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Sherlock Holmes: Dealbreaker
00:32:16
We learn which crime Sherlock Holmes thinks is the absolute worst...and it's not what you think it is. Also, the great detective tries his hand at crime himself. Once he crosses that line, will he be able to come back from it? -- Check out Best of the...
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- [00:10]
Sherlock Holmes
Good, you're here. Sherlock said. When his roommate, Dr. John Watson, arrived home, Watson said, yes, this was his house. I need your help with something, Sherlock said, glancing around the blinds in the window. Sherlock, I just got off a long day at work and. But Sherlock interrupted. Watson, some of us don't get to leave work at 5pm Watson. Sherlock sneered. Replacing the blind. Yeah, and some of us start work before 3 in the afternoon. What's your point? Do you know about Lady Eva Blackwell? Sherlock asked, pacing the room. Watson smiled. Ah, yeah, yeah. The most beautiful debutante of last season. The one marrying the earl in a couple of weeks. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. Wow, the man really stayed up with the tabloids. Well, she needs £7,000 or she won't be marrying anyone. Watson arched his eyebrows. Wow, £7,000. That's a lot of money. Yes, adjusted for inflation, that will be approximately 900,000 pounds in the year 2022, north of 1.1 million in US dollars, Sherlock noted. 2022? Why is that relevant? Watson, I don't need to explain my reasons to you, but sometimes I like to do meaningless math to keep my mind sharp. You should try it sometime. Challenging yourself, that is. I'm literally a medical doctor. Watson sighed. That's an expensive wedding, though. Oh, that money won't be for the wedding. That money is for Mr. Milverton, the worst man in all of London. Like a murderer? Sherlock laughed. No, worse. He's worse than all the murderers I've put away in my career. He's a blackmailer. Watson stood there. Really? Sherlock asked. What? It's just worse than murder. Sherlock hit the palm of his hand with his enclosed fist. Worse than murder? Watson, this is Victorian London. Everything is blackmail worthy. A woman showing her shins. Blackmail. Going out without your gloves. Blackmail. Sleeping with a viscount while your husband is out of town on business. Blackmail? Watson said. He felt like Sherlock kind of slid an actual blackmail worthy offense in there among innocuous things. Seriously, though, like, blackmail is bad. But you know the phrase you can't con an honest man? Maybe if the rich didn't want to get blackmailed, they shouldn't be out there doing bad things. Sherlock shook his head. Bad things? Like writing a letter to a squire in your lovelorn youth? Watson was confused. Sherlock said, yeah, that is what Mr. Milverton is blackmailing Lady Brackwell over. Not an affair, not gambling debts, not secret murder. It's just because she, in her youth, had a thing for some country squire. It never even went beyond letters. But now she's set to be married in a fortnight to the Earl of Dovercourt and those letters have resurfaced. If she doesn't pay the equivalent of US$1.1 million in the year 2022, those letters are going to the earl or the papers. You see, Watson, stuff like this affects women disproportionately with the impossibly high standards of the time. Watson said that okay, he would concede that while he thought Sherlock's initial argument of let the rich and powerful upper classes do what they want without repercussions was take it was a shame that women were forced to bear the brunt of this. So she hired Sherlock. To do what exactly? She already knew the perpetrator. It was shady business, but she had the money, so yeah, she doesn't have the money, sherlock informed Watson. Watson grimaced. That, that did complicate things. She has about 2,000 pounds, the detective clarified. There was a knock at the door behind them. All right, Watson, he's here, sherlock said. Hearing a carriage out front, things might get hairy, so he needed Watson to act when he gave the doctor the signal. Watson nodded. Right. The signal. The bell downstairs rang and Sherlock went to go answer it. Then Watson gasped. Wait. The signal? Sherlock never told him the signal. Sherlock, what's the sign from NextPod? This is fictional. Sherlock looked scornfully at the man who entered his home. He was well dressed and his round, hairless face always had a fixed smile underneath his searching gray eyes. He held out a small hand to Sherlock, but Sherlock didn't shake it. The man turned to Watson. This man, who was he? Dr. John Watson, my friend and partner. He's cool. I've apprised him on the situation so we can speak freely. Ms. Ava has empowered you to accept my terms, then? Milverton asked, his flared nostrils and smile still as wide as ever. Sherlock sighed. She has. But there's a matter of the amount. Milverton nodded. Go on, Sherlock said. That £7,000 was beyond her means. Two thousand would drain her, but she was prepared to pay it. Milverton leaned on his gilded cane. Well, it was a fortunate thing then that Ms. Blackwell had so many people in her life that could help her come to such a paltry sum. Family fine dishes, candelabras, jewels. Would they truly bring more joy to that group of people than see Ms. Blackwell successfully married to an earl? It would be such a mark on the family if the wedding was to be called off in scandal. Milverton and Sherlock knew that the letters were nothing, but the earl wouldn't see it that way. And the public, well, they would be left to speculate any number of things about the young woman. Her life would be forever altered and for so little. Sherlock told the man to be reasonable. She didn't have the money. Besides, 7,000 was an arbitrary price. 2,000 was too much, but Ms. Blackwell was prepared to pay it. 2,000 was still good money. For so innocuous a secret as these childhood letters, he could walk away with nothing or he could walk away with £2,000. Milverton took a deep breath before smiling an even wider smile than the one he had perpetually plastered on his face. Sherlock. May I call you Sherlock? No, sherlock replied. Sherlock, milverton continued, there are some things that to me are more important than money. Like my integrity. Do you know what integrity is, Sherlock? It's doing what you say you'll do. My clients need to be assured that I will do what I say. If no one's information ever became public, well, what do they have to fear from me? The price is £7,000 and if it's not paid by the 14th then there will be no wedding on the 18th. I have several cases maturing at the moment and Ms. Blackwell's will serve as a motivating factor for them to cooperate. Sherlock moved toward the door to signal Mr. Milverton to leave. Well, I believe that my client is innocent of any wrongdoing and that her fiance will see it that way. Milverton chuckled. If that was the case then she was right to not pay the 7,000. That would be a waste of money. She should tell her fiance about it before the 14th, though it didn't change what he was going to do. Sherlock sneered, turned to Watson and gave the signal. Watson furrowed his brow. What was Sherlock doing with his hands? Watson, get him. Sherlock said, baring his fists. Watson, reclining with his hat on his knee, sat up. What? Get behind him. Don't let him leave. Sherlock shouted. That was the signal. Watson threw up his hands. That was the signal. That wasn't a signal, that was a command. He knows exactly what we're going to do now, watson said as he rose and stood to block the doorway. Milverton backed against the wall. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Time to have a look in that notebook of his. Milverton rolled his eyes. Two things. One, he thought they said they were cool. Did they think they could be cool right now? Or would Milverton have to escalate the situation in a way that he imagined only he was prepared to? Watson froze and Sherlock lowered his fists. When Milverton opened his jacket mill to reveal the butt of a revolver. Sherlock nodded. Understood. Secondly, milverton continued, I am a professional. I would not bring the blackmail material to the secret meetup. Come on now. I'm afraid this looks even worse for your client than before. So unless you're prepared to die for her, you can let her know that I'm still a man of my word. She has the time allotted to find the money before the material finds its way into the earl's hands. He turned to the door. Watson looked to Sherlock, who tilted his head. The doctor understood and stepped aside. When they were alone, Watson could tell Sherlock did not want to talk about it. So after a long day at work and the surprise of nearly being shot when he came home, Watson left his friend to sulk, hands in his pockets and chin on his chest, in his chair in the main room. Uh, wrong house, bud, Watson said to the goateed plumber that walked in his door. The plumber narrowed his eyes. Was it? Was it really? Watson said. Yeah. The only people who lived here were him and his friend, consulting detective Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock was at Wait. The plumber grinned before ripping off the goatee. Eh? Pretty good, huh? Watson had to admit. Yeah, pretty good. Sherlock told him to follow. He had news in the main room. Sherlock sat down. Okay, so Watson knew how Milverton was unwilling to budge, right? Watson said. Yeah, that was four days ago. They still had a few more days until the stuff came out about Ms. Blackwell. Sherlock shook his head. Oh, that stuff wasn't coming out about Ms. Blackwell, Sherlock said. Watson said that Milverton was pretty adamant about not taking 2,000. Did he have a change of heart? Sherlock said Milverton wasn't getting anything. The detective was retrieving all the incriminating information from Milverton's house, where he had been gathering intel for four days. Watson nodded. Oh, got it. Plumber. What did you do, by the way? Did you put a bomb in his cellar? How'd you do so much damage that he instantly needed a plumber four days straight? Sherlock said he didn't do anything like that. Sherlock's fiance let him in. He then stood there like that didn't warrant so much more explanation. Watson decided to roll with it, congratulating Sherlock. He never thought the great detective was the marrying type. Sherlock grimaced. He wasn't. No, she was Sherlock, the plumber's fiance. Watson said. That's still you. Sherlock said. No, it was him and a goatee. Please try to keep up. He had engineered the affections of one of Milverton's housemates when he stopped by on unrelated business. It didn't matter anyway because when he disappeared tomorrow, he had a hated rival ready to come in and scoop her up. Watson said. So there was a love triangle. And Sherlock, Sherlock the plumber had a rival for this woman's affections. Already? It's been four days and you've already somehow created like, I don't know, a Twilight situation here. Sherlock said that Watson was once again focused on the wrong thing and he needed Watson focused on the right thing. Well, the wrong thing, but for the right reasons. Watson was thoroughly lost. Sherlock clarified. Oh yeah, tonight they were robbing Charles Augustus Milverton. Watson sat there. Sherlock, I don't commit felonies. Can I mention again that I'm a medical doctor? Oh, yeah, no, thank you. Please. It's been like 15 minutes since you mentioned it and I needed that refresher. And I needed that refresher. Sherlock said. Watson glowered, saying that he had a lot to lose here and if he didn't go. Sherlock also had a lot to lose if Sherlock didn't remember Milverton threatened to shoot them the last time they confronted him. Sherlock sighed. Watson, I wouldn't even be considering this if I had any other option, but I don't. The clock is ticking for Ms. Blackwell and I've been at the house for days learning the house's layout and his schedule. This action is technically criminal but morally justifiable. He is using these items for an illegal purpose to hurt people. Tomorrow is the last day of grace for Ms. Blackwell. Watson turned it over. In his mind it was morally justifiable. Only if they took the items that would be used for an illegal purpose. Though Sherlock hid his smile, Watson said they. The doctor continued, the only real sticking point left for him was the risk to his own personal safety. The detective scoffed. Well, that was easy. What gentleman put his own safety over the well being of a young lady? A coward, that's who. And Watson wasn't a coward? Watson said. Well of course he wasn't a coward. He had been shot in the shoulder in the war. Well then, it's settled. Tonight we morally justifiably burgle Milverton in the defense of a young lady's honor. Sherlock said, slapping Watson on the back. Watson was like a knight. I'll admit I don't like this, but it has to be done. You're just sure that this has nothing to do with you losing to Milverton? Watson asked. I'm not going to lose to Milverton because I'm going to win tonight, Sherlock stated. He smiled. And if they didn't pull it off, they would still be roommates, just, you know, cellmates. Relax. He was joking. Probably. After he bounded up the stairs, he returned with a leather satchel. He had to confide in Watson that he always thought he would kind of kill it as a criminal. And this was a fun, chaotic, good chance for him to test out his theory. He actually had already been putting together a burgling kit. He pulled out a nickel plated jimmy, basically a small crowbar, diamond tipped glass cutters, a lock pick set, adaptable keys, a dark lantern, silent shoes. Did Watson have silent shoes? Watson said he had some rubber soled tennis shoes. He noticed Sherlock didn't have a mask or some way to hide his face. He would get on making those. When was Sherlock hoping to get to the house? It was 10:30 when two well dressed gentlemen, evidently on their way home from the theater, hailed a handsome cab. They tipped the driver when he stopped a few blocks away and stood talking on the street corner until he disappeared. When he was gone, Sherlock and Watson started their walk. They made it to the house by 11pm and Watson's stomach was full of vomiting butterflies as they crouched by the hedge. All right, Watson, I feel like we should have talked about this at any point during the last two hours, but now, outside of his house, we're going to run through the plan. Sherlock said Milverton was a heavy sleeper. Agatha, Sherlock, the plumber's fiance, said that it was a joke in the servants hall, that it was near impossible to wake the master. She locked his dog up so Sherlock could visit her tonight like he had the last two nights. Watson narrowed his eyes. They were going to talk about this when they were done robbing this guy because he had some big, big questions. Sherlock just got done explaining that there weren't even any glimmers in the windows. It was perfect. All right. Mask's on, Watson. They both put the masks over their eyes and approached the house. They stole alongside the outside of the house. The office was just inside with a bedroom attached to it. Both were bolted shut. A solarium that doubled as a greenhouse opened up to the drawing room and Sherlock used his glass cutter, running the blade along until a hole emerged from the glass. Sherlock slipped his hand in, unlocked the door, and with a waft of aromatic air, the detective and the doctor were felons in the eyes of the law. Sherlock led Watson through the darkness on a path that he had studied well in the light. They were soon in the drawing room, then, slipping through a closet, found themselves in the flickering dying light of the fire and enveloped in the pungent remnant of whatever tobacco Milverton had been smoking. Sherlock didn't waste time. Opposite the desk, the green gold safe stood as a centerpiece in the room, as if to remind people just how out of reach Milverton's secrets were and that only the blackmailer himself chose when and how they would be revealed. So his clients better pay up. The detective went to work. Sherlock laid out his tools from the leather satchel. Safecracking was something of a hobby for him anyway, and since Milverton was already asleep, he had all night if he needed it. He wouldn't, though, and a half an hour later, the safe clicked open. In that half hour, Watson noticed a detail first. For once, the door, the one to the hall that was supposed to be bolted when Milverton went to bed, wasn't bolted. It was still unlocked. Could have been that the man with his cigar and a nightcap simply forgot when he stumbled into the next room. Still, Sherlock didn't like it and told Watson to be on alert. They were almost done. He just needed to confirm that the file he had was Ms. Blackwell's and they would be out of there. He clicked on his dark lantern and almost on cue, they heard footsteps from the hallway. Sherlock turned it back off and motioned to the heavy curtains, the ones that covered the bay windows. Go, now. Both men dove behind the curtains and froze long enough for them to stop moving when Milverton thudded into the room. He had files in his hands and a cigar between his lips. He hadn't been in bed at all. He fed the fire a log, sat down in his chair behind his desk, not five feet from Watson and Sherlock behind the curtains, and started reading the file. Watson was honorable, saw himself as chivalrous, even going to this length for a woman's honor. But more importantly than honor, Watson. Watson didn't want to die tonight and definitely didn't want to go to prison. He was about to throw his coat over Milverton's head, punch it a little and make a run for it, when Sherlock gave him a head shake and took a deep breath, indicating that Watson needed to calm down. Watson mastered his panic, realized that Milverton had to go to bed at some point and he probably wouldn't open the bay window curtain at night. All they needed to do was Was stay still, and they were good. Watson dared to peek out a few times, trying to gauge where Milverton was with his Cigar with that file. Figuring that when he finished one of them he'd wrap the other one up and then get to bed. That never happened though. The men behind the curtain didn't realize that a man who made his fortune from blackmailing might not keep bankers hours. That the people who might show up to sell him information might want the COVID of darkness. Women like the servant to a countess. A woman with a veiled face appeared in the doorway. Finally, Milverton said she had made him lose a good night's rest. He hoped she would prove worth it. The countess truly was a hard mistress. If the servant couldn't come at any other time, well now she would be able to level things out a bit. He would need to inspect the letters that compromised the countess but once he was done he would be able to pay her. And oh, the woman, hands shaking, had raised her veil. It's you, he said. He relit his cigar. You ruined my life, the interloper declared. Milverton corrected her. She ruined her own life. He didn't force her to do what she did. He gave her a fair price. One that was within her ability to pay. Her marriage just wasn't worth that to her. He's dead, the woman said. His heart broke when he read the letters Milverton sent. Letters that she had begged Milverton not to send. Wow, then you must feel really bad about not paying. Yikes. To do that to a guy and then cause him to die because he loved you so much. Tell me, was it worth saving a few pounds? Was it? Look, did she want an apology? Fine. He was sorry she was so obstinate and made the wrong choice. Essentially having her husband's blood on her own hands. That was a sad choice for her to have made. If she's looking for something else, well, she's not going to get it. He understood her misplaced anger at him and so he was going to save her the embarrassment of getting arrested for trespassing too. If she left the room immediately he wouldn't call his servants and the police. But the woman stayed planted in place. She said he would ruin no more lives as he had ruined hers. He would wring no more hearts as he had wrung hers. Watson looked out at that moment at the woman he didn't recognize and saw her pull a revolver from her coat. Milverton froze. The woman raised the pistol. Watson made to move but Sherlock gripped his arm. In that instant Watson realized that this didn't concern them. They weren't even supposed to be here. So Sherlock was saying Let the actions play out as they were supposed to. Men like Milverton, they would never face justice and if they did, they would be able to buy or extort their way out of it. This was the closest any of those women were ever going to get. Watson didn't move. Also, he still very much did not want to die that night. And confronting a woman who came prepared to murder maybe not the safest course of action. And she did come prepared. Six shots popped from her hand and each of them found a different spot on Milverton's chest. The floor shook as Milverton thudded down on it and as he crawled forward, the crimson spots on his coat growing to meet each other. The woman walked up and kicked Milverton in the face with her heel until the man stopped moving. She fled the moment it was finished and Sherlock rushed to the safe that he had only left slightly ajar. He tossed the letters he was holding into the fire and then scooped up three armfuls of notes, files and letters from the safe, piling each of them on the fire. Lastly, he pulled the letter from Milverton's hand and tossed that in as well. Footsteps pounded in rooms all around them. The house had awoken. It was coming for them. There's a garden wall not far from here. It empties into a desolate spot far from the roads. Let's go. Electric lights clicked on behind them as they ran and alarms went up in the household. Lanterns waved on the drive up to the house when the men made it outside. But Sherlock pulled Watson through the trees until finally the wall was before them. The wall and the watchman. Sherlock saw the man broke left and then clambered up the wall like a monkey. Watson took the opportunity of Sherlock's distraction to go right and he almost made it. He felt the man grab his ankle. When he crested the wall, the doctor saw everything. His medical career, his friendships, his freedom slipping away if he didn't. He kicked out wildly, catching the man in the fingers, then his shoulder. That final image of Milverton made Watson recoil at the thought of kicking the pursuer in the face. But he would do whatever he needed to do in order to escape. Luckily, Watson pulling himself up the wall was too much for the man and the pursuer found himself grasping at Watson's fleeting pant leg as the doctor tumbled headlong over the wall, scraping hard on some bushes and the root of some tree, punching him in the lower back. The but otherwise unscathed. Sherlock pulled him up, pointed across the moors, and the pair started off in a run, limping at first, but evening out to a jog. After two miles they slowed, and a few minutes after they caught their breath they looked back and didn't see lanterns waving in the fields behind them. They were free. Evidently the watchman, knowing his master was dead, thought better of chasing two alleged murderers into the darkness. For a guy who was too not living to pay him, Sherlock and Watson had gotten away with it. Late night for you all? Inspector Lestrade said after Sherlock answered the door the following morning and let the detective from Scotland Yard into 221B Baker Street. He said that because Sherlock looked groggy and Watson had taken the day off. We went to the theater, sherlock said. That ended at 10:30, but he didn't remember what happened next. Sounds like a fun night, lestrade said, then grimaced. Better than the night his guy had. Sherlock shook his head and lit his pipe. Lestrade continued. Yeah, this guy Milverton. Charles Augustus Milverton. Ever heard of him? Sherlock burst out in laughter. No. What? Why? You've heard of him? We haven't. I haven't. Lestrade blinked. Okay, well, he was a blackmailer. They had been watching him for some time, but he always seemed to maneuver just within the bounds of the law and none of the people doing business with him wanted to press charges. So Scotland Yard couldn't do much without proof. Last night he was shot half a dozen times and then somebody stomped on his face. They didn't take anything, but they did burn the entire contents of his safe, where he kept all of his compromising materials. He had reason to believe that the two criminals were men of means who only wanted to limit the exposure of the young woman caught up in Milverton's web. Two criminals? Sherlock blurted. Plural. Yeah, that's what two means, lestrade said, cocking an eyebrow. Watson looked up from his paper. Lestrade continued. Lestrade said he actually sympathized with the criminals in this case. Milverton was rich and weaponized the law against his victims. Scotland Yard couldn't touch him, but he was one of the most dangerous men in London, just between Sherlock, Watson and Lestrade. The inspector thought the whole thing was justified. Milverton made a business out of threatening people. It was only a matter of time until someone stood up to him. Watson breathed. Sherlock hid a slight tremor in his hand. Lestrade chuckled and continued. Anyway, these two criminals, they were not professionals. They were almost caught in the act by a gardener. Scotland Yard had their shoe prints and a description of both of them. Might be a solid chance they find the two. One was lanky, balding and quick. The other was a middle sized, strongly built man, square jaw, thick neck, mustache thick. He just had a mask over his eyes. Sherlock laughed, definitely keeping his cool. Well, sorry he couldn't help out Lestrade. Those descriptions could be of anyone. He looked around the room, smile plastered on his face. Lanky man with a mustachioed thick necked companion. That could be he and Watson. Anyone. It could be anyone. Lestrade exhaled with a groan and rubbed his face. John Watson, who was now very much interested in this conversation, looked to his friend Sherlock. He brought up his hands and took a deep breath. Sherlock understood from the night before. He calmed down and most importantly, stopped talking. Sherlock is right, Inspector. Watson picked up where his friend left off. It could be anybody. I agree, lestrade said, putting his hands in his pockets. And like I said, my sympathies are with the criminals in this case. I just hope that the criminals, whoever they are, retire from a life of crime. They obviously approach this with a purpose and don't appear to be career criminals. And they've done what most couldn't do and eluded Scotland Yard so, you know, take the win. I can't imagine they would ever want to do something like that again. Watson agreed with Lestrade. The inspector smiled, tipped his hat and thanked Sherlock for his expert detective skills when he told the inspector that finding the guys was impossible and he should just stop trying. On point as always, Sherlock, still forcing a smile, nodded in reply and saw Lestrade out. When he came back, he finally broke out in laughter. They weren't going to do it again, of course, but they could. Lestrade didn't suspect a thing. Once again, they weren't going to go down this path. But Sherlock, I mean, he could play both sides, criminal and detective. A cat and mouse game with the only person who could hope to match his intelligence himself. He was about to ask Watson if they were great criminals or the greatest criminals when outside a young woman walked by the window, sobbing. Sherlock dove to the ground and Watson went to the window to see a young woman gripping a letter being consoled by a young man. Watson rolled his eyes and returned to his paper. Today's story was adapted from the Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Next time we're back in futuristic sci fi with a story from the 50s about taking medicine to a distant planet and it's kind of never felt more relevant. If you're looking for something to listen to in the meantime, Best of the Worst, which used to be a segment at the end of this show is now a twice weekly mini cast detailing ridiculous heroes and villains from comic book history and featuring serious sponsors who support the show with serious products. Definitely not just Carissa and I having fun with ridiculous comic book and sci fi items. Check it out by following the link in the show notes or by searching for Best of the Worst. Wherever you get your podcasts, Fictional is a next pop production by Jason and Carissa Weiser. Our theme song is by Breakmaster Cylinder. Thank you so much for listening and we'll see you next time.