Sherlock Holmes is an unparalleled genius. Warlock Holmes is an idiot. A font of arcane power, certainly. But he’s brilliantly dim. Frankly, he couldn’t deduce his way out of a paper bag. The only thing he has really got going for him are the might of a thousand demons and his stalwart companion. The game’s afoot once more as the long-suffering Dr. John Watson and a partially-decomposed Warlock Holmes (though he’s getting better) face off against Moriarty’s gang, the Pinkertons, flesh-eating horses, a parliament of imps, boredom, Surrey, a succubus, an overly-Canadian aristocrat, a tricycle-fight to the death and the dreaded Pumpcrow. Oh, and a hell-hound, one assumes.
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