Wicked, gleeful skulduggery runs amok as the tales of Sherlock Holmes are turned on their head and become adventures for Professor Moriarty and his brutish assistant, narrator, Moran. Vivid and packed with atmosphere, the book is a pleasurable foray into villainy.
Over the years and around the world, I've run into some prize-winningly antagonistic coves. I recall several of that species of blood-soaked heathen who bridle under the yoke of Empire and decalre war on 'the entire White Christian Race'. Good luck to 'em. Pack off a regiment of curates and missionaries led by Bishop Bum-Banger to meet their savage hordes on the field of carnage and see if I care. In India, some sergeants wear armour beneath the tunic because no soldier serving under them can be trusted with a clear shot at their backs. I've also run into confidentiail police informants, which is to say: grasses. Peaching on one's fellow crims to escape gaol is guaranteed to get you despised on both sides of the law. Fact is: no bastard born earned as many, as various, and as determined enemeis as Moriarty.