Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes…obviously.

A/N: I can't upload new docs onto , so the format of this is a little different since I copied it into an existing doc.

A/N: Forgive me if I mess up any details concerning Holmes biographical information pre-Watson. I'm using Wikipedia as a source, and we know how reliable that can be. And sorry about the cheesy deductions!

Chapter 3

I was flustered, to say the least. There was no way on earth that Sherlock Holmes could be that good. I had purposefully changed up my appearance so that he wouldn't be able to learn anything about me. It looked like I had been wrong after all. He was the real deal.

"How did you know?" I asked.

"It's simple, really," Holmes replied. "Some things just don't change over time. Now, on what counts were I correct?"

"All of them," I sighed. "I was raised by my grandfather after my parents died. I was engaged three months ago, and I am left handed. I suppose you'll tell me how I gave myself away?"

"If you wish to hear it," Holmes shrugged, as if he wasn't secretly enjoying this. "You favor your left side, a clear indication of your pen hand. Twice you have touched your ring finger and smiled. You are anticipating the ring that will soon occupy that spot. I've seen you hold open every door and greet every passerby. This shows that you were taught to respect others, something an older relative might have bestowed in you. I suspected a relative in the military due to your overall appearance. In a building of loose shirts and beltless trousers, you have both tucked in your own shirt and used a belt. Organization is a trait often acquired by those with military service, something which is passed on. Your hair is cut short so that it stays out of your eyes, of which you need corrective lenses, I might add. You tend to squint."

"I have contacts," I said without thinking. "But how'd you know I was orphaned? My father might have been older and in the military."

"Ah, this is a matter of instinct. From one orphan to another, it is easy to see."

"And my name?"

"You interjected with your surname before Mrs. Logan could say it. That was my first clue. And this, as well." Here the detective smiled. He held up a thin, brown wallet. For a moment I stared in confusion before I realized it was mine. Flipping it open, he revealed the damning driver's license with my real name on it. There were even pictures of my Gramps and parents in there. He handed it back to me with a slight grin on his face. I shoved it into my pocket in agitation. We might have taken him from time, but he was in control here.

"Is there any particular reason you didn't want your origins known, Mr. 'Bennet'?"

"I was worried it might complicate things."

"So you are you I suspect you to be?"

I nodded in response. Shifting in his chair, Holmes beckoned with a finger for me to explain everything. Cursing my coworkers for doing this to me, I began to explain our dilemma. Mrs. Logan might kill me for it, but Holmes knew too much already to be left insatiate.

"Okay, so you've learned I'm Edward Watson. I thought it might be a problem for you to know I was a descendent of the doctor. Which I guess it isn't…Unless you do have a problem with it?"

"Not at all. I'm glad to see the progeny of my friend. You have his eyes, you know."

"Well, I – Really?" I suddenly wished for a mirror. I knew I shared Dr. John Watson's genetics, but I never knew I actually resembled him. Holmes nodded. Once again, a surge of giddiness went through me. Since I was young I had known of my connection to the fantastical stories of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, but it had still seemed foreign. That was one of the reasons I had read the stories so voraciously as a youth. Yet to know I had such a physical connection was fascinating.

"Please, continue."

"Right. Well, your stories, er, adventures, are famous. There are university classes dedicated to studying them. There are people who try to reconstruct your entire life based on those few documents."

"So I have been brought to the future to settle the various discrepancies?"

"Partially. You can at least let us know a few details. But you were primarily brought back in order to help us solve a rather personal mystery."

"And now we get to the root of the problem."

"In several of Dr. Watson's texts, he alludes to other mysteries. In one story he mentioned over three volumes of cases, ones that he was unable to publish due to scandal or other outside pressure. Yet we know he physically wrote them. The client who hired us wants those lost adventures."

"As Watson's heir, shouldn't you have inherited these papers?"

"We never had the stories to begin with. It seems that whenever he wrote a truly scandalous account, he'd lock it away somewhere for his records."

"Yes, I knew he kept them under lock and key."

"Do you know where?" I was getting excited now. If Holmes could tell us where those stories were, then we could send him back to Tibet. "Can you lead us to them?"

"Perhaps. Who is this client? The one who would exert the effort of summoning me from time in order to find a few loose papers?"

"I don't actually know. That's information for above my pay grade."

"And why choose me rather than Watson himself? Wouldn't he prove more advantageous?"

"Yes, but it wouldn't be possible. You see, your life has a gap in it. Except for your brother, the world believes you to be dead right now. You do return to England eventually, and there are more adventures after that. But for the years between your disappearance and reintroduction, there is no exact timeline for your life. Watson has no such gap. There are records of him treating patients or assisting the police throughout his entire life. You're the closest person to him that we could take." I paused. "And if you don't already know where he would have hidden them, Mrs. Logan thinks you can deduce it for us."

Holmes reclined in his chair, lacing his elongated fingers together. I was momentarily distracted by the sight. I couldn't help it; it was such a very Holmes things to do. His eyes rested on the carpet, growing unfocused in thought. I didn't speak, knowing that he was deducing something. It was several minutes before he spoke.

"I think I will take a brief respite. When Mrs. Logan is ready to address me, I will be waiting here." Holmes said this with a note of finality, and I knew I couldn't argue with him. Instead, I just got up and left, leaving the master of deduction alone in thought.

As I walked away from his rooms, I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. I would have paid anything to be able to read minds. Hell, just his mind. I could only imagine what someone with his deductive skills was now processing. In half an hour he had been taken to a strange future, one where he was famous throughout the literary world rather than just London. And to then be presented with a mystery relating to his only friend…

Not for the first time, I tried to imagine the workings of Sherlock Holmes' mind. Eventually, I just shook my head to clear my head. I would have the chance to pick over his thoughts later. Once I was done with the matters at hand, I promised myself that I would ask exactly what he thought as he was taken through time.


A/N: The 'three volumes' are mentioned in The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez.