Well hello there. Another one of my creations. I saw Sherlock Holmes (2009) the day after Christmas and was hooked. Suddenly I had an idea, one that I had to jot down. Pretty soon my mind got to working and, poof!, there it was. Disclaimer: I do not own anything. If I did I would have no need to publish on this site, but alas I am not rich nor as clever as that. Nothing against , it gave me a creative outlet for my writing practice. Holmes and Watson are characters of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. My original characters are pretty much every other character. If I pull in one from the movie I will let you know. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll just see if you guys get it. Thanks for reading. Do you know what the three R's are? Remember, Rate and Review! Enjoy. Oh and thank Snips95 for holding my feet to the fire to get this up.

Little Details

"Liv, please! I am begging you on my hands and knees. I promise I will make it up to you. Will you please forgive me?" Lois's voice pleaded over my answering machine. "Liv, will you please pick up? I know you're there." Curse her inevitable sweetness. Her betrayal had been sudden and yet I was remarkably calm about it. Like water on a duck, I let it roll down my back.

"Ok Liv, meet me in fifteen minutes at that Barnes and Noble you work at. Please, I want to make it up to you. It's the Holidays, for heaven's sake. It's important Liv." With that the beep of the recorder flared and cut her off. I sat in my chair and sniffed my cocoa. It was the good stuff, with mint extract and marshmallows floating on top. I had a good mind to stay where I was, curled up and cozy. But that nagging feeling began to eat at me. Groaning, I took a swig of my cocoa, set it on the table and grabbed my coat.

Walking through the doors, I took in the sweet scents of the scones and coffee in the café. I had worked at the bookstore for a year now. It was my home away from home. Urgh, and there she was in the lounge section, the wicked enchantress hiding behind those big brown curls and underneath the thick perfect eyelashes. I loathed her whole existence. Yet some sort of awful higher force pushed me to meet her. Her eyes locked on mine and a relieved and tight smile spread across her face. I hated that face.

"Liv," She offered quietly. I couldn't bring myself to look her in the eyes and therefore grabbed a book on my way over.

"I don't even know why I'm here." I muttered. Lois just looked at me.

"Liv, I'm so sorry. I-I- I didn't know you would take it so hard."

"My fiancé disappeared at sea, Lois. And you had the audacity to throw it in my face." I snapped ferociously. Lois looked at her feet in silence.

"Liv, I'm sorry." She whispered. I could hear the tears in her voice and it made my heart sing. I loved causing her pain and yet deep down I knew it was wrong.

"Listen, that night, I was not myself. I was hurt and angry."

"That is never an excuse." I hissed. I finally read the title of the book in my hands. Sherlock Holmes,the classic was known to me and I actually had read it a long time ago.

"Life just got hectic and I lost sight of what was important to me. Lately my life has been so crazy and emotional I don't know what got into me." To be quite honest I didn't know what had gotten into her either. She'd been so out of character that night, if I hadn't known better I would have thought she was drunk.

"And you think my life is hunky dory? Trust me; you don't know what has gone on. I wish that I could just whisk myself away every time I… opened this book." I held up the book I had picked up from the shelf. "But you know what? I can't and there isn't anything I can do about it." I finished bitterly. I looked into her face and I could see a flicker in her mask. Something else was bothering her, nothing to do with me.

"But I'm not the full reason you're here, am I?" I asked her. Real tears were in her eyes now.

"No, no, actually I needed someone to talk to because… 'cause my dad died last night." My heart stopped. The man who had been like a father to me was dead. He had helped me overcome my alcoholism and personally helped me detox off of it. The world slowed down as I fell into one of the plush couches the shop provided its readers. I didn't even notice I wasn't breathing until Lois was next to me putting her arm around my shoulder.

"How did it happen?" I asked slowly. Lois sniffed.

"He had a stroke."

"I always did tell him to eat his Cheerios." I said dryly, almost instantly regretted poking fun at the deceased. Yet Lois only chortled through her sobs. I hadn't ever been one to cry. I made it all the way through Titanic without a single tear. But tonight I felt a single tear roll down my cheek. Lois and I sat there, crying in each other's shoulders. Forgotten were the rifts between us. Suddenly were just as sisterly as we were before.

After a good fifteen minutes of crying our tears were gone and her eyes were swollen.

"Well, now what do we do?" I asked. It was 5:30. "I've got nothing else planned."

"You wanna go to the movies?" Lois asked. That had always been our favorite pass time. It seemed fitting that to make up our friendship we'd do it with a movie.

"Sure, what should we see?" We made our way to the exit. Then I remembered the book in my hand. Feeling emotional I decided I'd go buy it with my employee discount.

With a new book in hand and my best friend at my side, we walked down the street to the mall where the theaters were.

"Hmmm, they've got Avatar, Princess and the Frog, New Moon…"

"Heck no, I refuse to go and participate in that tween franchise. It's offensive to those of us who actually enjoy real books." I said stoutly. Lois laughed out loud.

"Ok then, well there's Blind Side, Nine, It's Complicated,"

"Sherlock Holmes," I interrupted.

"What was that?"

"Let's go see Sherlock Holmes." Lois pulled out her Blackberry and went to Rotten Tomatoes to check it out.

"Seems ok, alright," She stepped up to the box office. "Two tickets to Sherlock Holmes please." Paying with a credit card she picked up the tickets and we went in.

"Popcorn?" Lois asked, pointing to the small concessions counter.

"Yeah," I replied softly. As she left me alone for a moment I thought painfully about the losses I had suffered as of late. My parents had abandoned me when I was a child. After spending years bouncing around between foster homes I struck out on my own as a teenager, got involved with alcohol and a gang. But I am happy to say I said 'no thank you' to the drugees thank you very much. Then after pulling off an almost perfect heist I was caught and detained. Instead of jail for me, since the lawyers thought I didn't have any role models to show me what was right and I was a week away from my 18th birthday, they stuck me in the Navy. Three years was to be my sentence, kind of a slap on the wrist if you ask me, but I took it. At first I resisted and got my rear end handed to me for it. For three years I sailed around the world and figured out I wanted a better education but not in anything particular. I wasn't a very decisive person. After my sentence was up I went to college in the town I discharged from. There I met Professor Langley of Historic Anthropology and World Literature. He taught me everything about life. I even became best friends with his daughter, Lois. Their family became the only family I had ever known.

Then he came into town. Lieutenant Junior Grade Jamison Titus Kirk, but to me J.T. was my best friend in my Navy years. My first year there he thought it funny to poke fun at me because of my past. I really hated him, but no one else would even talk to me. So he became my accidental friend. We did everything together, except when we were apart. We'd even talked of marriage one day, but life took a turn for the unexpected and he got reassigned to the Gulf area and I was soon to be discharged. We'd fallen out of contact, but I still spoke of him to everyone. When he appeared on my doorstep I was shocked but pleasantly surprised to find him a bit tanner and a lot more lovable. He had become a Lieutenant Commander since I had seen him. For his liberty we spent every spare moment with each other. Then, the day before he was to leave, he took me to my favorite bookshop and handed me a book. I saw there was something inside preventing the pages to close. Opening it up I found a modest diamond ring with one rock in the middle book ended by two others. When I looked up I found J.T. on one knee. He told me that after his next six months at sea he was taking a desk job as a lawyer and consultant. He asked me to marry him to keep him company; if he couldn't be with his 600 other shipmates then he only wanted one mate is what he said. If someone had told my 18 year old self that I would someday find a ring in a book romantic I would have been rolling on the floor laughing. I never thought anyone could break me. Yet there I stood, rehabilitated and staring at my closest friend. I said yes, of course.

After he left I was busy planning for a wedding. Only six months to go, soon it was only five then four, then three… then the unthinkable happened. I received a visit from a well dressed military woman who asked if I had a minute and it was important. She proceeded to tell me that J.T. had gone missing when a group of terrorists had infiltrated his ship. They would do everything in their power to find him but the possibility was less than ten percent. Lois and Professor Langley had been the ones to get me through. If not for Professor Langley's confiscation of my vodka supply I would relapse back into my earlier life.

Now, here I was six months later and another loved one was taken from me. It seemed like a bad soap opera, the protagonist looses everything and then commits suicide because she can't deal with it. Well, I got news for the writers of my life, I am not that predictable.

"Here, extra butter and it came with a pack of Red Vines." Lois handed me a bucket of popcorn.

"Thanks," I said, popping a few pieces into my mouth. Lois linked her arm with mine and we walked into the theatre the good friends we were.

Sitting in my seat, I thumbed the hardbound book in my lap. The movie was surprisingly good. I really was enjoying myself, despite my recent appearance. I decided, for some strange reason, to take a peek at my new book. Silently, I opened it up and could almost smell the new binding. The scent grew stronger until it was an intoxicating aroma of fresh paper and ink. My eyes began to close on their own free will, even though I really did want to finish watching the movie. For some reason, though, I wasn't at all afraid that my consciousness was ebbing. My eyes shut and, for a moment, the world came to a complete and utter halt.


Damn, my head hurt like a mother! I don't know what had happened, all I know is that now I'm in serious pain. My ears began to pick up warbled and distorted sounds. I thought I heard voices but it was too much for my brain to try to tell. I wanted to open my eyes, but they felt like they were filled with lead and cemented with a brick wall.

"…this, Watson…" I made out a part of the sound as human speech. Someone was near me somewhere. And I was curious as to what "Watson" meant. With all my might I pushed my eyelids up a fraction of an inch and saw blurry shapes moving about me. Suddenly, I felt a firm hand grasp the sides of my throat. Fearing a death by choking I couldn't help but try to move. My body's only response was a faint stir. An attempt at cursing came out only as a tiny moan, escaping my tightly clasped lips. The hand instantly let up and I felt it rest gently on my forehead.

"She's alive," The words were the clearest yet, but they still took all my brain power to decipher. I felt the hand leave and I tried to open my eyes to see who to which it belonged.

"Easy now, up you go." A masculine voice spoke in my ear. I felt a set of hands grip my wrist and the back of my head, gently lifting me into a sitting position. My eyes didn't feel quite as heavy as I sat up. Blinking in the light and trying to make out the blurry images, a face drifted into view. Combed curly black hair with distinguished sides of grey, a long nose, and a handful of salt and pepper stubble on his chin, a man stared at me with piercing brown eyes. Taking in his face I instantly recognized him.

"Tony Stark?" I nearly gasped. Then I really gasped when I heard my voice, clapping my hand over my mouth. The voice was somewhat mine yet with a refined English accent that I had not put on. The man laughed at my shock and bewilderment.

"You see, Watson? Perfectly fine. She must have been dreaming of this Tony Stark while she was out; mistaking me, the first person she saw, as this lover." Whoa, there Mr. Iron Man, you've got it all wrong.

"No, no, no, you misunderstood. I'm not in love with…" I trailed off as the rest of the room came into focus. I was sitting smack in the middle of one heck of a salon. Gilded chairs and tables, rich chocolates sitting in a candy dish, exquisite paintings, the works of one amazing living room. As I sat stunned in silence I heard a faint horse's whinny drift in through the window. Trying to get up to see, I nearly tripped on my outfit. The rustling green taffeta encircled me in an 1870's style full length dress. Looking out the window I saw horse drawn carriages lining the streets and black smoke billowing into the clouds above. This can't be happening, not to me. No, I didn't go back in time, that's impossible. This is all a dream, a very intense dream. I turned back to the room to find two men staring quizzically at me. My heart began to pound in my chest. My breath suddenly didn't come so freely. I panted as I reached for the nearest object, a walking stick that was on the ground. I grabbed it as fast as I could and thrust it up, pointing it at the men. With a thud the front of the stick fell off to reveal a sharp thin rapier. Wow, maybe my luck is changing. I still pointed it at the two men who swiftly put their hands up and backed away a few steps.

"Sweetheart, I think you need to put that down. We're here to help you." Said the guy who looked like Tony Stark. I felt myself begin to hyperventilate. "Are you alright? Do you need help?" The other man began walking towards me. His face came out of the shadows and I nearly shrieked when I saw Jude Law's face staring at me. I only pointed the rapier at him. He stopped and held still for a moment with both hands in the air.

"Who are you two? What are you doing here? There's something going on here because you sure as hell aren't Downey Jr. and Law, so who are you?!" My voice elevated to near a scream.

"Darling, I suggest you take a seat. I think you've hit your head." The guy who looked like Jude Law said. While I had turned my sword on Law, Tony Stark had moved to the table where a bottle and glasses lay.

"Here have a drink," He turned back toward me and held up the glass filled halfway with the alluring red drink. My body wished so hard for me to drop the sword and get a taste of that alcohol. It was probably very refined, stuff I only wished for as a teen. But I knew I shouldn't, in fear of relapsing into my alcoholism. Through my hyperventilation and my shaking I probably looked pretty awful.

"No… thanks. I-I- I don't drink." I pushed the sentence out. He only shrugged and downed the glass in one swig. The man could hold his liquor, I was impressed. But I still couldn't explain what I was doing there and why. Law began to slowly come towards me.

"Miss. We're here to help you. My name is Dr. Watson, I am a health practitioner. That scum over there is Mr. Holmes."

"I heard you, Watson." Mr. Holmes called from across the room. Somewhere in my brain I felt strange memories returning. A night time in a movie theater, popcorn, a book in my hand, a friend… Lois that was her name. My best friend, where was she? I hadn't noticed I'd lowered the rapier. Dr. Watson had gotten in close and put his hand on my shoulder. Gently, he took the sword and stuck it back in the walking stick.

"Can I ask your name?" Dr. Watson looked at me earnestly.

"Yes… yes I'm sorry its umm… its… uh," I didn't even remember my name. Panic shot through me. Who was I? I knew I wasn't from this time but who was I before? Who am I now?

"Baroness Olivia Guinevere Williams Castillo." Holmes announced from his position at the desk. Both Watson and I looked to see Holmes staring at a paper then looking to us. "Wife of the late Baron Castillo, daughter of Lord Beckett, and historic connoisseur in art, literature, and…" he paused as he turned dramatically back toward me and Watson, "ancient architecture." I just stared at him blankly.

"And… how do you figure all this?"

"Your name I deduced from the locket around your neck, which read Olivia G. Williams. Then, since everyone knows of the late Baron and his wife it was no stretch to connect the two. It was quite and extravaganza, your marriage was if I remember correctly." Uh, ok, whatever you say I will go along with it.

"And how do you suppose I am the daughter of Lord Beckett?" I asked. He only smiled.

"A few years ago I was hired by your father," Not really my father but I'll play along with you, "and I did business with him. You share his sharp cheek bones as well as upturned nose, not to mention the obvious blue eyes." I nodded. Ok, maybe I could get him to read me and tell me who I am even though I don't even know who I am.

"Yes, and what of my lifestyle? Can you read that as well?" I challenged him.

"Certainly, my dear. You live for yourself now that you are officially out of mourning. Your father has set up many suitors for you and each have met in this very room. Yet you turned them all down because of a number of reasons, seeing as there is still no ring on your finger and the ring in your skin is still fairly fresh. Hmmm your favorite food is simply bread with French cheese melted on top," I stopped him on this one.

"How could you possibly get that?"

"The scent of baking bread throughout your estate as well as the cartons in the back of a French dairy deliverer's cart which we followed into your gateway. There is also a bit of it stashed underneath the couch, the lampshade, and on the desk. Either you really like it or someone is playing hide and seek with it."

"Very good. Now, I'm not trying to be rude but what are the two of you even doing here? I thought you were only a detective, Mr. Holmes." Holmes smiled slyly at me.

"And how did you know this, Miss Castillo? Spying on me, are we?" Crap, I'd slipped up. I needed to keep my modern tongue in my head or it was going to be one hell of an explanation and laughing stock.

"No, no, of course not, I just… uh, well… I've read about you." It was the truth. Every child has heard the bedtime stories of Sherlock Holmes, and then in my first years of college I was forced to read the book by Arthur Conan Doyle by Professor Langley. Hey… I remembered another name from my other time. I think everything is starting to come back. Then with the memory of Professor Langley, came the painful realization that he was dead. I remembered how harsh he had been on me in my first few years of college. Being in the Navy had rehabilitated my criminal ways, but not my study and work habits. Professor Langley threatened to release my Juvy record to my friends, which I didn't really appreciate. Those had been other times, but now that I think about it that was another time as well. Ah, Professor, why must you torment me so in death?

"Is something the matter?" Watson asked. Shaking my head I saw him staring at me with great intent. I felt like a guinea pig in a lab being examined and watched for behavioral patterns. My face must have shown my internal thoughts.

"Uh, no, not a 'toll." My accent really revealed itself there and it was slightly unsettling. I wondered what would happen if I tried an American accent. Would the person who's body I now possess (ew, that's a nasty way to put it,) be capable of an American accent? Hmmm, well when ever a spare moment arrives, I'll be trying out my new tongue on accents.

"So, about your snooping around my home?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Yes, we were invited, actually. The new head of police, what's his name again?" Holmes looked to Watson.

"Simmons," He supplied.

"Ah yes, Captain Simmons took a look at your husband's case and saw a few things were not as wrapped up as he'd liked them to be. He hired me to take a look at his murder to see if we could apprehend the killer finally." My head began swirling as I tried to think of who my late husband was. Suddenly, as if by lightning, flashes of memories seemed to flare up in my mind; memories that weren't mine. I saw a dashing and distinguished man with chiseled features and sparkling eyes. In my mind I could almost hear him laugh. His skin was olive and smooth, had some Spanish ancestry I supposed. The way his hair was combed back in an orderly fashion seemed to make me want to reach out and touch it. I was married to this man? Wow, good job Olivia or whoever I am really. Then I remembered why I'd thought of him, he was dead. The playful yet respectful figure of my imagination, or memory I guess, was gone. Murdered. I couldn't help but sigh and close my eyes for a minute.

"So they never found the killer?" I asked. Holmes looked at me strange.

"No…. you of all people should know that. It was you who made it a press event when the police told you they'd put his case to rest. Are you sure you're alright?" Holmes asked.

"May I check you?" Watson asked. For a minute my modern mind heard him ask to check me out. The alarm in my face must have set him back.

"It'll only take a moment." He reassured. Getting hold of myself I nodded. Rubbing his hands together he walked toward me. He put one hand on my face. The skin of his hands was soft and comforting, radiating heat from his rubbing. With the other hand he held it up to my face. Raising his index finger he held it up and naturally I looked at it. Moving it around, he watched my reactions. My head began to spin as I tried to keep up. Taking his hand off of my face he then reached for my hand. I was a little surprised and I jumped at his clasp.

"It's alright." He soothed, making eye contact for a moment then proceeding. Slowly, he pulled my hand out so that my palm faced upwards and my fingers were spread out. Reaching into his breast coat pocket he pulled out a fountain pen, opened it, and then looked at me again.

"I'm just checking reaction times, I'm not going to hurt you. Although, this may tickle a bit." With that he used the pen and pricked a part of my palm near my fore finger. My middle finger jumped in reflex, then my pointer finger following slowly after. Nodding to himself he put the pen away then looked to Holmes.

"Delayed reaction times, confused reflexes, she's got temporary amnesia and a nasty bruise on her head. I would expect her memory to recover fully, but it may take some time and stimulus." Gently, he closed my fingers into my palm then wrapped his hands around my fist.

"You're going to be fine." He smiled at me. Slightly dazed, I looked back at Holmes.

"So, have you discovered anything?" I asked.

"Yes. You." He pointed out, pouring himself another glass of wine. Help yourself, I'm sure that stuff was expensive. I need to keep my mind off of that. It's too early to drink.

"And," Watson added, "We've noticed that the last detective never thought to question you. At least he doesn't say in his report, but we believe that possibly you did talk to him." I saw Watson's face fall slightly at the end. Of course, I was an amnesiac now so I wouldn't remember anything unless my memory was sparked by something.

"And since my new found amnesia, you no longer can ask me." I finished for him. Holmes wasn't paying attention any more. He'd started knocking on the walls. Being the modern feminist I was I thought he was looking for studs in the walls. Then I asked myself why he would do that.

"What's he doing now?" I asked Watson. He just shook his head.

"Who knows?"

"What color of paint is this?" Holmes asked, pointing to the cream colored panels between the crimson red. How am I supposed to know?

"Uh, ivory?" I tried.

"Yes…" Holmes then pointed to another panel. "Then what color is this one." He pointed to a panel in the corner of the room. It looked cream again to me. What was this? Interior decorating 101?

"It looks the same to me." Holmes' eyes sparked.

"Aha! Come here, Baroness, and take another look. Walking over I had to question Holmes' sanity. After all, wasn't he a drug addict? Humoring him I took a look at the panel. To my surprise it was slightly darker, a smoky look to the pain.

"It's not the same." I declared. Holmes smiled at me then began knocking on the wall adjacent to the panel we were looking at. The dull thuds were monotonous and agitating. I came close to asking him to stop when he reached the panel in question. A resounding thunk took me by surprise.

"It's hollow." He exclaimed.

"Do you suppose it's a safe of some sort?" I asked, putting my own hands on the panel and feeling around.

"Or a door." Holmes was staring at me again in his creepy way, the way he did when he knew something. Looking to him I saw a twinkle in his eye.

"Baroness, would you, in any way, remember how to open this?" He asked me. If I knew I would have already been inside checking it out myself. I closed my eyes and tried hard to think of the wall. Did it spark any of these memories? Opening my eyes I looked at the wall again. Down the side of every panel was a decorative edge, dividing the red from the ivory painting. The edge was beautiful with insets of the fleur-de-lis and some sort of Celtic design intertwined into a sort of old English calligraphy. I couldn't help but reach out and touch it. Running my fingers down I noticed an indention in the design, deeper than the artist probably wanted. Or maybe he did. In my head I suddenly saw an image of bare shoulders and a golden chain hanging around it. The graceful arc of the neck was a woman's. A thought occurred to me: what if that necklace held a secret? What if that neck was mine? Discreetly, I let my hand trail down my neck and found a small chain. Carefully I pulled it out, revealing a pendant at the end of the long chain. The pendant was the shape of a flower of some sort. Looking closely, I could tell it was a renaissance rose. I could see Holmes looking hungrily at the necklace. I reached up and felt for the indention again. I took a deep breath as I reached up to put the pendant in the whole. With a quiet click I heard it snap into place. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Watson approach.

Nothing happened.

"Well, what now? A show of sparks and a great unveiling as the door magically opens?" I asked, disappointed in myself for believing in the fantastic, agitated that I was here, and mad that he had the charisma to make me think I was someone else for a moment.

"I think you need to look beyond the obvious." I rolled my eyes and put my hand up on the pendant and pushed it in a little harder. Suddenly, I felt his hand cover mine. He looked at me meaningfully. Sorry buddy, this ain't a Hollywood movie.

"What?" I asked him as he stared.

"Nothing," He said absentmindedly as he began to turn the piece. With a little coaxing it soon turned smoothly three quarters of the way around.

The pop, click, were the only sounds in the room. I swear I could have heard a pin drop. The panel pushed outward a tad, shocking me into letting go. Holmes simply took one look around then began to pry. Grunting and groaning as he pulled the door forward I tried to help him. Watson had come to help push too. He dug his fingers into the new crack.

"Wait, wait, wait, on three… one, two…. three," Both men heaved as hard as they could. The door didn't budge. Well, I take that back, it did actually. Only about another three inches from the rest of the wall. The men continued to push, pull, pry, and heave but it didn't move any more. They were taking the Rick O'Connell route. I almost laughed out loud as I remembered the old Mummy movies. I remembered something else. In one movie the girl used a decorative lock of some sort to guard some ancient relic. No… it couldn't be that simple. Walking up to the crack in the wall I put my hands on both men. My firm touch sent the message of: relax and get out of my way… please. Instantly, they backed off. Looking in the crack I saw a smooth wood panel with a pretty design stamped in it. The same design as was on my pendant. Reaching out, I put my nail around the wooden rose, feeling for some sort of edge. There! I dug my nail deeper and pulled up. With a small clink the rose burst forward. The image of the rose coming out triggered something in the Baroness's mind. I saw a few flashes of the same rose piece, the I saw an olive toned masculine hand twisting it a three quarter turn to the right then one and a half turns back to the left.

"All too easy," I whispered, a small smile playing on my mouth. The rose twisted smoothly both ways, but I could feel the weight of the tumblers inside all the same. As I finished the last half a turn I heard a deep clunk come from inside. With a great heave of its own, the door began to gradually open up. I felt like Harry Potter opening a vault in that one wizard's bank, what was it called? Gringras? Gringott's that's it. I smiled coyly at Holmes and Watson, both of who held looks that ranged between dumbfound and curiosity. Not to mention the giddiness of a school boy apparent in Holmes' eyes.

Taking a breath I looked inside to see what the hidden secret could be. The room inside was dim, lit only by candle light. Walking in, I let my eyes adjust and looked about. The swirling candle smoke gave the room a mystical feeling. It looked to made entirely of dark woods. Kind of a fire hazard, don't you think? Beautiful draperies adorned the door way. Or rather doorways. On closer inspection I saw two more doors, evenly spaced around the hexagonal room. Opposite the door we entered through hung a magnificent painting of what looked to be some sort of ancient Spanish soldier kneeling before a King and Queen. I couldn't help but stare at the mastery the painting held.

"Ah, Hernán Cortés de Monroy y Pizarro, the Spanish conquistador. A rare painting you have here. He is a mysterious man whom not many know of." Holmes observed. Ignoring him, I gently touched the painting with my finger, feeling the dry paint and the aging canvas on my skin. A few new thoughts just popped into my head.

"I think this belonged to my husband's family, passed down to him from his parents." I said, slightly far away.

"His father was a Spanish noble. He could have been a descendant of Cortes himself." Recalled Watson as he looked at the painting. Hmm, makes sense to me. No wonder the Baron was so good looking; he was some sort of Fabio living in England.

"Watson," Holmes called. Watson exchanged a glance with me and we both walked over to Holmes. He pointed to an embossed image on a wooden door. In a golden circle a small emblem was made of raised ink or whatever it was. Personally, it looked to me like some sort of Indiana Jones mumbo jumbo.

"The Crest of Cortes," Holmes whispered. It seemed as though I needed to read up on my ancient Spanish history again.

"Then it must be true," Watson added. The two shared a meaningful look with each other, and then turned to me, staring.

"Did I miss something?" I asked, completely lost. The excitement between the two men showed brightly in their expressions.

"You're husband was Spanish… of nobility even… my dear have you not heard of the Maria Conspiracy?" Holmes asked. Nope, sorry, wasn't even born in this century so I have no idea what in the world you're talking about.

"I'm sorry, no," I answered. The men looked incredulous but by now I didn't really care about old conspiracies and theoretical tales.

I walked about the room, getting a feeling for the place. I think some of Olivia's memories were coming back slowly but surely. I could see this room in my mind, but I was not alone in the room. The Baron was with me… Olivia… whoever, in the room. I saw his perfect face smiling sweetly as it came closer. I closed my eyes as the memory enfolded me. His manly arms held me close, close and safe. Then Olivia began to kiss back and the memory began to flash faster in my mind. Pretty soon I began to disturb myself with the images that came up in my mind. There was a trail of clothes left around the room and I could almost feel the heat of the Baron's skin on my , I guess the two were married and in love. Suddenly I really wanted out of Olivia's head as I remembered the night full of passion. It's weird when you inhabit another's memories, one may think it would be grand. Trust me, it's not all it's cracked up to be. When you have to watch a married couple make love on a wooden floor its slightly awkward. But it was a romantic scene, candle light illuminating the Baron's handsome face, some sort of music drifted in from somewhere.

Then, in the memory, the Baron took Olivia's hand and led her to the wall with Cortes's emblem. Clothed in nothing but a sheet she looked at the wall then back at her husband quizzically.

"Can you keep a secret?" He asked. His rich voice was peppered with a Spanish accent, making his appeal go up a notch. I felt Olivia move forward and take the Baron's arm. Leaning into him she replied,

"That depends on how much you love me." The Baron only smiled and turned to the wall.

"This secret is most precious to me. The only thing I care about more is you. That is why I wanted to show it to you, so there are no secrets between us." The Baron looked Olivia in the eyes.

"As long as it's nothing to kill over, I am game, my love." Olivia laughed softly. I could see a glimmer of unease on the Baron's face but it was gone before I could make sure. The Baron quietly stroked my cheek, er, her cheek.

"You are far to fair for such a sinner as me." He said with longing, brushing a stray curl from her face. Olivia stepped forward, pressing herself to him.

"I chose you because of your innocence. No one else had a heart purer than yours." He kissed her forehead then turned to the emblem. Sliding the panel, it opened up to reveal a little nook filled with curious little boxes and relics. Olivia's trained eye was fascinated by the tiny sculptures, but nothing held her attention more than the ornate box in the middle.

"What's that?" She asked. The Baron grinned as he pulled out the box to show to her. On top, the smooth surface had been painted to look like a beautiful sunset. Olivia had a little gasp.

"Its stunning, the color and detail are so… so…" Olivia was lost for words.

"Do my ears deceive me or has my love run out of things to say? I should call the doctor." Olivia smiled. Gently pressing his forehead to hers he whispered something in Spanish. The crazy thing is that I understood.

"Abralo" or "Open it." Olivia tried but couldn't. The Baron laughed at her confusion.

"Remember, darling, the box I gave you for our engagement?" He asked her.

"Yes," Olivia answered, and then suddenly it dawned on her. Reaching for the bottom this time she opened a small hidden drawer. In the drawer were small keys of some sort. Olivia knew how to work it.

"What's the key?" The Baron suddenly looked much more uneasy. His hands started shaking as he held the box. His mouth opened but no sound came out.

"My dear, is something wrong?" Putting the drawer away she pushed the box into his arms. Looking concerned she placed her hand on his cheek.

"I have kept this secret for my family ever since I was sixteen, my father before me. I want to tell you, I should tell you… but…" His breathing was ragged again. Olivia understood, something I wasn't good at.

"Shh," she put her finger on his lips. "I don't want to know."

"But, Olivia…" She shook her head.

"If it puts you at risk, I don't want to know." Carefully, she took the box out of his hands and put it in the cupboard. With gentle fingers she pushed it in deep and then looked back to the Baron. A look of elation and relief flooded his face. Taking her in his arms, he swung her into a dip and grinned.

"I love you, Olivia." He whispered as he leaned down to kiss her.

"I love you," I answered back.

I opened my eyes and was frightened to see Holmes' face near mine.

"I was not aware of your feelings for me, Miss Castillo." Stunned, I took stock of my position. Holmes was holding me in a dip, much like the Baron had. With his face so close to mine I could smell the wine on his breath. Quickly, I stood up and pushed myself away. Watson was dumbstruck into silence, with his mouth hanging open slightly. Uh… awkward.

"Do you want to-," I cut Holmes off.

"No!"

"Is there some-," Watson started.

"No," I told him too. I silently made my way toward the wall and put my hands on the wood.

What did the two of them think of me? They must think I'm certifiably insane, out of my mind, hit my head harder than they thought. To suddenly wake up from a trance like state in the arms of a strange man who is not in fact your husband is a disconcerting feeling to say the least. Did I just use 'disconcerting' in a sentence? Oh no.

Quickly, I slid the panel with the emblem open and saw the box sitting there, slightly dustier than in the memory but very much still the same. The small painting was still breathtaking. Only the size of a small index card, I could not believe the amount of detail that was in the sunset.

"What's that?" Watson asked, coming over to have a look.

"Oho! Looks to me like we have the beginnings of a lead. You remembered something, didn't you?" Holmes asked, already pressing his face close to it.

"I don't know what it holds or how to open it." I said, sadly. "All I know is that it holds a great secret. Something that meant a great deal to him." I added as I trailed my hand across the lid.

"Have you ever seen anything so curious?" Holmes asked. "May I?" He gestured to the box.

"By all means," I handed it to him. With the dexterity of a jeweler he felt around the box and discovered something.

"There, do you see them?" It held the back end of the box towards me. His finger pointed to six little holes. So that's where all those keys went.

"Here, let me show you something." I turned to front of the box toward him and opened it up. The jingle of the keys caught his attention and he took great notice. There were many keys, each one with a different letter of the alphabet.

"Twenty-six keys, six holes, one hundred fifty six possibilities." Holmes breathed, to himself yet both Watson and I heard it.

"Do you know the word that it forms?" Watson asked. Wracking my brain I hoped for another of Olivia's memories to come flying to the surface. I even closed my eyes. Nothing came. Letting out a sigh of disappointment, I looked Watson in the eye.

"Sorry, no." Then I remembered something else in the memory. "But I think I might have another one of these."

"Well, my dear girl, lead the way." Holmes said eager to get a lead. I looked to the open door leading to the salon, but my feet took me to a door on the right.

"Where are you going?" Watson asked. I didn't answer as I looked at the door. There was something written in Spanish and the name Olivia written in it.

"To my room," I answered.

"How do you lock this up?" Holmes asked, trying to pull the door closed. I walked over and pulled the necklace out of the lock. With a quick push I clicked the rose back into place and the door began to close and lock itself. Taking the necklace, I put it inside the rose design on the other door. It opened easily to show a beautifully furnished bedroom. The three of us walked through and I shut the door behind us. With a giant shoonk we heard the door lock behind us. The bed was magnificently made with fluffy pillows underneath an airy canopy. Two vintage dressers stood on either side of the bed, the dark wood matching the dull green and grey color scheme. It was awesome, for me at least. Turning around, I caught a reflection of myself in a tall gilded mirror that stood beside a closet entry. My face looked the same as always but my eyes were much brighter (probably because of less drinking and no 'hooker make up' as Professor Langley used to call it) and my skin was paler. For months I'd been going with a kind of punk rock look with my hair. I'd kept it my natural blond but I put in highlights of pink, blue, and red then kept my hair stick straight (mostly because it didn't do anything else but lay flat). But my reflection rebounded a hairstyle full of perfect blond curls all held in a bunch at the back of my head. Surrounding my face were thin tiny ringlets, accenting the 1870's look. I smiled at the slightly ruffled look my head had to it. The dress I was in was tightly laced, giving me a waist that was pretty nice. A smile fluttered across my face. I couldn't have looked this good if I tried back in 2009, or whenever it is.

"Miss Castillo?" Watson's voice trailed back to me.

"Yes?" I asked, turning back to them.

"You said there was another box like this one," He held up the box we'd found in the wooden room.

"Oh, of course." I looked around and saw a door to what looked like a closet to me. The smell of wood blasted me as I walked in. I swear, if there were ever a fire this place would be a smoldering pile within minutes. Within the closet I saw a stack of shelves and lo and behold there was an identical box sitting wide open. I picked it up and brought it out.

"It's already open," Holmes observed. My hand felt around the back and found the six slots filled with six keys. Turning it around, I showed this to the other two.

"What do they say?" Watson asked. The keys were all turned horizontally so the letters were visible and the message was clear.

M Y L O V E

Aw, the guy had been so romantic, that's a fact. There we go, solved it. Now let's open this thing and see what the man had been hiding.

"So that's it then, we'll just try the same letters and see if it opens?" I asked eagerly.

"No," Said Holmes. Excuse me? He makes no sense sometimes.

"Say what?" I said. Watson gave me a strange look. I need to keep my modern tongue in my head, remember the time period.

"These boxes are not identical." Well yeah, one has a painting on it; the other has some wood inlaid thing-a-majig on it, so I guess they don't 'look alike'. Other than that they seem structurally identical. It is the 19th century; I'll differ to the ever dominant man. Holmes ran his hand over the jewelry box. He had a look of pure concentration on his face. He flicked the bottom and listened carefully, even though it was hanging open. The man's thoughts are truly dizzying to consider.

"This box has a fail safe. If not opened correctly with the right keys the tumblers will move out of place, sealing it until you right it with the same keys you messed it up with. Use the wrong word and the entire lock is off. I've seen a lock like these in an old antique shop." He explained. Oh really? You just happened across a lock that looked strange and now you look at these boxes which were hand made and tell me they are the same lock? Thank you, once again Mr. Holmes for your nonsensical conclusions. That's what you get in 19th century literature: coincidence and irony. Perfect.

"Are you sure?" I asked, hoping to convince him otherwise, "I mean it could be-," I was cut short as the window behind shattered, allowing a bullet to fly through the air and lodge itself snugly into the bedpost.

"Hit the deck!" I screamed as I heard another gun shot rip through the air outside.

"What?" Watson asked, "What do you mean?" He yelled, now confused and stressed. It's an American Navy term, Watson, which means get your big head out of the gun's cross hairs. Instead of voicing my opinions I reached my hand up his leg and pulled him down as hard as I could. Holmes was already at the door, ripping it open.

"Out here!" He yelled. Hold on, Mister, I want to see who's trying to kill us just now. As Watson ran to the door I made a mad dash for the window to see who was firing. Looking out I saw the gravel road of the grounds of the estate passing immediately underneath the window and the gates just beyond it. I caught sight of a man, shrouded by a black cloak, reloading what looked to be one heck of a rifle. He looked up to the window and our eyes connected for a minute. I was struck for a moment, Olivia's memory flaring up. I knew the face, but from where?

Suddenly I felt a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around me and lift me off the ground. Scared, I flailed and thrashed and screamed when a bullet shot through where I had been standing. Shocked, I stopped struggling for a moment. I noticed it was only Holmes who had been holding me and pulling me away from what could have been my death. But instead of letting me go, he squeezed tighter and hefted me over his shoulder. Hey! I can run for myself, thank you very much.

"Put me down, you scoundrel." I yelled as he and Watson barreled down the hallway. With me, the whole time, flung over Holmes's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Well this is degrading, now isn't it?

"Pull forward!" Holmes screamed to Watson as the walls began to erupt with gunfire. I couldn't see what Watson had done, but Holmes kept on running. I ducked and screamed some more as shrapnel began to rain down on me. I heard a yell from farther off. Looking up I saw Watson slide down the Grand Banister and run into a group of poorly dressed men who looked pretty dirty and merciless to me. Using his walking stick, he effectively knocked some of them out and was still punching the daylights out of a couple others. I felt Holmes come around to the stairs and begin to descend. That was when I felt the first blow. Holmes was whacking people while carrying me too. I started to whack at him.

"Put… me… down! I can fight." I yelled. Of course he didn't listen to me. We got to the bottom of the stairs and I saw a few more thugs coming in from the back.

"Holmes, look out!" I screamed. He whirled around, nearly cracking my head on one of the light sconces, and ran to a corner. With a grunt he hefted me up and put me back on the ground.

"Ooof!" I frowned at him.

"Stay here, milady." He left me there and quickly dispatched all the thugs coming at him. The whole fight ended up with Holmes and Watson side by side, and using each other as extra hands. I'd never seen a fighting style quite like it. Watson hit one's temple and Holmes nearly choked another. I quickly stood to go and help but all too soon Watson and Holmes had it taken care of. What? Fine! Don't let me have any fun. I couldn't help but frown.

"And now, Baroness, I suggest we leave the premises." Watson said matter-of-factly as he grabbed my elbow and rushed me out of there. We hurried to where their carriage was parked and Watson pushed me in as Holmes took the reins. I felt the jerk of the horses starting up and nearly fell on top of Watson.

"Here let me look at you," He said. I could feel my eyes widen. Whoa, whoa, whoa, there red light, no, we're not going there.

"Uh, no thanks, I'm fine."

"No, you're not, hold still." He came closer and reached for my face. No, I said stop. I started to move away, but inside a carriage there ain't much space.

"Really, no, I'm fine." I started to push him away.

"I… said… hold still." He finally forced me down and held my face straight. His fingers brushed the side of my face and it erupted in pain.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow," I repeated. He smirked.

"Not so fine, now, are you?" He gently turned my face and began to examine.

Holmes had to ruin it. The carriage suddenly took at sharp turn and I heard a gun shot. The bullet ripped through the window and quickly exited the other. Holmes pulled another crazy move which forced me back, in the process hitting my head. My vision began to blur as the pain blossomed. With my luck he pulled another move and I lost my seating and fell on the floor of the carriage. Luckily, there was something soft to cushion my landing. My head felt so heavy and it hurt so bad I just laid my head down.