After a very long half of an hour, I am standing in the centre of Lestrade's sitting room, with her at my side. Before us is the Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis, which looks for all the world like a small flying saucer. I know not quite how it works, but that it does cannot be denied as I have tested it myself.

"You went off for a joy ride," my fiancée chastises, "and then you thought you'd ditch it in my lounge. If this thing's wrecked the carpet..."

I sniff. "You sound like Mrs. Hudson. For God's sake, Beth - I have just... 'ditched', as you so quaintly worded it, an adventure in your very lap and here you stand complaining. How dare you!"

"Zed! I'm sorry. OK, so what does this thing do?" She does not sound very sorry to me, but at least she would appear to be interested.

I take her by the hand and drag her inside of the mysterious disc. The control area is not very spacious, but there is enough room for the both of us - and for an extra passenger or two; I have already noticed some additional seating at either side of the control panel. Our compudroid companion might prove to be a little too heavy, however.

Without a word to my fiancée, I twiddle with the controls and rub my hands together. I have decided just where we should go to first.

"What 're you planning? Sherlock?"

I chuckle. "Wait and see. You should like this."

She grimaces and grips the control panel as the engine starts. Surely she is not scared! After all, she will try numerous stunts and tricks in her horrid flying car.

The journey is over almost as soon as it has began. The controls flash, our destination shows on the monitor before me, there is a whirring and slight vibration and then all is still and quiet. We have arrived!

I take the Yarder by the hand and drag her outside, having urged her to remain quiet and to crouch as I know not quite what to expect.

"Zed!" gasps Lestrade. "Sherlock!"

There before us are a herd (I believe that that is the correct term) of dinosaurs, foraging for food.

"They are herbivores - plant eaters," I murmur, close to her ear. "Fear not - they are not a threat."

She glares at me. "Take me home. Now."

"Are you not fascinated?" I enquire, astonished. How can she not be? I have no doubt that Watson would be enthralled!

"I'll remember to be fascinated next time I go to a museum, or the zoo," she retorts. "Zed! Of all the things to do without warning me! What if we'd walked straight out in front of T-Rex?"

"The terrible band?" I have heard of them - the radio has played a song or two by them - and I do not care for the music. "They are not prehistoric, surely?"

She narrows her eyes at me. "Tyrannosaurus Rex - the dinosaur, for zed's sake!"

Oh! "Well, why must you truncate and abbreviate everything? How the deuce am I supposed to know what you are talking about?"

"Well, now you know why I want to get the zed home, can we go?"

I gesture towards the Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis dismissively. "Wait for me in safety, if you wish. I should at least like a better look."

"They've got mean-looking spiky club things, on their tails," says she. "I know they won't eat us, but they look dangerous enough."

"Oh, really! We look nothing like predators," I retort. "They are unlikely to attack - provided we remain calm, I see no reason for them to view us as anything other than a curiosity."

She is far from convinced, but follows me all the same.

As I near the gigantic creatures, some of my bravado deserts me. Lestrade is quite right - they are well equipped to see off any unwanted attention.

"OK, we got closer. Wanna go back, now?" my fiancée asks, from a short distance behind me.

I grumble in response. "Can we not remain where we are, for a moment? I want to remember these creatures."

"Well, I just don't wanna get flattened by... Zed! Sherlock... I think I've got a huge wasp after me..."

"I did not know that they bother..." the words die upon my lips as I turn my head to see for myself.

I am most certainly not worried about wasps, but this is not an English wasp - or even a larger European variety. The insect menacing my fiancée has a head the size of my fist and a sting the width of my little finger.

"I wanna go home."

I take her hand in mine. "Breathe slowly and gently; remain calm. We are going to very slowly make our way back to the Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis."

"OK."

The evil insect decides that it is bored of my fiancée and decides to circle my head instead as we slowly retrace our steps. The noise is loud and sounds - to my overactive imagination - terribly angry. I want to make a run for it, despite my earlier advice and the knowledge that a sudden burst of speed is not likely to do any good.

"I'm scared," Beth admits quietly.

That confession is not at all helpful. If one of us is to panic, we are both likely to be stung to death!

"Keep calm, my dear," I murmur in return. "Not much further, now."

"How can you be so zedding calm?"

Oh, good God! It has alighted, as delicately as a lead weight with wings, upon my back. I want to shout, to shake it off - to do something! I know that wasps are not like bees, being much more aggressive, and I want this thing to vanish without incident.

"Practice. The important thing is to at least appear to be calm. Insects only attack if they feel threatened." But wasps can be deucedly temperamental. She need not know that.

We have almost reached the safety of the Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis and the hateful creature upon my back is moving - I fervently hope that the thing is about to fly away. It is! I can hear its wings.

A sudden, stabbing pain above my left hip informs me that something has gone awry and I swallow a cry of shock and pain. Perhaps I jolted the thing too much, perhaps I was breathing too heavily... Perhaps wasps are simply vindictive.

"It's gone," Lestrade whispers with a sigh of relief. "Come on, let's get outta here."

I nod shakily and endeavour to go on. The poison is spreading and I feel dizzy, nauseous. My legs are struggling to carry me.

"Ah! So you were scared! Well, it's over now; don't go fainting on me now."

There is blood oozing from the wound at my back, which feels like a stab wound from a dagger, and my lungs feel as if they are being squeezed. Something suddenly erupts from my throat, but I know not whether it is vomit or something else.

"Sherlock? What is it? What's wrong?"

I can barely hear my fiancée beside me and am only dimly aware of her touch as she takes my arm.

"Sherlock! Can you hear me? Hold on, OK? Just hold on. We'll get you to Sir Evan Hargreaves."

Somehow, with much assistance from the inspector, I manage to stumble - or, perhaps, crawl - inside of the craft which brought us here before I collapse. I feel as if my throat is closing over and it is becoming increasingly difficult for me to remain calm.

I am dimly aware of Lestrade's hands rolling me onto my side. I fear that it may be a wasted effort, for I can barely breathe, but I shall endeavour to hold on.

"You're the most stubborn guy I know," I hear the Yarder say, her voice sounding oh so far away. "If you can't come through this, nobody can. Just hang on, OK?"

For all that I may want to survive, I know that my chances are not good. I can scarcely breathe, I am in an indescribable amount of pain and, as I begin to curl in on myself, all that I can think of are wasps - wasps killing my bees, wasps crawling over a picnic lunch which no longer seems at all appetising and, finally, a dead, dried up wasp in a windowsill, curled in a ball much like mine. Then, I can think of or feel nothing at all.