I took a cab to Baker Street, and went into Holmes's rooms. I did not know what I was looking for, but I began to search The rooms were untidy, full of old newspapers. I searched for four hours but found nothing. At four o'clock in the morning I stopped. I went to the window and looked out at the dark sky
Suddenly, I knew what to do. The house opposite, where Holmes had once seen Moriarty. I ran across the street and broke the lock on the back door of the house. Every room was empty, all except one bedroom. This contained a bed, a cupboard and a box full of papers. All the papers were about the Whitechapel murders. Some were cut from newspapers, others were written by the killer himself. He described each murder with a sick enjoyment of what he had done. Under the papers I found some glass jars of the kind that are used in hospitals. In them were pieces of women's bodies. In the last jar was the worst thing of all-pieces of the body of a little unborn child. When I saw that, all the friendly feelings I had ever had for Sherlock Holmes died inside me. Now I could go straight to Lestrade and ask him to arrest Holmes, but I chose not to do that. I did not want all England to know what Holmes, once a good and wise man, had become. Some evil things are best hidden from the world. I, and I alone, would face him and his crimes
I went out into the cold morning air. I felt strangely calm, but also excited Holmes was still asleep. I searched his clothes for drugs and guns, but found only a little money and his silver snuffbox. Then