handwriting:

  Well done—you saved your school and your great-aunt. Eileen’s poisoning is just a taste of what I am capable of doing to your loved ones if you do not stay out of my way. You have no idea of the power I have, or of the scope of MUS. You would be wise to drop your pursuit of becoming a detective. This is your one and final warning: do not thwart me again, or I will attack those you love in more ways than you can imagine. This is a dangerous game.

  Regards,

  F. A. Zilch

  Rollie believed Zilch’s threat—the man had nearly killed Auntie Ei. He felt chills every time he remembered Auntie Ei slowly succumbing to the poison as he raced to get her an antidote. He had never been so scared in his life.

  Rollie felt the urge to heed Zilch. He could leave Sherlock Academy, and go back to being a regular boy who attended a regular school and grew up to become someone regular, like a mechanic or a store clerk. He would live a boring, quiet life, but he would keep his family and friends safe.

  But whenever his mind lingered on those thoughts, he remembered Sherlock Holmes. He had wanted to be just like Holmes when he had enrolled in London’s Sherlock Academy of Fine Sleuths two months ago. He wanted to be a detective and see justice served, and along the way he could protect his loved ones.

  At least, he hoped he could. He had barely saved Auntie Ei in time. Was it right for him to endanger their lives so he could be Sherlock Holmes? Rollie stuffed the note into his pocket where he continued to finger it. He laid his newspaper and note from Auntie Ei on top of his hollow Shakespeare book, and fit the floorboard back in place.

  “Curfew!” Eliot abruptly shouted when he noticed the time on his alarm clock. He flicked off the desktop lamp.

  “I need to change into my pajamas still!” Rollie exclaimed. “I can’t see anything. Open the door.”

  “You should have thought about that before curfew.”

  There was a sudden crash.

  “Ouch!” Eliot hollered. “I can’t find the door!”

  Rollie sprang up and flung open the door, which was nearest to his bed. Soft light from the hallway gas lamps illuminated the room. Rollie grabbed his blue-striped pajamas hanging on his bedpost and changed into them. He scooted under the forest green flannel covers and listened to his roommate’s breathing deepen.

  Rollie wondered where Rupert was, and the reason he was not back in time for curfew. He hoped Rupert would get caught for being out of bed, for it seemed that Rupert always got away with his disrespectful antics. Rollie decided not to rat Rupert out. But as a detective, he would keep any eye on Rupert, and solve this mystery of his missing roommate

  * * * *

  On Fridays, Sherlock Academy’s students anticipated the weekend. Excitement filled the old apartment building on 221 Baker Street, which had been converted into the school. After breakfast, students scattered to their different classrooms that had once been tenant flats.

  O
n route to his first class, Rollie caught up with his best friend Cecily Brighton.

  “Auntie Ei sent me a newspaper from 1894 about a murder case Holmes solved.”

  “That’s great!” Cecily’s smile turned into a contemplative frown. “Is there some mysterious reason she sent it to you? She always has a mysterious reason.”

  Rollie told her about the supposed map in the newspaper, and how he had not found any such map. Cecily wondered what it was a map of, supposing there was a map at all.

  Rollie continued wondering this as well as he sat through Decoding class.

  “Good morning, sleuths, we have a new code today.” Ms. Yardsly stepped aside from the black board on which she had drawn a row of stick figures. “This is the Dancing Men code that Holmes cracked.” She started to flip through her textbook, then looked up and added, “Any student who calls these figures ‘stick people’ or any such demeaning word will automatically fail the first quiz, understand?” She went on to tell them which page to turn to in their textbooks, then scanned the group of students. “Rollin, please read the introduction written on the Dancing Men code.”

  Rollie started to read, and by the time he realized he was reading a description of the skip-count cypher instead, it was too late.

  “Rollin E. Wilson!” yelled Ms. Yardsly. “You turned to the wrong page! Pay attention!”

  Rollie blushed, glanced over at Cecily’s open book, and turned to the correct page. By now Ms. Yardsly had moved on to another student, who was reading the correct introduction. Rollie was not the only one who got in trouble that morning, for a trio of students got caught carving code keys into the undersides of their desks.

  During recess Rollie wanted to discuss the newspaper more with Cecily, but she and her roommates, Tibby and Margot, were making gum wrapper chains. Rollie remembered he had some unfinished Independent Study work due that morning, but he had no motivation to work on it. Instead he watched the upperclassmen run rugby drills on the grass. He decided he would take his newspaper home with him for the weekend and study it then. He did not know what kind of map Auntie Ei had sent him, and until he did, he would keep it a secret from everyone except Cecily. She was not only his best friend, she was also his comrade in detecting just as Watson had been to Holmes.