Author's Note: Thanks for the lovely response, everyone! I'm having a lot of fun writing this, and I've worked out most of what I want to happen in terms of plot 'n' stuff. Just one more note about differences from Laurie King's series: I admit to a shameful ignorance when it comes to theology and religion. I loved that Russell's heritage and theological studies were a big part of the books but I simply don't have the knowledge to make it work here. Rather than having awkward bits inserted here and there, I'm just kind of going to leave all of that out. It makes me really sad to do so, but again, I don't have time to extensively research every aspect of every story.

Anyhoo, please keep reviewing, etc. because it lets me know what you guys like! Thanks so much for reading.

Chapter IV

I awoke to the sound of screams, as I had so often that past year. The screams of my family as the automobile skidded over the side of that cliff and hung, suspended, over the sparkling blue waters before plunging down to their deaths. Usually these screams were accompanied by the white face of my younger brother, watching me as I flew from the vehicle and bounced almost comically along the road.

This time the image had faded by the time I opened my eyes and the screams were only my own.

The cry trailed off as I looked around and tried to orient myself. The fire was dying down to cinders and the windows were open now to reveal a clear, cold autumn night. How long had I been asleep? Someone had taken the time to hang my wet clothing in front of the fire- the one in 221B and not Mrs. Hudson's sitting room, I noted, which was interesting- and toss a blanket over my long frame.

A door banged downstairs and thunderous footsteps raced towards me as I took a few deep, shaky breaths, trying to bring myself out of the nightmare. After mere seconds Holmes's thin frame rocketed into the room and he slid to a stop a few feet in front of me.

"Russell?" He was dressed up for an evening out but his scarf was trailing behind him and his hat lay discarded just outside the door. He had a handgun pulled halfway out of his coat pocket and his expression of sharp, focused anxiety might have appeared almost comical if worn by a less imposing man. When I didn't move or respond, he glanced about and made sure that there was no physical threat before placing the pistol on the table and striding over to stand in front of the fire. He remained there, hands in pockets, staring into the dancing flames.

"Holmes," I began shakily, "I am so sorry."

"Don't be," he muttered, almost distractedly.

"I fell asleep in your flat," I continued. "And I had a ridiculous nightmare. I must have given you quite a fright." I stretched out my legs and remembered that I was still in my male clothing. My hair had dried in long snarls and bounced against my cheeks, which were inexplicably wet. "I should go," I said when I finally saw the clock above the mantle. It was nearly seven. "My aunt will be expecting me."

Holmes finally turned to look at me as I stood and made a clumsy attempt to fold the blanket. He snatched it from me impatiently and tossed it into another chair. "You were sleeping so peacefully neither Mrs. Hudson nor I felt that it was necessary to wake you. I have already been by your flat to inform your aunt that you will be late or may even spend the night because Mrs. Hudson requires your continued assistance." He paused and I took the opportunity to brush a stray tear from beneath my glasses. I was thankful that I could stay at Baker Street for the rest of the night; that had been the longest I had slept in a long time without being awakened by the nightmares. After a moment, Holmes cleared his throat and continued. "You do plenty around the flat, and you should know that you are welcome here… as more than a maid."

I blinked, confused. Was this some admission of friendship, or had Mrs. Hudson simply decided that I was allowed to take refuge here from my aunt?

Rather abruptly, as though uncomfortable with the conversation, Holmes spun around to select a pipe from his ever-growing collection and fill it with tobacco. By the time he had turned back to me I had composed my features into a grateful smile. "Thank you, Holmes. I appreciate your kindness."

He barked out a short laugh. "Don't take me for some kind of philanthropist. With Watson in and out the past few months, you seem to be the only one with half a brain around here."

I accepted the backhanded comment with as much grace as I could muster. This also reminded me of what had brought me into the rooms in the first place. "Holmes?"

"Yes Russell?" By now Holmes had settled into his habitual chair with his pipe and was attempting to find his place in a severely dog-eared book.

"Did that tune earlier mean that you've found a case?"

Holmes's lips quirked into a smile around the stem of his pipe. "Indeed, Russell. For now, however, I think that you should speak with Mrs. Hudson about what can be done this evening to compensate for your extended nap."

I almost pestered him for details, annoyed, and had already placed my hands on my hips in preparation when I saw what he was doing.

I had apparently guessed correctly. "This is the kind of case which might ordinarily benefit from Watson's presence. With him on the Continent this month, I thought that you might perhaps assist me, assuming that Mrs. Hudson will allow it."

"Why?" I asked suspiciously.

"Because, my dear Russell," Holmes explained as he exhaled a bluish cloud of smoke, "you are bright and quick-witted and seem to have taken a rather flattering obsession to my works on detection." I blushed, but in the fire-lit room it was hopefully too indistinct to see. "You may have some promise in the area."

I was struck dumb by this last announcement. Sherlock Holmes thought that I might have promise as a detective?

After I had stood silently for a suitably awkward amount of time, Holmes nudged me along with a gentle "Off you go then, Russell," and I came to myself and left the room as quickly as I could. On my way out, I stopped to collect Holmes's forgotten hat from the floor and place it on a table.

I glanced back once to see the thin face relaxed at last and lit by the glow of his pipe and the dying fire, as his long, thin fingers turned the pages of his book with barely a whisper.

That night I slept more soundly than I had in months, though I was only curled on the floor of my closet in my nest of blankets. After rising and tugging a brush through my knotted hair, I donned my reasonably-presentable dress and went to help Mrs. Hudson prepare breakfast. Despite my excitement, it wasn't until I was armed with a laden tray that I allowed myself to dash up the stairs to 221B.

Holmes was perched on the arm of his chair, fingers tapping restlessly and already dressed. The instant I walked through the door, however, he sprang to his feet, an expression of intense focus on his face. I had barely set breakfast on the table before he had shoved an open letter into my hands.

"Read."

It was written on well-made but not extravagant paper in a woman's hand. The handwriting was shaky and nervous, though the strokes were still bold.

Mr. Holmes,

I am sorry to trouble you with a matter which must be trivial to your great mind, but something has occurred which is preying on me greatly.

My husband is a Mr. Henry Jennings of a large Sussex estate.

I raised an eyebrow. "Sussex?"

Holmes waved a hand. "Irrelevant."

I recently held a large party in honor of his fortieth birthday, and he and a few of his friends rode out over the downs. My husband fell from his horse and broke two bones in his ankle and one in his leg. In the two weeks since, he has been confined to our house and has great difficulty in walking. The doctor provided him with a sturdy aluminum crutch, but he refuses to learn how to use the thing properly. His movement is severely limited.

Yesterday morning, on Friday the eighth of October, I went upstairs to our room. I had had some difficulty in sleeping, Mr. Holmes, and had been up all night drinking tea and reading in the library. I heard nothing unusual during the night.

However, upon entering our chamber, I discovered that my husband was missing. The bed looked as though it had been slept in, but he was no where to be found. I engaged the help of our staff and, eventually, the police, in my search. They found no signs of a forced entry or a struggle, but Henry was gone.

We searched over the downs in three miles in each direction and found no sign of him. None of the servants saw anything, either, and I am at my wit's end.

You see, Mr. Holmes, the aluminum crutch was still leaning against the night table where Henry had left it the night before. Without it, he could hardly have gone far on his broken leg, unless he was forcibly taken. But as I said before, there is no sign of a struggle.

If you could find the time to come visit our home in Sussex, it would ease my mind greatly to know that such a prominent detective was searching for Henry.

Thank you for your time.

Yours,

Jessica Jennings

"Well," I began as Holmes clattered about at the table, "several possibilities occur to me."

Holmes held up a finger but I had to wait until he had swallowed his coffee before he spoke. After a second, he gulped the last of the hot drink and very nearly threw the cup down on the table in his excitement. "My dear Russell, it does not do to make any kind of assumption about such a case. We had better wait until we have interviewed Mrs. Jennings and her staff and searched the house."

We. I contained a smile.

"Stop smirking, Russell." Holmes waved a piece of toast severely. "This is only until Watson returns home. Besides, you might be completely useless."

We'll just see about that, I almost said, but obediently straightened my face.

"Now go convince your aunt to allow you to come. I've spoken to Mrs. Hudson." Holmes pulled out his watch and glanced down at it. "We shall catch the train in precisely ninety minutes."

I very nearly skipped out of the flat and back to my aunt's residence. She took almost no convincing, as I had expected, and I was back at 221 in slightly more suitable clothing, complete with hat and gloves, in plenty of time to get a cab to the station.