Sherlock Holmes & the Silver Cord by M. K. Wiseman
“I speak of magic, Mr. Holmes.”
Mr. Percy Simmons, leader of London’s Theosophical Order of Odic Forces, is fully aware that his is not a case which Mr. Sherlock Holmes would ordinarily take up.
These are not ordinary times, however.
For something, some unquiet demon within Holmes stirs into discomfiting wakefulness under the occultist’s words. The unassuming Mr. Simmons has spoken of good and evil with the sort of certainty of soul that Sherlock yearns for. A certainty which has eluded Holmes for the three years in which the world thought him dead. While, for all intents, constructions, and purposes, he was dead.
But six months ago, Sherlock Holmes returned to Baker Street, declared himself alive to friend and foe alike, took up his old rooms, his profession, and his partnership with Dr. J. Watson-only to find himself haunted still by questions which had followed him out of the dreadful chasm of Reichenbach Falls:
Why? Why had he survived when his enemy had not? To what end? And had there ever, truly, been such a thing as justice? Such a thing as good or evil?
