My Adventure with Sherlock Holmes

I don't own Watson or Holmes only Sarah. This my very first fanfiction. Please R&R! Thynk you all!

Chapter 1

So it begun

It was a great day. OK, I have a lot of luggage. Really. I went to my apartment. I lived there with two friends of mine. It was the second week of the college. I was studying communication. Since high school I had the dream to be journalist.

It was September and the sun was shining but I saw dark clouds on the sky. I didn't have a boyfriend but I was happy. Somebody hurt me very much and I didn't want it to happen again.

So I concentrated to my studies, my favorite music (well punk and rock music, especially U2, and some electronic too) and my books. Actually crime novels. Agatha Christie's Poirot and Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes. I like the films based upon the books too. Once I made a test and the result was that I could be a good detective. I never wanted to join the police but I like investigating. That's why I like crime novels so much.

I hurried towards my apartment with my luggage because it began to darkening. The wind was blowing and I saw flashes of lighting on the sky. I was always a bit afraid from the thunderbolt but now, out there on the street alone it was more than frightening. I saw my apartment. I knew that only few minutes and I'll be there. And then crash, light and darkness.

My first memory is the horrible headache. I didn't want to open my eyes because I knew that out there is light and light means more headaches. I thought I am in a hospital. Thunder bolt. Great. Fortunately I can think. That's good. No brain damage. I hope. I heard voices but I couldn't understand it. What kind of language is this? It's so unfamiliar. The people around me whispered so I had to concentrate. It was English but very strange English. It was complicated (that's why I couldn't quote every word) so I couldn't understand everything but I knew that they spoke about me.

OK, I have to open my eyes because the situation is freaky.

It hurt and I cursed in Hungarian. I came from Hungary so it was obvious. Not for the two people by my bed. Two men were standing there and were looking at me with wide eyes. One was tall and thick, his eyes were sharp and his look was questioning. The other was less tall, a bit rounder, he had a moustache and he smiled at me. I was scared.

- Where am I and where are my glasses? - I asked.

- You speak our language? That's good! – The man with moustache answered and gave me my glasses. – Don't' be afraid. We want to help you.

- Yeah that's what every pervert would say. So who are you?

- My name is Doctor John Watson and he is my friend, Sherlock Holmes. And who are you Miss?

- If you are Doctor Watson and he is Mr. Holmes then I am Saint Joan.

- The men gave me a black look.

- I'm afraid that I don't understand you, miss. – "Watson" said.

- If I were you I would say it too. Look, it's a perfect Victorian room. You speak Victorian English and you are dressed like Watson and Holmes. But you know Watson and Holmes are fictional characters. I was bolted by a thunder but I'm not crazy. So where is the camera and why am I not in a hospital?

- We find you in the side street. You were unconscious and in strange clothes with a lot of luggage. We didn't want to bring you in a hospital. We couldn't leave you there so we brought you here. I'm a medical doctor so I thought that I can help you.

"Watson" was looking at me. He was friendly. If he is an actor, he is very good. Holmes was sitting in a wing-chair next to the window which was across to my bed. He didn't say a word. He shut his eyes and was listening to our conversation with "the doctor". It was a great acting, too.

- And where is "here"?

- Baker Street 221B.

It was the point when I began laughing. I was laughing so hard that I had to lie down on the bed. Tears had fallen from my eyes. After one or two minutes I could stop it. "The great detective" and "his partner" were looking at me like I was crazy. They thought that I am crazy. I sat up.

-Sorry but you are not real. As I sad you are fictional characters.

- We are real. – That was the first time when "Holmes" spoke to me.

- You are real but the characters you play are not. Oh, God. What's the date?

- It is September 28, 1886. – The "great detective" was cold and emotionless.

- Uh-uh. So I traveled 120 years back in time. No it's not time traveling because you didn't exist in the past… Oh, I know: I'm in another world or dimension. When Stargate meets Conan Doyle. Great.

- I do not understand you fully but I can show you something. Come here! – said "Holmes" and he showed out the window.

I got out of bed. I wear my clothes: jeans with pink a top. My sneakers were next to the bed and my jacket was on a chair. When I stood up I have to grab the edge of the night stand. Watson came to me and grabbed my other hand.

- I think it is too early to get up.

- No, I'm fine, thank you. I want to see it.

He helped me to walk to the window. What I saw was beyond belief. Carriages with horses, young boys selling newspapers, people in clothes from the nineteenth century. I leaned against the window frame and didn't know what to do. It was a monumental prank or I was really there. September 28, 1886. And then came the black-out.