Authors' Note: Welcome to Season Two, everyone - we're so thrilled to finally be here, and that you wonderful readers have stuck with us all the way! Those who haven't, we strongly advise you to go back to Season One and catch up, or there'll be a lot of points in this season that simply won't make sense.

As with earlier episodes, some scenes will be rather graphic, but skipping over them hopefully won't affect your understanding of the plot, and we'll be rating them appropriately: V=Violence/blood, D=Drugs, S=Sexual themes, L=Language.

Enjoy, and please review!

==Chapter 1==

Two Girls Walk Into a Pub

"For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning."

—T.S. Eliot

New Year's Eve, 1895: the last day of a year that had lasted longer than any other year in history, and only a handful of people knew that. Four of whom were in 221B, preparing for their night out with the men of Scotland Yard.

Beth Holmes slipped into her dress for the night, midnight blue, and paused, unable to do up the buttons in the back. "What I wouldn't give for zippers," she muttered. "Sherlock, would you do these buttons, please?"

"Of course." Holmes left off fastening his cuff links and obliged. Beth looked so lovely in that gown, he simply couldn't resist kissing the nape of her neck as he finished.

She started and whirled on him. "Don't do that!" It wasn't fair—he knew she was sensitive to things like that. "Sherlock, save it for later, not when we're getting ready!" There'd be time enough for… kissing… after the party.

He gave her an unrepentant grin. "Yes, dear."

She sighed, though secretly delighted. "Incorrigible." Turning away to face the mirror, she set to work on her hair. "Actually... I had a question—well, not quite so much a question, but... I mean, I'm about to meet a lot of men that I grew up knowing about from the stories, and some even in a little more detail because I once read some of one of Geoffrey's journals. And I guess I'd like to know a little more about them before tonight." She twisted around again to give him a hopeful look.

He nodded, trying to ignore the sudden odd sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Any in particular? Lestrade you already know pretty well, I should think."

"Yeees. Although it's going to be weird, acting like I know less about him than I do. I don't know—I could probably name a good dozen DIs off the top of my head, but…" As she brushed her hair, she tried to untangle her thoughts. This night was important to her—she was about to interact with an important part of her family's history. More quietly, she continued: "I guess… one thing I'd like to know is... is how relations are between you and the Yarders? Going off of the stories and that journal I read, I'd say that, pre-1891, things were complicated at best." She began to blush—she hadn't made a conversation awkward like this in a while. But she didn't know exactly how Sherlock felt about things and she needed to know. "From 1894 on, though, well, lots of people think that relations were improving?" She sighed at herself. "I don't know…"

Holmes grimaced – Watson's poetic license rearing its head again! He returned to attaching the last cuff link, answering half absently, "Relations might, if the Yard would take their heads out of their – " then stopped abruptly, realising what he was about to say; "er, filing cabinets a bit more often." Grinning sheepishly at her raised eyebrows, "I know, it's not entirely their fault." The County and Borough Police Act of 1856 had a lot to answer for, in his opinion. "But when you're on a case where every minute counts, and your professional colleagues won't take a step without a piece of paper that says they can..." He shook his head, a frustrated sigh escaping.

Beth thought of 'The Greek Interpreter', and Gregson's unwillingness to conduct a raid without a warrant. The wait had cost an innocent man's life, but, on the other hand, Gregson, Geoffrey, and any of their colleagues could land themselves and their cases in hot, hot water if they didn't follow the procedures set in place by a gaggle of men who weren't detectives.

"Sherlock, I can't even imagine me or you trying to fight the multiple uphill battles they have to contend with daily." Caught between their duty and what was expected of them. "And I know that, intellectually, you're aware of most of them. In time, there's going to be better rules, a better set-up, better education, and better pay—but right now, police as we know them haven't even been around for three-quarters of a century, yet, and you, like it or not, happen to be one of the catalysts for change. But that change takes so much time because the foundations are so severely… effed-up. The job is difficult, it's thankless, it alienates them from the rest of mankind, and…" She sighed and started arranging her hair again, trying to twist it up right. "Remember when we were first on the Bruce-Partington case together? I said that you could be a little nicer to Geoffrey? All I'm saying is that… I get why you get frustrated with the Met, I do." The real source of his frustration was the system and the men who had put it in place, not the actual detectives. "But you need to not take it out on the wrong people."

The detective nodded grudgingly, nettled; he could have done without a lecture on what was supposed to be an enjoyable evening out for the four of them! Even if Beth was half on his side... Good grief – don't tell me you're jealous of the Yard now, too? One of them's her great-grandfather, for heaven's sake, of course she's sympathetic! But no matter what arguments the voice in Holmes's head presented, they didn't help to make the knot in his gut disappear.


Detective Inspector Geoffrey Lestrade drummed his fingers and checked his watch again, wondering where the surprise guests might be. At least their appearance should shut Gregson up for a whole minute and then leave him scrambling to finish his sentences for the next hour! The man was being his usual insufferable self tonight, and Lestrade could only stand so much.

Bradstreet ambled over, tankard in hand. "What's the matter with you tonight, Geoff? It's New Year's Eve; drink up!"

He handed the tankard to Lestrade, and Lestrade saluted him with it. "Just the one for the moment." He took a pull, determined to stay sober until the Baker Street party arrived.

"Shorty, what are you waiting for?" Gregson passed by. "You keep checking your watch."

The pub's door opened, saving Lestrade from having to reply as in walked the Holmeses and the Watsons. The ladies, however, walked together behind their husbands—their identities were not immediately obvious.

I wonder if someone planned it that way? Lestrade set down his tankard so quickly that the beer sloshed over the rim, but he didn't care. He rose and came forward, beaming, glad to see them and looking forward to the next sixty seconds or so. He kept his tone casual, however, as he greeted the group, shaking hands with each in turn: "Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson…" He paused just a moment longer for the benefit of the other policemen. "Mrs. Holmes, Mrs. Watson. So glad you could join us."

Silence spread through the room like ripples in water, everyone else stopping what they were doing and staring at the women. Gregson gaped openly at Lestrade.

Beth couldn't help grinning, her annoyance at Sherlock's mood on the way over evaporating. She'd never had the chance to cause such a stir, and now that she did, she was going to cherish it. "It's our pleasure, Inspector, thank you."

"Absolutely," Sally nodded, who was also immensely enjoying the sensation they were making. "Thank you so much for inviting us!"

"It's good to be here again, Lestrade," Watson said sincerely, then turned to the rest of the room. "Merry Christmas, gentlemen!"

There were faint murmurs of "Merry Christmas" in return, and Bradstreet was the first to recover, stepping forward and grinning from ear to ear. "Merry Christmas, Doctor, Mr. Holmes, ladies." He shook each hand in turn. "Inspector Roger Bradstreet, at your service."

Holmes realised guiltily he'd been faintly scowling since Lestrade had greeted his wife, and hastily pasted on a smile as he shook hands. You agreed to this, remember? Now grow up, and stop looking like a thundercloud every time Beth meets someone new!

Beth smiled at Bradstreet, searching for and not really seeing a resemblance to the Inspector Bradstreet she knew in her time. "Nice to meet you, Inspector."

Holmes took Beth's elbow and escorted her to the fire, where Hopkins was next to greet them. "Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Holmes. Inspector Stanley Hopkins, ma'am. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure's all mine, Inspector." Beth knew Hopkins had to be at least a few years older than she was, but his baby face made him look practically her age.

"Might I get either of you something to drink?"

Beth looked to Sherlock, letting him take the reins.

Holmes hesitated, remembering the end results of the last few times he and Beth had been in a pub... but also not wanting to seem a complete prude. "Mulled wine for both of us, thank you."

"Of course!" Beth had to stifle a grin at how eager Hopkins was to please. "Coming right up."

As he walked away, Beth let out her grin and murmured, "Well, I think that was an appropriately dramatic entrance."

"Mm..." Then Holmes's lips twitched as he caught sight of Gregson's lingering expression. "Lestrade's certainly not going to let Gregson forget it in a hurry."

Beth twisted around to follow Sherlock's line of vision and caught sight of a tall, broadly-built blond man looking slack-jawed. "Ohhh." She gave an evil little chuckle, pleased for Geoffrey's sake. "Ah yes, good."


The evening hummed happily by, with a parade of astonished policemen whom even Beth knew she'd only half-remember and a pile of food and plenty of drinks, including honest-to-goodness wassail punch.

Eventually, things settled down into a sort of story-sharing time. Bradstreet was the first, goodnaturedly ignoring all calls to tell the story of his wedding dinner, and then he pulled Geoffrey up to the center of things to tell a story. Geoffrey resigned himself to his fate with many longsuffering glances heavenward and gave only the bare bones of the case Bradstreet made him recount (Bradstreet helpfully elaborated every ten or so words). Not to be outdone by the two-man act, Gregson followed, a better storyteller than Geoffrey had been (or wanted to be, maybe), but ultimately trying too hard to be clever, not as good an instinctive grasp on humor as Bradstreet's. Inspector Patterson successfully resisted all attempts to make him the next storyteller by leaning back in his chair, puffing on his cigarette, and closing his eyes. Beth couldn't help but be impressed at how he stayed as still as a statue but for his smoking.

John was called upon next, and he too resisted, shamelessly snuggling closer to Sally, and the good men of the London Metropolitan Police couldn't argue with such a tactic.

It was up to Inspector MacDonald, then, to fill the void, and he rose to the occasion by telling a tale of a wild chase through Aberdeen in his early days as a policeman, before his transfer down to London. He spoke with much gusto, gesticulating, and guffawing, and Beth found herself laughing hard. MacDonald's story and his style of storytelling were really that funny… but also… she was feeling oddly warm… and mellow… and she couldn't seem to get a handle on her laughter… No, I can't possibly have had that much to drink already, can I? I've been careful!

Sally was laughing as much at Beth as at the story, when it dawned on her that Beth was rather flushed... and starting to look anxious. Maybe it was time to get her friend some fresh air... but it wasn't until Sally got up that she suddenly realised she might need to be cut off as well. Hoo boy. She inched her way over to Beth and whispered in her ear, "Hey, I gotta head out back, come with me?"

Beth gave Sally a grateful look and a nod, rising slowly and carefully, only for a wave of unbalance to wash over her. Zed, zed, zed, zed, zed…

Sally put a steadying hand on Beth's upper arm, the movement catching Sherlock's attention. She answered his questioning frown with what she hoped was a reassuring smile: "Call of nature, back in a few!" then did her best to unobtrusively steer Beth and herself towards the door to the tavern yard.

Starting to pale now, Beth stumbled a little and leaned more heavily on Sally. "I think… I think I'm a little buzzed," she whispered, heart starting to race. More than a little, actually, and she didn't like the feeling at all. "Sally, I didn't mean to do that!"

Sally giggled, fairly sure Sherlock couldn't hear them over Inspector MacDonald. "It's okay, honey, you're not the only one. That wassail really packs a punch!"

"Yeah…" Slowly and carefully, the two of them managed to make it to the door without any more stumbling, and Beth pushed it open. She inhaled deeply of the frigid night air, traces of the unsavory odors of London's mews but also refreshingly the opposite of the warm, smoky, drowsy haze inside. She breathed out, and her breath curled visibly before her and she had to resist the temptation to do it on purpose like a little kid. "I didn't know I needed this."

"Yeah, it doesn't help when the room's so hot!" Sally leaned against the doorpost and fanned herself with her hand; she now understood completely why ladies in this period carried those things around! "How much did you have?"

Beth started to shake her head and winced, thinking better of it. "I'm not sure now, but I thought it wasn't that much!" She pursed her lips. "Maybe I'm out of practice…" She had had fewer drinks living in 221B than she had during Frozen Time, but the latter had often been out of necessity, as water had seldom been clean.

Sally looked at her in sympathy, then over at the outhouse in distaste – she was still getting accustomed to Victorian era facilities. "Well, since we're out here..." she sighed, and started picking her way across the icy cobbles, barely covered by the scattered straw.

Beth sighed. "Yeah, I guess so. Don't worry," she added cheerily, "it won't kill you!—probably." If she was being honest, she absolutely understood and still agreed with Sally's sentiments… but she had also had the experience of being on the move in Frozen Time, which lent her a slightly more pragmatic perspective. You just had to not think about what you were doing very, very hard.

Sally unthinkingly made an impolite gesture she'd learned from the Irregulars. "Aah!" The movement shifted her balance and made her foot slide right out from under her, ending up sitting on the ground with her skirts up round her knees. Oww! She looked back over her shoulder with a pained grin. "You were saying?"

Beth couldn't help giggling. "Are you okay?" She held out her hand.

"...I think so?" Wincing, Sally took the offered hand, climbing to her knees slowly and gingerly. "Ooh..." Her own giggles had restarted despite her aching rear, tickled by the sheer ridiculousness of it all. "Guess I should've had a few more mince pies!"

"You and me both!" Beth sobered as common sense intruded upon her amusement. "You think we should call it a night?"

Sally nodded regretfully, finally getting to her feet. "Yeah." They headed back inside, Sally now leaning on Beth.

Watson had decided to check on the girls, and met them at the back door. His eyebrows shot up at their state: both looking flushed and Sally looking dishevelled, leaning on Beth. What on earth…?

Beth blushed a little under the scrutiny. "Think we need to call it a night."

Watson tsked affectionately, shaking his head. "Can't take you two anywhere, can we?"

Beth held up her free hand. "Hey, we blame the wassail."

Sally gratefully took her husband's offered arm. "I'm sure there was more than just beer in that..."

"Indeed." Holmes came up with the girls' coats over his arm, lips tightening as he took in the spectacle. "Inspector Youghal's 'special' cider, for one."

Beth giggled—funny how 'special' was always code for high in alcohol content. "It's always special, isn't it?"

Her giggles set Sally off again, who tried vainly to stifle hers with her sleeve, while their husbands exchanged speaking glances.

"Watson," Holmes said, choosing his words with care, "would you kindly make our excuses to Lestrade, while I hail us a cab?"

Beth's heart sank: right back to square one with Sherlock's mood—no, worse now. Definitely worse. Good job.

Watson nodded to Holmes, catching Beth's crestfallen expression as he returned Sally to Beth, but unable to do more than give the younger girl a flash of a reassuring smile before he turned and left them. He wended his way through the policemen to where he'd last seen Lestrade, sitting with Bradstreet a little ways back from MacDonald. He bent over and murmured, "Lestrade?"

Lestrade looked up. "Ah, Doctor—we were just wondering where you'd got to! All enjoying yourselves?"

Watson smiled ruefully. "Yes, but I'm afraid it's time for us to go. Mrs. Watson and I do have a little one to get home to."

Bradstreet, who'd been eavesdropping, nodded sagely, having several children himself.

"Of course," said Lestrade, understanding completely. He rose, a trifle unsteady, and decided to remain where he was as he shook the doctor's hand—Watson could pass on the well wishes to the rest of his party. "All our love to Mrs. Hudson and the wee one! We'll look forward to seeing the New Year in with you again properly someday."

"And we'd be glad to do it again, thank you." He was certain the girls were disappointed at having to leave this early yet in the night. "Happy New Year to you both."

Bradstreet smiled and nodded. "Happy New Year, Doctor."

Meanwhile, Holmes had been scanning the street for a four-wheeler, finally managing to flag one down. Another bundled figure was hurrying up the pavement, reaching the tavern door as Holmes returned to it. "Ah, good evening, Havisham."

"Oh, Mr. Holmes!" Constable Havisham appeared strangely rattled, which only seemed to deepen on seeing the detective. "I-is Inspector Lestrade still here?"

"He is," Holmes answered dryly, "and likely to be for quite some while." He let Havisham enter first, and found the other three ready and waiting just inside.

Watson was taking Sally back again from Beth. "Any luck?"

"Four-wheeler's waiting." Holmes glanced curiously across the room to where Havisham was pushing towards Lestrade through the crush... but he couldn't leave the others now, and it was probably just another drunken brawl in the cells, or some such thing. Havisham always was the nervous type, too nervous even for front desk duty, really.

The detective offered his arm to an increasingly sleepy-looking Beth and followed the Watsons out, nodding at a few scattered and bleary calls of "Night, Doctor! Night, Mr. Holmes! Mind how you go! Happy New Year!" from behind him. "Happy New Year, gentlemen."

Beth looked over her shoulder and gave a little wave with her free hand, wishing she could have at least said goodbye to Geoffrey... Probably for the best. The last thing I need is to embarrass myself in front of my six-or-something-times-great-grandfather. "'M sorry," she murmured to Sherlock. "I was trying to be careful..."

Looking down at his wife's flushed face and heavy eyes, Holmes caught himself wondering how he must have looked at the Garrick Arms, or the cabin at Champex-Lac... and both times he was trying to get drunk! He squeezed Beth's arm gently, murmuring back, "I know..." He really should have warned both girls about the punch, probably would have if he hadn't been so busy sulking.

Grateful for the gesture, she leaned further on his shoulder in turn. "I'm glad we came."

He couldn't help smiling at her snuggling. "Me too." And found in surprise that he actually meant it – then again, he wouldn't have wanted Beth to have a horrible time! "Let's get you home." As far as holiday celebrations went, perhaps it hadn't been all that bad.


Ria: Hope you guys like this one, it's taken us over three years to finish from inception! Then again, I did have to take an 18 month hiatus because of university. Let's hope Doctor Reality doesn't interfere with the remaining episodes that badly...