In 1891, Sherlock Holmes in a struggle with his arch-enemy, the Napoleon of Crime, Professor James Moriarty, plunged with him over the Reichenbach Falls to his inevitable death. All of England - indeed the entire world - mourned the irreplaceable loss of the world's greatest detective. And that's where things stood until 1894 when Holmes suddenly reappeared in London, revealing himself to his friend Dr. John Watson, and resumed his activities as a consulting detective. Holmes remained very quiet and mysterious on those missing three years, never really revealing precisely where he'd been and what he'd done in the 'hidden years." Now, in this anthology of original stories the truth about those thirty-five months is unveiled and Holmes' adventures described. While some stories place Holmes in such familiar locations as New York and San Francisco, others find him high in the Himalayas or above the Arctic Circle. With stories from such writers as Rhys Bowen, Peter Beagle, Carolyn Wheat, Michael Collins and many others, Sherlock Holmes: The Hidden Years is a must-have book for every fan who has every wondered about the untold adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Michael Kurland is the author of nearly forty books, including both non-fiction and fiction, though he is perhaps best known for his novels and stories featuring Professor James Moriarty. He is the editor of the anthology My Sherlock Holmes and his novels A Plague of Spies and The Infernal Device were finalists for the Edgar Award. Born and raised in New York City, he lives in Petaluma, California. Sherlock Holmes: The Hidden Years The Beast of Guagming PeakMichael Mallory          "Wake up, Colonel Mackay, it's time for dinner," the nurse said, gently shaking the elderly, wheelchair-bound man out of a snoring sleep. The man's sunken eyes opened, and he looked up at her. A right cutey , was the first thought that passed through his mind, almost an angel--and she fancies me to boot. Mentally, Colin Mackay reckoned himself to be about thirty-eight. Physically, however, he was seventy-seven years old, and felt every day of it. At least I still have my dreams, he thought. Even a wheelchair could not slow down his dreams. He smiled at her, revealing his ten remaining teeth, and she gave him a dimpled smile back. "What did I miss, Cynthia?" he asked."Nothing, Colonel, but it's time for dinner, though I'm afraid we don't have meat today.""No matter," Mackay muttered, straightening himself up in his wheelchair and wincing from the pain in his right hip, which he had broken two years earlier. "I've been through worse."Cynthia stepped around behind the chair and pushed him into the dining room of the retirement home, where the table was already set. Nine other military pensioners were seated there, all from various wars, though none of them went as far back as the Boer conflict, which was Mackay's first taste of gunpowder. As usual, some of the men were grumbling over the failings of the menu."Damnable war's been over for seven years and still no meat," said Glendower, an army man, who was always complaining about something. "I just hope I live long enough to see the end of these shortages."Rooney, late of the Royal Air Force, said, "Ah, there could be an entire corned beef in front of you, and you'd still spend so much time complaining that you'd miss it entirely!"Some of the men laughed, one uttered, "hear, hear," and Glendower simply snorted and turned away. But the banter at the table ceased when Mackay settled behind the head of the table. "Good evening, Colonel," they each said, in recognition of the fact that he was the highest-ranking man among them."Good evening, lads," Mackay returned, and dinner commenced.After the meal was finished, Mackay was the first to be moved away from the table, as always. Cynthia pushed him back into the sitting room, close to the crackling fire. It was December, and the staff of the home had begun to hang up Christmas decorations. December 1951 , the old man mused ... King George VI, the great-grandson of the sovereign who had ruled during Mackay's first twenty-eight years and who had lent her name to an age, and in whose name Mackay had first picked up a rifle and bayonet, now sat on the throne. Her great-grandson . Mackay could hardly believe it. He had been through three different wars and had escaped more bullets than any man ever had a right to. He had been in and out of more scrapes in his life than most men would have thought possible, and still he had managed to last into the start of the second half of the twentieth century. Certainly it was a bother and a burden to have lost the ability to walk, but the fact that he was here at all, when so many of his compatriots had fallen, was little short of astounding."Would you like the newspaper, Colonel?" Cynthia asked, handing him a copy of that day's London Times . Mackay always got first crack at the paper, which was not an elaborate courtesy, since only two or