The First of Holmes' West End Adventures
The Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Detective series has long puzzled and delighted the curious and investigative gamer. Today, we dive deeper than ever before into the upcoming Jack the Ripper & West End Adventures, exploring a possible path you may take upon playing the first West End case, "Doctor Goldfire." You and your fellow Baker Street Irregulars will travel the streets of London in search of clues, trying to solve the city's most baffling crimes and assuade its residents' fears. Follow along here as Wiggins and the boys meet a paranoid doctor, question his suspects, and examine his home in search of the truth... while perhaps getting further from it still.
. . .
It was just yesterday that the Irregulars and I were enjoying a relaxed evening with Wiggins, Holmes, and Watson when a gentleman arrived for Doctor Watson. It seemed possibly too late for an unexpected social call, but at 221B Baker Street, unexpected is a relative term. The usual pleasantries were exchanged; Holmes, Watson, and the visiting gentleman basked in one another’s successes as unabashed and successful men have wont to do. The identity of the man, we learned, was that of one G. Tubman Goldfire, a doctor of very specific medial sciences who quite certainly looked down upon us.
Doctor Goldfire had not, as it were, come for a simple social call, but to simultaneously condescend Holmes and request his assistance. Holmes humbled the man with swift precision, but I digress. Goldfire spoke of asylums, of investigations into the subconscious mind, and of a near-miss with a bullet upon exiting a dining establishment which he frequented. His ultimate concern was of his own impending murder—a fate I would regrettably not doubt for a man with such a haughty attitude as his. He, himself, shared this view, having on his person a list of suspected colleagues for Holmes’ perusal. All notable members of the medical community, Sherlock’s interest was somewhat piqued, so he sent the doctor on his way and passed a bottle of port ‘round the room.
“The fog is rising quickly, my friends. I think we can push back the start of our investigations until tomorrow, Wiggins.”
Tuesday, September 13th, 1898. 221B Baker Street. Morning.
Today’s dawn brought with it an overcast sky under which we departed after conducting a spot of research. We first identified the addresses of Goldfire’s suspects, three of which he recommended we find at their professional practices. Two of the doctors would be found in SE London, and another in SW, but Doctor Henry Gray could be sought at Middlesex Hospital, not two kilometres away. How convenient that the name topping the list would also be the closest to Holmes’ flat. We took our leave in order to pursue the lead, despite Holmes’ protests that it was perhaps a trifle on-the-nose that we begin with Doctor Gray.
Tuesday, September 13th, 1898. Middlesex Hospital. Later.
Wiggins, the Irregulars, and I eventually located Gray’s laboratory and office only to find him deeply entrenched in his work on the dead. One of the lads in our number couldn’t stomach the presence of so many corpses and hastily offered to observe the streets while we questioned Gray. The doctor was cooperative when he heard that we were in the employ of Sherlock Holmes, though his demeanor changed rapidly when we mentioned Goldfire’s study of the subconscious. We were hurried out of the office, leaving the doctor in mild distress.
“I’m a doctor, held in high esteem by my peers.
That ‘theory’ is the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard, and I refuse to believe that it’s the work of Doctor Goldfire.
I suggest you take your theories and your accusations elsewhere. Good day!”
Tuesday, September 13th, 1898. NW London. Just then.
“These doctors…” Wiggins huffed as we exited onto Cleveland Street. He called out to the weak-stomached boy and began down the road, pulling the morning’s weekly out of his pocket, unfolding the paper and handing it to me. “Turn it over.” I did. There in the upper left-hand corner lay a brief on an exhibition on the criminal brain. “That’s timely…” I said, puzzled. The other boys crowded around, trying to see over my shoulder, tripping over one another as we continued along. “There is no coincidence in Holmes’ London,” Wiggins said, stopping abruptly and looking over us, raising a hand to his neck, paying no mind to the boy who tripped over his feet. “No…” He turned and started away as quickly as he had stopped. I raced after him, handing the paper away as we proceeded to King’s College.
Tuesday, September 13th, 1898. King’s College. Later.
The exhibition was deathly boring. Wiggins dozed next to me as Professor Benedikt dragged on, and I found myself drifting off as well. Wiggins nudged me hard some time later as Benedikt wrapped up his speech. Getting to his feet, our leader rushed down the aisle to speak with the professor.
Benedikt was helpful at first, informing us that Goldfire had missed an engagement with him the night prior and should have been in attendance at the very lecture we’d just witnessed. He was both astonished and intrigued when we told him of Goldfire’s suspicions, but our interview took a sharp turn to mirror that we’d had earlier in the day.
“I hold a regular written correspondence with George, and this isn’t his handwriting.
Moreover, he’d never proclaim such absurdities to be from unconscious motives.
I don’t know what game you’re playing, gentlemen, but I have no wish to be a part of it.”
Tuesday, September 13th, 1898. 82 Hastings Street. Now.
Wiggins’ discomfort with these suggestions that we knew not of whom we spoke brought us North to Dr. Goldfire’s home. Both Gray and Benedikt dismissed us, staunchly denying that he could have had any belief in subconscious motivators for criminal behavior. We figured that perhaps a quick chat with the doctor himself might clear up these contradictions, despite how little enjoyment could be had in speaking with the man.
We were unsuccessful in our quest to locate the doctor, though his governess was kind enough to allow us to wait for him. Wiggins’ restless spirit drew him away from the office in which we sat, leaving us to keep watch. His return was swift and sudden.
“You won’t believe what I’ve found up there!”
Two stories up and here I stand, observing a most curious room. Iron bars cover the window and appear to have been pried. There is a bed in one corner and a desk in another, covered with numerous books bearing titles such as “Observations on Men” and “Psychologie des Foules.”
“What the devil! I should have never let you out of my sight, you miscreants. Where is...?
Out! All of you! You don’t even respect the privacy of this house.”
Tuesday, September 13th, 1898. WC London. Next.
Craft your own mysterious tale and discover the fate of Doctor Goldfire when Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Detective: Jack the Ripper & West End Adventures arrives in stores in early 2017!