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A Scottish clergyman and his faithful border collie visit 221B and tell a tale of a ghostly Banshee on the Isle of Skye. After the specter appeared, two people died. Holmes sends Watson on ahead to investigate and report. More terrifying horrors occur and Sherlock Holmes must come and solve the awful mystery before more people are murdered. A tribute to the original story in the Canon, Arthur Conan Doyle's masterpiece, The Hound of the Baskervilles.

Du brauchst mehr Sherlock? Du liebst die Geschichten von Doyles Kanon, aber du willst mehr... mehr Geschichten, die den sechzig Originalen ähneln. Hier bist du richtig. Die einzigartige Tragödie der Atkinson-Brüder in Trincomalee: An Bord des Dampfschiffes Redolent, das kurz vor dem Hafen von Colombo lag, musste ich an die Worte des Kirchenliedes denken, das ich als Schuljunge in der Kapelle gesungen hatte. Sie sollten sich als besonders vorhersagend erweisen. Unter gewöhnlicheren Umständen hätten sowohl der Blick in den sternenbedeckten Himmel als auch die warme, feuchttropische Brise im Gesicht die Sinne erfreut.

Remember Violet Smith, the beautiful young woman who Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson rescued from a forced marriage, as recorded in The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist? Ever wonder what happened to her and her true husband, Cyril Morton, in the years that followed. Well, ten years later she and Cyril reappear in 221B Baker Street with a strange tale of the theft of their bicycles -- hardly a crime worthy of the brilliant mind of the world's greatest detective. But ...What on the surface seemed like a trifle turns out to be the door that leads Sherlock Holmes into a web of human trafficking.

What happened after Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson pardoned Captain Jack Croker for killing Sir Eustace at the Abbey Grange. Have you imagined that he sailed the seven seas for a year and then returned to his beautiful, beloved Mary Fraser? That didn't happen. A year later, murder, treachery, and international intrigue descended on Abbey Grange and, once again, Sherlock Holmes was called upon to bring criminals to justice and assist in the course of true love.

On the day after Queen Victoria died, the body of a Scotland Yard inspector is found in a locked room in 222 Baker Street, right across the road from the home of Sherlock Holmes. There is no clue as to how he died, but for certain, he was murdered. Then another murder takes place, in the very same room. Scotland Yard calls for the help of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson might have to offer themselves as potential victims if the culprits are to be discovered.

A SANDAL FROM EAST ANGLIA. To Sherlock Holmes she will always be The Nun. But is this brilliant young woman carrying on a secret double life - a life far too sensual for a member of a holy order? She is helping archeological excavations at the ruined Abbey of St. Edmund, where a sealed canister has been unearthed. In it is a document that has the potential to change the course of the British Empire and all of Christendom.

On the night of April 12, 1912, off the coast of Newfoundland, one of the greatest disasters of all time took place - the Unsinkable Titanic struck an iceberg and sank with a horrendous loss of life. On board that ship was Sherlock Holmes's friend, Victor Trentacost - his only friend other than Doctor Watson. The news of the disaster leads Holmes and Watson to reminisce about one of their earliest adventures, now over thirty years ago when the two of them and Victor went to sea. It began as a sailing race and ended as a tale of murder, kidnapping, piracy, and survival through a tempest.

In 1909 the entire world of dance changed forever when Les Ballets Russes, under the brilliant impresario, Serge Diaghilev, departed St. Petersburg and opened in Paris. They also made annual visits to the West End in London. Tragically, during their 1913 tour, two of their dancers are found murdered. Sherlock Holmes is brought into to find the murderer and prevent any more killings. The story adheres fairly closely to the incredible story of the reappearance of classical ballet in Western Europe and the introduction of modern interpretive dance.

Kaum ist Sherlock Holmes für einen Kurzurlaub in Plymouth angekommen, findet er sich mitten in einem ungelösten Verbrechen wieder - den Telegraphenmorden. Zwei Elektroingenieure wurden tot aufgefunden, nachdem sie einen Vertrag für das neue Telegrafenamt von Western Union abgeschlossen hatten. Holmes' ungewöhnliche Helferin ist eine fromme, attraktive Frau, die Inhaberin einer christlichen Buchhandlung ist.

The Czar of Russia was assassinated in March 1881. That summer an attempt was made to murder his daughter while she was riding through Kensington Gardens with her husband, the Duke of Edinburgh. A Russian Count has been found dead in a hospital in London. Scotland Yard, the Home Office, and Mycroft Holmes arrive at 221B to enlist the help of England's only consulting detective to catch the assassin before he can strike again. But will Sherlock Holmes succeed? And what unique strategy will he contrive to trap his prey? This new mystery is a tribute to The Resident Patient.

The words of the missionary hymn I had sung as a schoolboy in chapel came to my mind as I stood on the deck of the steamer Redolent, anchored just off the Port of Colombo. They were to prove singularly prescient. Under more usual circumstances, the experience of looking up into the star-studded sky whilst feeling the warm, moist tropical breezes caress one's face is a sensuous joy. Yet on that night, more than twenty years ago now, I had a profound sense of foreboding.

"I was under the impression that you were dead," said Sherlock Holmes to the man who had entered the front room of 221B Baker Street. "I am now inclined to think that you were not murdered after all." The gentleman was of the same age as Holmes and me but sported a full beard, gray-on-its-way-to-white hair, and a short suit jacket that immediately identified him as an American. He grinned and gave his fingers a snap.

The words of the missionary hymn I had sung as a schoolboy in chapel came to my mind as I stood on the deck of the steamer Redolent, anchored just off the Port of Colombo. They were to prove singularly prescient. Under more usual circumstances, the experience of looking up into the star-studded sky whilst feeling the warm, moist tropical breezes caress one's face is a sensuous joy. Yet on that night, more than twenty years ago now, I had a profound sense of foreboding.

"I was under the impression that you were dead," said Sherlock Holmes to the man who had entered the front room of 221B Baker Street. "I am now inclined to think that you were not murdered after all." The gentleman was of the same age as Holmes and me but sported a full beard, gray-on-its-way-to-white hair, and a short suit jacket that immediately identified him as an American. He grinned and gave his fingers a snap.

"Ah, Watson, how good of you to join me. I trust I did not disturb your work at the hospital." "Not at all. We younger doctors are not exactly choc-a-block with patients." "Not yet, my dear chap. Not yet. However, I am very grateful that you are here, and I expect that you will quite enjoy recording my meeting with this fellow."

"Ah, Watson, how good of you to join me. I trust I did not disturb your work at the hospital." "Not at all. We younger doctors are not exactly choc-a-block with patients." "Not yet, my dear chap. Not yet. However, I am very grateful that you are here, and I expect that you will quite enjoy recording my meeting with this fellow."