I gasped for breath, blood rushing in my ears and nearly crying out in pain as my leg wrenched in protest at the urgent gait we were forced to run.
"Holmes," I panted. "Is this really necessary?"
The detective paused and looked back at me, his face showing a mixture of amusement and concern. "I'm sorry, old chap. I didn't realize. We could take a rest here if you wish?"
But before I could answer, the sudden sound of enthusiastic voices with all the energy of a pack of hunting hounds crested the hill. Holmes visibly started and grasping my hand, hauled me to my feet as we continued our escape.
As we charged into a thicket of trees, Holmes contemplated his choice between gasps, "Perhaps, this wasn't the wisest of ideas….. Oh, watch your step there, True, this offers a wonderful opportunity to exercise the frame and mind, but I had no idea they would take it so seriously."
He was interrupted by a wild war cry and we both paused to look up to see the Baker Street Irregulars covered in the soot and grime of the fireplace smeared to look like war paint standing on the hill in front of us.
"How in the blazes," Holmes muttered, "They were right behind…"
Another whooping cry and we both turned to see the other half of the Irregulars coming in from behind.
"Holmes," I whispered, edging closer to my companion as the circle tightened. "I blame you."
"Oh, poppycock!" Holmes exclaimed only to drop his voice as one of the children actually bared his teeth with a low growl. "This was the idea of that American we entertained a few nights ago. He said there was nothing like a good game of Cowboys and Indians."
I'm glad everyone is liking the stories so far! I'm not sure they played Cowboys and Indians in the 18oo's, but we can pretend right?