"Bloody Hell of Queen Mother Mary!" Constable Evans cried out at the top of his lungs, as he sidestepped the lunging Inspector and struck him with his service revolver on the right side of his head.
The Inspector crumpled to the floor as if struck by lightning.
Constable Evans stood over him, his pistol ready for action again, but the Inspector didn't move. Good thing he was prepared for just such an eventuality. A part of him was triumphant and another deeper part of him was destroyed, as he realized that this man was no more his father than anyone else in the constabulary.
The Duty Sergeant pounded on the door. "You all right, Inspector?"
Constable Evans considered how he was going to explain this, and then said. "Tosh! The devil made me do it!" He laughed, and then opened the door.
The Duty Sergeant rushed inside, his face flushed red with excitement. Saw the Inspector on the floor and the weapon in Constable Evans hand.
"I hope you have a good explanation for this, Constable Evans."
"Not one you'll believe."
"Try me." The Duty Sergeant demanded, as he nodded to several other Constables to enter and disarm Constable Evans.
Then Constable Evans told him everything that had happened.
Sherlock, rather than follow his first impulse to fire into the monster before him, considered the being carefully. "I assume you didn't expect I would shoot first, and then ask questions?"
"You never assume, do you, Mister Holmes?"
Sherlock smiled. "Not usually."
The Mummy creature came closer, but made no threatening moves. "I have had some time to study your world and I know what makes it run."
"What pray tell is that?" Sherlock asked, playing the game he saw before him.
"That humanity is fixated on accumulating wealth and power at any cost. That people in power could care less about the ordinary man. That the Lords and Ladies are just shams of what a true human being should be."
"If I grant you those assumptions."
"They are not assumptions."
Sherlock insisted. "If I grant you those assumptions, what am I to believe of all you have done to this point in time?"
"Started the process of correcting the deficiencies that run rampant throughout your race. I have already inseminated quite a few of your peoples, and soon they shall bear the fruit of my giant intellect and my own views."
The Mummy creature smiled, a dark look shadowing its face. "If you will, but clones that have their own individuality. That has the ability to forego human weakness and to assume the greater responsibility for humanity's growth on this planet."
"In other words, overlords."
"I knew we could see this eye to eye." The Mummy creature replied.
It sat down on a bench near it and eyed Sherlock. "No need to be uncomfortable. We have much to talk about, you and I."
Sherlock did not sit.
"Very well, remain standing. But I assure you that you will never find another on this planet with an intellect to match your own, nor with the power to use it."
Sherlock's lips perked in a kind of smirk. "What of the heart then?"
"What good is a heart for, except to pump blood and nourish the body? You see what emotions have done for your planet. Endless wars, starvation of the masses by the wealthy and powerful, control and domination of the weak by the powerful. Need I say more?"
"Seems that I have heard this argument before. Napoleon, Hitler, Genghis Khan, Hyde, the Hollow Man. The list is as endless as your perverted view of humanity. As long as man has a heart there is always hope for redemption, without it, then what you have stated will prevail."
The Mummy creature laughed. "A funny way of looking at things, I must say."
"What have you done with Watson?"
"Ah. Your friend. So you do know matters of the heart then. I was wrong to assume that your intellect was as spotless as mine own."
"You are wrong about a great many things."
"That also remains to be seen, Mister Holmes."
The Mummy creature stood and stared at Holmes a long time. "I would like to continue this conversation, but I'm afraid I have other matters to attend to. You won't shoot me in the back, will you?"
"Would it matter if I did?"
The Mummy creature laughed. "Not really. I die to one body and am born to the next. If you want to see your friend again, I'd suggest you let me leave. I can safely assume that your friend is worth more to you than this worthless body is to me?"
Sherlock raised his pistol and aimed it at the creature's chest. "This will blow a hole through you large enough to thrust my fist through."
"But you won't do that, will you."
The Mummy creature's face suddenly grew brighter. "Ah, I see now. The reason why you with hold your vengeance upon me. Not again." It mimicked Sherlock's voice of terror as he realized Watson might be in danger of dying and he helpless to stop it.
The Mummy creature burst into laughter so horrible and humiliating that Sherlock was driven almost to the point of firing, but instead he lowered his weapon.
The Mummy creature laughed even harder, and then turned to leave. It got about five paces towards the door it had entered from and its body exploded from a fusillade of bullets that struck it from about five different directions.
Tesla, Edison, Lady Shareen, Conan and Challenger ran into the gallery, their weapons smoking.
Lord Graystone rushed between them and taking out his jungle knife from it's sheathe at his hip, swiftly took the creatures head off and slung it aside. He put a foot on its chest, and then bellowed like a bull dragon, its terrifying yell echoing throughout the massive Abbey.
Watson awoke to find himself in a tiny cell, laying on a bed of hard burlap and wood on the floor. He groaned, stretched his aching muscles, then sat up slowly, his head pounding as if it had been struck repeatedly.
A single light illuminated his cell. By it he looked at his hands. There were the faintest of red splashes beginning to appear on them. He swifly shoved his cuffs back to reveal more of them on his arms.
In that moment of clarity he realized what was happening and he rebeled inwardly, cursing the foul creature and its infamy. He was not going to give into its psychic pressure. He would fight it to the end, even if it meant taking his own life.
Immediately, at that thought, he felt a sense of great loss, when he saw a vision of Mrs. Hudson mourning over his grave. His arms sprouted more red splotches. Alarmed, he swiftly tossed those thoughts away. As he did, walling off his emotions, he noticed that the red splotches dimmed and grew less prominent.
His eyebrows raised in consideration of this revelation.
Before he could give it anymore thought the door to his cell swung open and a vision from hell entered, its slimy arms swinging towards him.