What a discovery! What a breakthrough! The possibilities are positively endless! I disembark from my new mode of transport and gallop into Inspector Lestrade's kitchen from the sitting room, leaping her long, leather-effect settee as I come to it. I have to show her this - it is the most remarkable thing that I have seen in two lifetimes!

"Beth!" I should not be so very excited - I have, if one wishes to be technical, just committed a felony - but I simply cannot help myself. I have stolen - from a criminal, I hasten to add - the most exciting device that I have ever seen.

"Where the zed have you been, Sherlock?" the charming New Scotland Yard Inspector demands to know, failing to heed my jubilant tone and without even bothering to turn her head. "I've been trying to call you for hours - even John 'n' Watson didn't know what you were up to."

"How can I be expected to divulge plans that I am yet to make?" I ask airily, with a shrug of my hands. "Really, my dear! Do at least try to make sense!"

She turns now, but only in order to impale me with one of her very best glares. Why is it that every woman on this Earth is capable of wounding with her eyes? Are they not supposed to be the fairer sex? But it does - only now - occur to me that the music that she has selected is warning enough as to her current mood, for (as is the case with me) she will choose certain pieces to improve or calm a negative emotion.

"Really, Holmes, I'm this close -" she brandishes her index finger and thumb, with a space of two inches between them, close to my face "- to really losing my zedding temper with you."

I attempt to appear contrite, but I suspect that I instead look upset, as I do not like it when those dearest to me swear or use aggressive gestures whilst talking to me.

"Let's try it again. Where the zed have you been?"

Trying out my new toy, naturally. It is not at all surprising that she was unable to reach my portable telephone - I was in a completely different place! I shrug nonchalantly. "Travelling."

"You mean driving. Why the zed did you have to turn your zedding phone off?"

I slam my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose. This is not a matter easily explained.

"Oh, sorry if I'm giving you a headache," says she sarcastically. "I didn't mean to get upset - I only thought Moriarty had got to you 'n' hurt you, or something."

I raise a finger. "Please, my dear, give me a moment. I have much to tell you and I know not quite how to do so."

Her face slowly drains of colour. "What's wrong? Are you sick? In trouble?"

I want to laugh, but I have the sense to refrain. "Really! When have I ever fretted over being in trouble - or even danger? No, it is nothing of that sort. Perhaps I should show you, as opposed to attempting to explain. Would you come with me?"

"I was just gonna heat up a microwave meal. Give me a half hour to eat?"

I shrug, though I am dying with impatience. "As you wish."

"Are you hungry?"

No. I am all nervous energy and excitement - I cannot possibly feel hungry.

"Forget it. You can't stay still - 'course you aren't hungry. Want a cup o' tea?"

"Yes please." Tea is an entirely different matter.

We sit together at the counter which she has always referred to as her breakfast bar; she with coffee and instant dinner (which smells like curry) and I with a cup of tea. I am a little calmer now, but still I feel quite unable to eat.

"So... What 've you been doing?"

I fidget in my seat. "I... uh... I paid Moriarty a visit. He has been uncharacteristically quiet, of late, and I thought -"

"You told me that we shouldn't go after the guy alone. Zed, Sherlock! After the fuss you made..."

"That," I interrupt softly, "was when you confronted him alone with a pair of handcuffs. I have done nothing of the sort."

"So what did you do? Invite yourself to dinner?"

I drum my fingers upon the counter top. "No," I respond, with all of the patience that I am able to muster. "I simply watched him - and his little team of scientists - work. He had not the slightest inkling that I was present."

She frowns at me for a long moment. "This doesn't explain your excitement."

"I am coming to that," I respond with raised finger. "Lestrade, Moriarty's little team of scientists have built him a means to rid himself of me and anyone else that might stand in his way..."

She pales and slowly pushes aside her half-eaten meal. "A new weapon. You're excited about a new weapon. Zed! Are you crazy? Your oldest enemy has just found a new way to kill you and you're happy as zed about it."

I chuckle and then throw my head back laughing.

"Sherlock Holmes, I want the whole story - Grayson might buy the 'I've finally gone completely nuts' routine, but I know you too well. What's going on? What aren't you telling me?"

There is no need to insult my good humour! "I am laughing because you immediately thought of a gun or something of that sort. I did not say that he meant to murder me - I said that he means to be rid of me."

"There's a difference?"

"In this instance, yes. What Moriarty had, when I called upon him without his knowledge, was a contraption that he called his 'Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis'."

She wrinkles her nose. "If Watson were here, he'd give me the translation in a heartbeat. Sherlock, you know I don't even speak much French. What's that? Italian? Greek?"

"It is Latin. Furthermore, Watson would most likely give you a very loose translation and ruin everything," I respond with an annoyed twitch of my nose. "Really! Why would you want to be told what it is, when I could show you?"