A/N: My full length stories are back! As always, all canon characters, while public domain, were created by ACD and not by me.

This is the sequel to The Singular Affair of the Announced Crime, which I recommend reading first in order to catch the allusions. However, this is a stand-alone mystery.

The Curious Case of the Riders Of Apocalypse

Chapter 1

After the successful conclusion of the Eduardo-Mile-Case, my good friend Mr Sherlock Holmes was in dire need for rest.

Although he relished the habit of lying listlessly on the sofa of our common sitting room, it was evident to me that after three weeks of idleness, the sombre fogs of London did not agree well with his health and recovery. It was therefore that I was only too glad to accept an offer by Mrs Hudson, who informed me that her niece, who bore her maiden name, Duncan, was eager to meet the famous Sherlock Holmes and had long since invited us both. Our landlady had not mentioned this offer previously since both Miss Marian Duncan and her fiancé Mr Charles Hood lived in a small cluster of buildings that did not quite deserve to be called village, by the name of Irby, and Mrs Hudson knew well that such idyllic environments held little appeal for my friend.

I wholeheartedly agreed that it was perfect for another week of undisturbed recreation and therefore decided to accept the invitation for both of us without consulting Holmes first, for I knew well that, given the choice, he would decline. As it were, his distaste was still evident as we were already bundled up in the carriage that would take us from Nottingham station to Irby. His barely mended right arm, which had been badly broken during the last case and had condemned him to inaction for the most part, and his shattered nerves aside, he suffered from the darkest depression I had seen of. It deprived him of any energy he might have possessed, and truth be told, it was quite evident even to a casual observer that he wasn't well. His face was pale, his skin colourless, almost translucent. Dark circles below his eyes spoke of nights with little or no sleep and the eyes themselves would not open fully since the conclusion of the case, and lacked their usual brightness.

His mood was so vile that I had even sent a wire to Irby to warn Miss Duncan. Her answering telegram had been most charming and humorous and she renewed her invitation.

During the journey, Holmes was huddled up in one corner of the carriage, wrapped in a thick blanket Mrs Hudson had forced upon him. His chin had sunk onto his chest and he was apparently asleep, but I knew better. If sleep came at all those days, it was not in the least undisturbed.

"Really, Holmes, you have my sympathy for how you feel, and I do understand, but you must behave yourself in front of Mrs Hudson's niece. She may not be as long-suffering as her aunt. It's very kind of her to invite us."

Holmes snorted in dismay. "She will not see much of me, anyhow, and both you and Mrs Hudson have moved mountains to convinced me that she was – how was the phrase? – 'most charming'?"

"As a matter of fact, Mrs Hudson merely said that she was the best cook in the family."

Holmes glared at me and lapsed into silence again.

Marian Duncan awaited us in the front parlour of her home, a small but roomy house situated right in the middle of a well-tended garden which would not pale in comparison with Mrs Hudson's own pride and joy. The house itself was covered with ivy, but the windows were kept perfectly clean and I caught a glimpse of bright blue shutters between the dark leaves. The wooden front door and the garden fence were both painted in a joyous red. It was a welcoming home in every respect.

"Dr Watson and Mr Holmes, I presume. Welcome to Irby, gentlemen." She offered her hand in a very self-confident fashion, and I shook it instead of kissing it, as she had apparently intended, for she smiled brightly and her eyes twinkled merely as she turned to nod to my friend, who, to my surprise, returned the greeting with sincerity. Apparently, Miss Duncan knew instinctively how to deal with the singular detective, as did her aunt. "My name is Marian Duncan, as you do no doubt know, but Marian really will suffice. Does my humble home stand up to your scrutiny, Mr Holmes?"

She had noticed Holmes's look which had travelled on after a fleeting glance on her face to examine the parlour and the building. He did not answer but strolled away, down the garden path which led behind the house. I was about to reprimand him when Marian stopped me. "It's fine. I believe he will find my home to his liking. It's quiet, and you will have the upper floor to yourselves. There are two bedrooms waiting for you, and the fire in the sitting room has been lit. I have turned it into a library and music room for myself, I hope you won't mind my piano."

"Holmes plays the violin himself."

"Yes, of course. Here, let me help you with you luggage, John – may I?"

"Certainly! I'd be delighted." As commonplace my Christian name was, I secretly relished it when someone addressed me with it. Holmes would never do that, and I had never dared to offer such a familiarity which was apparently abhorrent to his cold and reasoning mind, however close our friendship had become over the years. Marian Duncan was clearly a very independent and self-confident woman who would not ascribe any false sense of romance to such a habit, aside from the fact that she was engaged.

I handed her Holmes's violin case just as the man himself ventured back from his stroll.

"Is my humble home to your liking, Sherlock?" Marian asked, and I winced inwardly as Holmes's face clouded instantly, his brow furrowed. His voice was almost a growl as he answered.

"I would much prefer 'Mr Holmes', Miss Duncan."

The smile had been wiped from her face, but now she nodded with sincerity. "Of course. I am sorry. Well, shall we?"

She showed us up the stairs and into her music room after pointing out the two bedrooms to us. They were hard to miss, for they presented the only doors on the upper floor. With the advice to get settled, she left us to ourselves, announcing that tea was to be served in half an hour.

I greatly appreciated the fact that she took no offence to Holmes's rude behaviour, which only served to deepen my respect for Mrs Hudson's niece. Her home was furnished with the greatest care and love. Each piece of the furniture matched the next, and all were of a distinct, yet very quiet elegance, much like our host herself. The music room exuded a homely aroma of wood, fire and freshly baked cake.

Holmes, taciturn and introspective, made an effort out of placing his violin case on the piano with geometrical precision before he darted out of the room and threw open both bedroom doors. After a moment of indecision, he walked into the one facing away from the road.

I had followed him slowly, and could tell even from my place by the door where I deposited Holmes's luggage that the window commanded a superb view of the countryside. I was certain that Holmes had no regard for such rural beauty, but all the same it was evident from his behaviour that he decided to use this room.

"I take it you will stay in this one?"

"If you don't mind," he said devoid of the humour the phrase would have required.

"I don't. Get settled, and then join me for a piece of delicious cake and tea, and I will leave you alone after that."

He tested the bed, rearranging the fluffy cushions and folding the blanket he had brought. "Very well."

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, and would like to ask you to leave a review - digital cookies go to anyone who does.

Sadly, updates will be sporadic. But I'm not forgetting!