Much thanks go to Wakizashi, for inspiring me to pull this idea out of my archives. After reading "Hinc Illae Lacrimae," I couldn't resist showing Holmes around my hometown.
Well then, the usual disclaimer...I don't own any of it, and I'll put the Great Detective back where he belongs as soon as I'm finished with him. And now...onward!
Prologue
Sherlock Holmes awoke with a violent start. Gasping for air, he looked about himself, attempting to discern exactly where he was, to no avail. He found himself surrounded by darkness, with pinholes of light here and there. A chest of some sort, he thought, and began piecing together his memory of the events which occurred directly before he'd fallen aslumber. It was in an abandoned warehouse...confrontation with his perpetrator and a gang of accomplices... Holmes felt a stab of pain shoot through his neck into his head. Resulting in a blow to the upper spine. Cautiously, he tested himself for paralysis, moving arms, legs, and fingers separately. No permanent damage. Realizing that the band he'd tried to overtake had knocked him out and locked him into the trunk, Holmes moved on to finding a way out of the small prison.
The wood was too heavy and thick to simply tear apart with a swift kick. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a straightpin. One thing Sherlock Holmes had learned in his many adventures was to always come prepared. He quickly set to work at picking the lock, and in minutes, the lid sprung open revealing surroundings much different to the warehouse he had expected.
Planks of wood rose up around him on all sides, and from the musty smell and gentle rocking, he realized he was onboard a ship, a small one at that. Probably held a crew of no more than five. He sniffed the air again. No smell of salt. He was obviously on a lake or river. Now to discover exactly which body of water this was, and in which course the vessel was heading. Brushing himself off, Holmes rose out of the trunk and pulled down the trapdoor leading to the upper deck.
There wasn't a soul onboard, save the detective himself. Bewildered, Holmes climbed the stairs and looked about, fighting back a wave of nausea at the sight that greeted his eyes. Directly in front of him, the captain lay tied to the wheel, in a state of advanced decomposition. The work of a plague, no doubt, he reasoned.
Holmes moved to the wheel, careful to avoid contact with the corpse. The course was set for somewhere along the west bank of the lower Michigan peninsula. Michigan! Holmes thought. How the blazes did this tiny vessel make it clear across the Atlantic!? But there was no time to ponder the matter over. The sky was changing, and fast.
Chapter 1
Of course,
I thought, huddling under an overhang of cement. As soon as I get here, it decides to rain. And not just rain. It was a full blown thunderstorm. We have a saying here in Michigan. "If you don't like the weather, wait 5 minutes." Today it looked like that was going to hold true.It was a beautiful Friday afternoon. I'd just gotten out of work, and on a whim, I had driven out to Pier Cove to take some photos and just be around the smell of the sea. I loved the smell of the water and the sound of the waves. And after nearly 26 years of living in West Michigan, I still never got around to getting a decent photo of a lake sunset. I'd photographed nearly everything else in my home city of Grand Rapids, though. Someone told me, when I was little, that I had a "photographer's eye." I took it as the greatest compliment I'd ever received and never left home without a camera since. But, it looked like today I wasn't going to get that sunset shot after all. Still...might be some nice lightening in the storm. I reached into my camerabag and grabbed a roll of 25 speed film to load into my SLR.
Just then, something caught my eye. Far off in the distance, I saw something crawling onto the beach, and gave a startled cry when I recognized its human form. I threw the camera over my shoulder and broke into a run.
As I neared the figure, I saw that it was a man, perhaps a few years older than me, and...oddly dressed, to say the least. I held out a hand to help him onto the shore.
"Are you ok?" I shouted over the crashing waves.
"My vessel was lost in the storm, and I believe I've a head injury," he replied in an thick, yet refined English accent. Poor guy, I thought. Goes on vacation and gets shipwrecked. I lifted him onto my shoulders and acted as a crutch for him as we made our way slowly to the park entrance. My car was parked not far away, as the beach was deserted when I arrived. I guess the locals just have some sort of sixth sense as to what the weather is up to.
When we reached my vehicle, a 94 Chevy Cavalier, the man let his arm drop from my shoulders and leaned against the car, staring in awe. "What sort of machine is this?" he asked in disbelief.
I laughed. "Yeah. Over here we have the steering wheel on the opposite side. Weird, huh?" I fumbled for the keys with my now frozen hands, but managed to unlock the doors. "Here, why don't you rest here for a bit, and then I can take you to wherever you're staying." I popped the trunk. "I think I have a blanket back here somewhere..."
The man continued to stare at the car, running his fingers over its exterior, with a look of intent concentration on his face. I laughed inwardly and wondered just how different British cars were to domestic vehicles. Opening the door for him, I said "Here. Get in before you get more soaked than you already are." I handed him the blanket. "Figured you were probably freezing." I shut up his door and ran around for my own. He wasn't the only one who was now chilled to the bone! I started the car, which brought an astonished gasp from my friend. What, our engines run different, too?!
He wrapped the cloth around him and laid his head back, then snapped it up again, which I'm sure he regretted doing by the wince of pain that crossed his face. "Forgive me," he apologized. "Here you are offering me your every kindness and I've yet to utter the slightest gratitude."
I smiled. "Hey, it's no big thing. Take it easy there," I cautioned. "You don't want to make any sudden moves if you have a concussion or something." I paused, then held out a hand. "Michele Hansen, by the way."
He took my hand and gave it gentle squeeze. "A pleasure, my lady. Sherlock Holmes."
I lost it at that instant.
"Oh my God!" I managed through bursts of laughter. "What, are you with some murder mystery...boat cruise or something?"
A look of bewilderment crossed my companion's face. "I beg your pardon?"
"You really think you're Sherlock Holmes!" I shrieked. "This is too much..."
The man's expression deepened. "I assure you, madam, I am every bit as confused about this situation as you...appear to be." He paused. "And I am, indeed, who I claim to be. Why does that seem so unbelievable to you?"
"Oh, I don't know..." I replied, calming down. Slightly. "Maybe because Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character! And if he was real, he'd be close to a hundred and fifty about now!"
My friend's expression turned to one of shocked terror. "One hundred and fifty..." he murmured. "But I'm barely thirty." He looked up into my eyes in such a convincing way that I'd swear his emotion was genuine if I didn't know that his story was impossible. "What, pray, is today's date?"
"August 9. 2002."
"That means I would have traveled forward in time more than a hundred years! But I suppose it would explain this." He gestured to his surroundings.
I sighed inwardly. My dear Sherlock wasn't going to drop this story anytime soon. I decided to humor him. "Well, now that we've determined that you're not only on vacation from your home city, but your time period as well, where do you suggest we go?" The rain was letting up, and I was getting tired of sitting in the parking lot. "Do you have a hotel or something I can take you to?"
Holmes looked off into the distance as if in deep thought. Feeling my gaze on him, apparently, he sprang back to life. "Hotel? No" He paused. "My dear, the very storm that left you huddled below that ledge, caused my vessel to capsize."
Of course. And if he keeps up the Sherlock Holmes bit, the only room he'll get is in the loony bin. "Well..." I started. "Would you mind hanging at my place for the night? At least until we can figure out a place for you to stay."
A smile crossed my companion's face. "Madame, if I understand you correctly, I believe I would be quite grateful to your offer."
"Great." I smiled back and drove out of the parking place. "And you can call me 'Chele' if you want. Everyone does." Sherlock nodded in response. "Shit!" I remembered, grabbing my cellphone. "You're soaked, and I have absolutely nothing for you to change into." I dialed my best friend, Tim.
Holmes stared at the wireless phone in my hands. "What is that contraption?" he asked.
I shushed him as Tim picked up. "Hey babes, what's up?" I said into the receiver.
A confused "I fail to understand your question" came from beside me, and I waved my hands in a frantic "shut up" motion at Holmes. "Hey, Tim..." I continued the conversation. "You'll never believe this. I was out for a walk at the beach, and I ran into this guy coming out of the lake. Shipwrecked or something. Actually, he's sitting in my car right now. No. I don't think he's dangerous. A bit deluded, maybe. You'll see. Oh! Yeah....I was wondering if you could donate a set of clothes to the cause. All I've got is girly stuff. I dunno...sweats or something. He's absolutely drenched. Thanks, Tim. I'll see you there in about half an hour? Ok. Bye." I ended the call and turned to Holmes. "That is a cellphone. You know...pick up. Dial. Talk."
Holmes threw a withering glance at me. "Yes. A means of communication. I gathered." His tone told me I was trying his patience.
"Sorry," I muttered. A thought struck me. "Hey! You have got to check this out!" I reached to the backseat and grabbed my CD case. "Remember records?" I asked.
"Yes," replied Holmes. "I had quite a large collection of them, from the cases I worked." He paused. "I don't see their usefulness in this situation."
I stopped for a second, confused. "No...I mean, like, phonographs. Music records."
"Phonographs?" Holmes asked.
"Damn!" I exclaimed. "So you couldn't play any music at all? Talk about deprivation." Before Holmes could reply, I popped the disc in the player, and the sweet sound of Metallica filled the vehicle. Holmes' hands shot up to his ears.
"What on Earth is that racket?" he cried over "Enter Sandman". I glared at him and pushed the "off" button.
"No appreciation for the classics," I said under my breath.
