Hello all! I'm going to try to write the original Holmes now because, well, it'll be a challenge, won't it? I'm basing the appearance and attitude of my Holmes off of a combination of my own imagination, Conan Doyle's writings, and of course, some of my favorite Sherlocks. These would be (in no particular order): Benedict Cumberbatch (Sherlock), Ronald Howard (Sheldon Reynolds' Sherlock Holmes), Basil Rathborne (Sherlock Holmes), and Jason Gray-Standford (voice actor of Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century, for lack of a better identifier). My Watson is based purely off of the strong character that Doyle wrote, so I hope I do him some justice! (I hope I do BOTH of them justice!) Please enjoy! -SH

Prelude

"Holmes! Holmes, are you all right?"

I sighed, turning away from my window for a moment. Watson was only worried about me, and I could understand it. But that didn't mean I was going to indulge him. I needed to think. "I'm fine, Watson. I'm just very tired."

"I understand, Holmes. I'll be outside if you need anything."

I thought about asking for a cup of tea. I was tired, to be sure, but I couldn't sleep. There was altogether too much on my mind. "Thank you, Watson. I shall call if I need you." Where would I be without my Boswell, after all? Still in that treacherous place, I suspect.

I took off my jacket and shoes and laid flat on my bed. I had lit my pipe some time ago, and was smoking it now, the calming taste of the tobacco a relief to my nerves. I faintly heard Watson outside, shuffling around, perhaps making tea or something, preparing for his long ritual. The fact that he was there comforted me, and I was quite relieved. He was capable with a gun, having been a soldier, and could defend our flat, should such a situation arise.

I closed my eyes for a long moment, envisioning the horrors I'd experienced of late. If I had not stumbled upon that old service elevator, and if Watson and the police had not been there to aid in my escape, I would have been captured and severely punished. But there is a factor of risk in going undercover, and I knew what would ensue. Although several elements were unexpected they were, of course, logical. I could say little else for them.

Morning surprised me, and it turns out that I had dozed, much against my will. I came out of my room to find Watson already sitting down to breakfast at our little table, a silver platter with the cover on and a place set out for me before him. It seemed as if he was almost finished. I crossed to the settee and lay down upon it, closing my eyes and folding my hands across my chest.

"Good morning, Holmes," Watson greeted cheerily. "Did you sleep well?"

"If against my will," I replied, settling my neck upon a pillow. "I see you are also rested."

"I did take a repose, Holmes." He admitted. "But I would have heard you if you'd called!"

I chuckled. "No doubt. Your hearing is impeccable."

"Would you care for breakfast, Holmes?" Watson offered.

I had to think a minute. Oftentimes, I broke my fast shortly after waking up, if something interesting did not require my full attention. Considering also that I'd neglected to eat anything last night, and my fare had been poor in days previous, I was indeed quite famished. I got up from the settee and sat before my plate. Watson had served me during my deliberation, and a few thick slices of ham and four delicious eggs now sat before me. Watson had retreated into the morning paper.

I picked up an egg upon my fork and put it into my mouth, chewing and swallowing slowly. The sheer eagerness I felt at tasting proper food once more only proved my hunger. However, when I swallowed, the food stuck in my throat, and I had to wash it down with tea. No, I was far too shaken still to eat, and I had to settle for tea until my nerves were properly calmed. I finished my tea and lay back down on the settee, closing my eyes once more.

Watson put down his paper. "Are you feeling all right, Holmes?" He asked with great concern.

"Truthfully, no," I replied solemnly. "This business has shaken me, Watson."

"Well, you are safe now, at any rate." Watson replied calmly. "Inspector Lestrade and the other policemen have seen to the arrests of those terrible people."

Yes, I thought, but what of the other poor souls? They must be far more shaken than I. Although I admit I care very little for the human condition, since I had felt the pain of those around me firsthand, I thought of myself with more of a soul now. At least for the time being, while my logical mind was overwhelmed with fear and emotion. "I think that I should like to tell you about it, Watson," I said quite suddenly; so much so that my friend jumped. "Although I think you had better leave this out of your chronicles of my adventures."

"I am ready to listen, Holmes," Watson replied.

I took a breath and slowly began.