"Good God, John. Another movie! Why?"
John Watson put another log on the fire. "You know why," he said. "With the furnace broken, both of our bedrooms will be much too cold to sleep in. If we huddle together next to the fire, then we should be able to make it until morning. When Mrs Hudson comes back from visiting her sister, she'll be able to get this fixed."
"Alright, I acknowledge that it is logical for us to conserve energy in this fashion, but why in heaven's name must you subject me to these horrible films? First we watch a space fantasy where some overblown villain in a black mask terrorizes shiny robots, now you plan to inflict some horrid historical romance on me."
"It's Pride and Prejudice, Sherlock. Didn't you read it in school?"
"If I did, I deleted it. The Napoleonic era is somewhat interesting for its naval battles, but this story is set entirely on land in a couple of boring country houses. What is the point?"
"The point is that you are woefully uninformed on matters of popular culture."
"Au contraire, John. I know all about popular myths. Do you know what to do in case of a zombie apocalypse?"
"Yes, I'd change the channel. Now budge over."
Sherlock stretched out on the couch placing his hand over his eyes like a heroine from a penny dreadful. John smirked lifting Sherlock's feet and replacing them on his lap before carefully tucking the blankets around them.
"It's cold, John."
"Take another sip of the scotch, then," John said passing a full tumbler of alcohol to Sherlock.
"I fear that no amount of scotch will make this sort of movie tolerable." He took a sip and then passed the glass back to John with a sigh. Then he lifted the disk case with a languid hand, and sat up with a gasp.
John turned toward him. "What is it Sherlock?"
"I just looked at the cover, John. Did you know that this story is SIX HOURS LONG!"
John just laughed, reaching over Sherlock's feet to pick up the bowl of popcorn before turning on the telly with the remote.
The music started and as the screen filled with images of embroidery and wedding dresses, Sherlock covered his head and moaned. It wasn't long before he was fast asleep.
Sherlock yawned and rose from the couch to find that he was in a room like and unlike his Baker street flat. The fireplace was there, and the skull, but the chairs were of an older style, as if someone had switched out all the furniture as a joke. He turned to where John's chair should be, but instead of John he saw Lestrade.
"Gilford! What is going on. Where's John?"
"Who? Why Sherlock, you are a such a character. You know that my name is Gavin Bingly."
"Bingly? Good God, what are you on about now, Lestrade?"
"Well, I like that name much better than Gilford. Lestrade it is. And what shall I call you then?"
"Call me by my name, Sherlock Holmes."
"So good of you to bring that up, Sherlock. I did make the down payment on the homes in the country. I plan to go out directly. Will you come?"
"Come where?"
"To the country! Weren't you listening? There's a dance tonight, in fact. I plan to go, and you're coming with me. I insist."
"Absolutely not."
.
Without understanding how he arrived there, Sherlock found himself and Lestrade standing on the edge of a great hall. In front of them, people in Regency dress pranced across the floor. On the other side of Lestrade, Sally Donovan stood in a copper colored dress with an absurd feather in her hair.
"Isn't she beautiful?" Lestrade said.
"Who?" Sherlock said looking out into the crowd.
"That girl there, Molly Hudson."
Molly danced across the floor holding an older man's hand. She stepped on his foot, and then apologized profusely.
"She looks ordinary to me. In fact, everyone here is beyond boring. There isn't one among them with any distinction at all."
"Well I think she's charming. The dance is over. Why look! I think that she and her mother are coming over."
Lestrade and Sherlock turned to face them as they approached. Mrs Hudson wearing an enormous dress in an absurd shade of Cerise stood beside Molly. Her hair bound in an elaborate braid.
"Why Mr Bingly, so glad of you to come to our little dance. Might I introduce you to my daughter, Molly?"
Lestrade took her hand and Molly blushed. "Very pleased to meet you, sir."
"And I you. Might I introduce my good friend, Mr. Sherlock Darcy."
"How good to meet you," Molly said smiling.
Mrs Hudson looked up at said, "Mr Darcy, do you like to dance?"
"Yes, occasionally."
"Then I hope that you will dance on this occasion."
"Ah, no."
"Why not?" Lestrade asked him.
"In this place, among these people? It would be insupportable."
"Well!" Mrs Hudson cried insulted, "I find the country people to be much better than those in the city. They are nicer for one!"
"Mother, don't make yourself unwell. You know talking loud disagrees with your nerves."
"And who are you?" Sherlock asked the blond-haired young man dressed in breeches and a fine brown coat.
"Why this is my son, John. He's studying to become a doctor."
"Actually I plan to become a soldier as soon as I raise the money to pay for my commission. I hear that there is a great need for men with medical knowledge on the battlefield."
"Come, John. No need to bother Mr Darcy with your talk. A man as distinguished as he doesn't have time for country people like us." She walked away in a huff and Molly and John followed her.
"The nerve of some people," Sally said to Lestrade with a shake of her fan.
Sherlock frowned, but his eyes turned toward John for the rest of the night.
.
The next morning, Sherlock was surprised to find Molly Hudson sitting at the table with Sally. She was soaking wet and wrapped up in a blanket looking frightened while Sally Bingly interrogated her.
"And where exactly does your uncle live in London?"
"He lives in Cheapside."
"Cheapside?"
"Yes, he is an attorney. Can you please excuse me, I feel unwell," she said and fell out of her chair and onto the ground.
Sherlock rushed to her side and put two fingers on her neck. "She's alive."
"Why of course she's alive," Sally said before clapping her hands for the butler. "Please get Miss Hudson a room and then send word to her family that she is unwell.
That afternoon, Sherlock looked out of the door through a drizzling rain and saw deep blue eyes looking back at him. He jumped in shock as John Hudson walked up to stand on the step right in front of him. He was in a long dark coat carrying a black bag with mud coating his brown boots. "John!" Sherlock said.
"Good day," John said raising an eyebrown and frowning. "People usually call me by my surname Mr Darcy. However, I suppose that you can call me John if you allow me to call you Sherlock."
"Alright. That would be fine." Sherlock said stepping back into the room to allow John to walk in off of the step. He dripped a bit on the floor.
"That's all fine with you then?"
"Yes, fine."
"Well then, Sherlock."
"Well, what?"
"Is my sister here?"
"Molly?"
"Yes."
"Yes, she's here."
"Then... could you take me to see her?"
"Ah! Yes of course. Right this way."
Sherlock led John up through the house and up the steps to the room where Molly was sleeping. John pushed his way through and rushed to his sister's side placing his hands on her forehead to gauge her fever. Sherlock watched him work, fascinated, until he turned toward him with a glare.
"Sherlock, do you think that you can give us a bit of privacy?"
"Oh, of course," he said backing out of the room. He walked back down the stairs to find Lestrade and Sally playing cards.
"Oh Mr. Darcy, you must come play cards with us."
"Must I?"
"Yes, you must."
"No, I have an experiment to work on."
"An experiment? You can't possibly prefer that over cards, it's freakish!"
"Sally, language," Lestrade said.
Sally turned away then and lay down a card. "Did you see that John Hudson's boots? Six inches deep in mud. Can you imagine? Trudging through the fields because his sister has a cold!"
"I thought that it was very considerate of him," Lestrade said smiling.
Sally huffed, "Well, you would."
Sherlock turned at the sound of a strong marching step from the hallway. John Hudson entered the room. He walked up to Lestrade and bowed his head briefly. "Mr Bingly."
"Mr Hudson. And how is your lovely sister?"
"Not well. She has a fever. I'm afraid that moving her through the weather might elevate it to pneumonia. Would you mind if she stayed here a few nights longer?"
"Mind? of course not. I am glad to be of service to you and your sister. You must stay to nurse her."
"I wouldn't want to impose."
"Nonsense. Write a letter to your family, and I'll send my man to fetch some spare clothes for you. You can have the room next to your sister until she is well enough to go home."
"Yes, well, thank you Mr. Bingly. I'll do that at once," he said before walking out of the room.
"Are we to be overrun with Hudsons? Surely you have something scathing to say about the situation, Mr Darcy."
Sherlock looked up, but found that he had nothing that he wanted to say out loud.
.
Sherlock looked for John Hudson at dinner but he begged leave to eat his with his sister only coming down afterward when they were in the study.
He walked over to examine the library shelves before selecting a book on anatomy and setting down to read. Sherlock toed the fire, glancing at John Hudson out of the corner of his eye.
"Mr Hudson, would you care to play a game of cards?"
"Cards? No thank you. I'd rather read."
"Preferring reading to cards. How singular."
"Why Mr Hudson, how good are you at shooting?" Lestrade asked, "When the weather clears, I was considering going out for some sport."
"I hold my own," John said.
"Really, I heard that you are the best shot in the county?"
"Best shot in the county? Hardly a recommendation," Sherlock mocked.
"I wouldn't brag if I were you, Mr 'scratches the back of his head with the gun barrel.' "
"What?" John said, shocked.
"He exaggerates," Sherlock replied.
Lestrade barked out a laugh. "No, I don't."
"Well, I have my sister to take care of."
"I have a sister too," Mr Bingley said. "And Sherlock has a brother."
"Don't remind me," Sherlock groaned.
"What is wrong with Lord Mycroft DeBurg?"
"Just everything...I think him quite the villain."
"You shouldn't say such things," John said. "Haven't you heard the saying ' To think it is to make it happen'?"
"Uh ...no. I've never heard the saying. Did you just make it up?"
Just then there was a woman's scream. John rose to his feet, his nose rising like a hound on the scent before he ran out the door. Sherlock ran out after him only to find that the entire world had changed.
John was wearing a long white shirt over tight white pants. The halls had changed to futuristic white corridors and John was holding a large black pistol. Sherlock looked down to find that he wore a white shirt, tight with the top two buttons undone, which was fine, but the loose vest and black pants with a red stripe down the side were not his style.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"You know why we're here," John said. "We have to save the princess."
John ran down the hall and Sherlock followed. "Listen, I'm not here to save a princess. I thought that we were going to go shooting."
"We will be shooting if those guards see us. Look! This is the cell block that she's being held in."
A door whooshed open and John ran through. By the time that Sherlock had entered, John had shot down all of the guards and run down another corridor looking for the princess. "I think I've found her!" he said pushing a button so that the door opened.
A woman in a white dress with dark sculpted hair walked out of the room in black shoes with red high heels. She glared at the two of them. "You don't look like guards."
"We're not," John said. "We're here to rescue you."
Just then the door behind them opened and more guards in white armor came in. John turned and crouched pointing toward them, "So what exactly was your plan? Get me out and then get us all killed."
"Plan?" John said blankly. Both Sherlock and Princess Irene rolled their eyes.
"If you don't have a plan, then I'll have to get us out," she said. Sherlock watched as Irene walked down the corridor. She bent down toward the gun of a fallen guard.
"Vatican Cameos!" Sherlock yelled and John dropped to his chest, but Irene wasn't reaching for the gun. She was removing her wickedly sharp shoes.
Guns pointed at her as she entered the room. She smiled and dropped her dress.
"Now!" Sherlock said, and John shot the distracted guards.
"Good Job, boys," Irene said stepping over the bodies.
Sherlock removed his vest and handed it to princess Irene. "Wear this. It looks horrid on me."
Irene wrapped the vest around her, tightening it with the a belt, and somehow on her it looked like a tasteful sleeveless dress.
"You seem useful," Irene said. "If we are going to get the plans back we need someone to break the code."
"What code?"
Irene went over to the counter and pushed open a panel pulling out a sleek phone. She punched a few numbers and then showed the screen to Sherlock. It was full of a list of numbers and letters. Sherlock concentrated. He could see in his mind's eye a large round base the size of a moon with a concave surface that housed a gun big enough to destroy planets.
"You call this a cipher? A child could devise a more difficult encryption program."
"You know what it means?"
"It lists the time, date, and location of an attack. One simply need translate it into English notation." Sherlock took the phone and typed the correct coordinates in, showing them to the princess.
She smiled up at him. "Oh, I'll have you for breakfast with toast any day." They stared into each other's eyes with smiles that became increasingly more sharp until they were interrupted by John's scoff.
"Luke!" John said, "In case you're looking for baby names."
"Come on, let's get out of here," Irene said putting her shoes back on and leading the way out of the prison block. They rushed down a series of unmarked corridors. Sherlock fell behind. He found himself alone in a dark room full of large plastic boxes. He pushed a panel, and a round door opened. He entered a tube lit from all sides walking through it until he found himself in the lab at Baskerville. The room was stark white with cages covered in white cloths. He pulled off a cloth to reveal a baboon. It was dead.
All of the cages were filled with animals that were dead. He backed away from them turning as he heard the sound of a door opening.
A man in long black robes and a black mask walked in. The mechanical sound of his breathing loud in the mostly empty room. When he spoke, his voice was deep and mocking with barely controlled anger.
"A fragment of code, and months and years of careful planning were lost."
Sherlock wrinkled his brow as he stared at the man, "Mycroft, is that you?"
The man removed his mask to reveal Mycroft's stern face. "How quickly did you decipher that code for her, Sherlock. Did you take the full minute, or were you really eager to impress?"
"I think it was less than five seconds!" Princess Irene said entering from the corridor behind him. Her impossible heels clicking on the bare white floor.
Mycroft pulled out what looked like a compact umbrella, but when he pushed the button it turned into a red glowing sword. Irene's smile grew even more incandescent.
"I've more, loads more. Plans of secret military installations. The names of spies, all here in my phone, and only one way for you to stop me."
"Wait, I have some questions," Sherlock said.
"I'm done with you, Junior," Irene said walking past Sherlock. Sherlock stared as the two of them talked, and then he heard the sound of blaster fire through the open door.
"John!" he said before rushing out into the corridor. There was yelling. Sherlock ran toward the gunfire. He entered a chamber which stretched up and down as far as he could see. He could see John through a door on the opposite side, firing at something. He rushed across a bridge with no railings only to have the door shut before he could get there. He tried to turn back, but the bridge was moving, retreating back into the wall. He tried to balance on the rim, but soon he had nothing to stand on and he fell down into the pit. He stretched his arms out to the sides as he fell down... down...down until there was only darkness.
Then with a sudden cry he opened his eyes.
"Did you have a nice sleep?"
Sherlock looked up to find that he was at his Baker Street flat. The dim light of morning spilled through the window, and there was the faint sound of cars and bird song. The telly was off, and he was cuddling against John, the blankets piled around them both like the sides of a volcano.
"You look surprised. Did you dream?"
"Did I dream?" Sherlock sat up taking most of the blankets with him. John started to object, but then he sighed and rose to his feet.
"I'll put on some tea," he said picking his jacket up off of the nearby chair and putting it on as he walked into the kitchen.
Sherlock blinked. "John?"
"Yes Sherlock."
"Let's never do this again."
John laughed.
Sherlock shivered, then he pulled the covers tight around him as he waited for John to return.