OK I got the idea for this during history when my teacher was talking about monks losing there Homes (best not to ask) and i was busy daydreaming about Sherlock Holmes. Wanted to start writing it in the lesson but my history teacher hates me so i had to wait until lunchtime. *crys* Oh well it's done now and i wish to say a great big thank you to faith Robin who has added me to their faves and author alert! yay! your the first person to add me to alert and so i salute you! *salutes* anyway onwards!
We started running when they set fire to our lodgings at Baker street. Holmes had been planning our escape before then but that was the last straw. For the next three years we were to be shot at more times than I can count, thrown in a river twice, pushed overboard once, kidnapped three times, wait worried in a hospital ten times, lose each other eight times and never stay in one place for more than two consecutive nights.
Finally in the south of Switzerland we outwitted Professor Moriarty and Colonel Moran and laughed in relief as they were taken away by the local police. As the police cart disappeared into the distance, Holmes turned to me and said
"Lets go home Watson" I could see the exhaustion and weariness in his normally bright and sharp grey eyes, but something still made me question his statement as he turned and walked off.
I thought about all the streets and alleyways we'd slept in, all the doorways we'd found shelter under when storms raged and howled around us making us think that this dreaded feeling of not being safe anywhere would never leave. All the churches that had taken us in as one or the other of us had near collapsed from exhaustion and there was nowhere else to turn. Finally I thought of the fact that this had taken place over about six countries.
"Holmes?" I called; he stopped walking and turned to face me
"Yes, Watson?"
"Where is home?"