==Chapter 7==

Back on Track

I can imagine a life without you, but it seems impossibly dreary, imperfect, unhappy.

– Charles Sheehan-Miles, Just Remember to Breathe

Going back downstairs with Beth, Holmes found it more difficult than ever to concentrate on the unfinished case. The thought of having to let his beloved go a second time, when she'd only just come back to him... and telling himself that Beth would at least be alive in the future didn't help – without the TARDIS, she'd still be where he couldn't follow...

"Honey?" Beth's arm squeezed his gently. "What's wrong?"

Holmes shook his head, trying to smile as he returned the squeeze. All he was doing here was meeting trouble halfway, he hadn't even asked the Doctor if something could be done. "Just tired. I won't be sorry to finally wrap up this case, and that's a fact."

Beth's smile was half a wince. "Well, don't forget, this is only Day One."

Holmes groaned. "Don't remind me!" This morning alone would have been too surreal by half without Watson being there, 'déjà vu' didn't begin to cover it. "I wish you could come with me tonight, too." Housebreaking and searching for evidence while wishing himself back at home the entire time wasn't going to be any fun.

"Whatcha up to?" The Doctor had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a sleeping Kathy in his arms.

Holmes's smile grew more genuine at the endearing picture. "Beth and I are going out on reconnaissance – we should only be an hour or so."

The Doctor nodded slowly. "What about Moriarty?"

It would be a long time before the mention of that name stopped making Holmes's flesh crawl, if ever. "Mycroft has set preventative measures in place, temporarily. Moriarty is unlikely to make any overt moves while under surveillance. Once this case is closed, however, we will have to consider very carefully what our next move ought to be – the man is the current head of Torchwood, after all."

"Mm." The Doctor brightened suddenly. "Actually, you have something else to do first, before you go."

Holmes frowned. He'd thought he'd taken care of all current loose ends... "Oh. Well, if Watson inquires, I shall still need him to..."

The Doctor shook his head. "Not Watson."

Beth's lips formed an 'O'. "Oh, of course."

Holmes's face reddened as it finally dawned on him. How long had it been since he'd actually last seen the Irregulars, or even thought about them? If he had, he would have assumed, or at least hoped, that they had also forgotten all about what happened; but even if that had been the case, he still wanted to see them.

He nodded at Beth's expectant look, suddenly nervous. "Where are they?"


The murmur of voices ceased abruptly as the kitchen door opened, and the lump in Holmes's throat grew at the sight of all those delighted faces... and the deafening silence, which no one was quite daring to break.

"...Boys..." Holmes's voice was hoarse, eyes glistening. God, he'd let the Irregulars down just as badly as anyone, he hadn't the least idea what to say to them...

"Mr. 'Olmes!" Spell broken, Jimmy ran forward and threw his arms around the detective, bursting into tears.

Holmes met Jimmy on his knees, returning the hug tightly. "Jimmy..." he murmured, barely holding back his own sobs, tears falling silently. "Dear boy... I'm so sorry...!"

Beth watched with tears in her own eyes as the younger boys crowded around the two. The older ones hung back slightly—Will looked just as needful as Jimmy, but he wouldn't move forward until the others were done. The little ones came first.

So Kelly approaching Beth and hugging her took her by surprise. "Oh, Beth!" he whispered.

But she returned the hug gratefully, tightly. These boys had become her brothers, and she had missed them all so much. "It's okay," she whispered. Her poor boys—they must have been so scared for her, for Sherlock. She should have sent them messages through Nikola. "I'm here."

"But whoi'd yer go 'way s'long, Mr. 'Olmes?" Gil sniffed, coming forward. "Din't yer wanter come back t'us?"

Will caught a puzzled Holmes's eye, jerking his head towards the back door. Of course, the TARDIS –he should have realised Beth would have told the others something of his travels. "Because I was... very foolish, Gil," he answered solemnly, while silently apologising to the Doctor, whom he strongly suspected was listening in. "I stayed away for so long that I started to forget what I had here." His heart broke all over again as the little boy hugged him around the neck, breath hitching. "But I could never forget my boys... I've missed you all very much."

"Are y' really goin' ter marry Beth, Guv'nor?" another Irregular burst out excitedly, apparently forgetting Beth could hear.

Holmes couldn't help smiling, but took care to answer seriously, "If Beth will have me. Do you think she would?"

Felix beamed. "Cor, wouldn' she jus'!"

"Oi!" Gil turned and smacked Felix on the shoulder. "Yer s'posed t'let 'er say it!"

Beth reddened—talk about being put on the spot! Kelly grinned, and she swatted his shoulder, laughing self-consciously. "Good grief, you guys."

"Go on, then, Guv'nor," Charlie called, grinning. "Wot yer waitin' for?"

Holmes turned on the spot where he knelt to face Beth, smiling foolishly. He hadn't expected to have such a large audience! Come on, old boy, you know you regretted not proposing properly! Here's your chance... Neither able nor wishing to argue with that, Holmes held out his hands as Kelly nudged Beth forward.

Stunned and still blushing, Beth took Sherlock's hands and smiled sheepishly at him. Never in a million years would she have expected Sherlock to propose, and in front of most of the Baker Street Irregulars, no less!

As the boys quietened around them, elbowing each other and wriggling in excitement, Holmes looked earnestly up at his beloved, his heart in his eyes. "Elizabeth..." Don't say 'Lestrade', Mrs. Hudson's probably eavesdropping, too... "would you do me the great honour... of becoming my wife?"

Beth blinked back sudden tears, smile trembling. "Yes." She swallowed another disbelieving laugh; this was all so surreal... but she wouldn't have traded the experience for the world. Not with the person she loved most in the world looking at her like that. "Yes, I will."

With the Irregulars all cheering themselves hoarse, Holmes gratefully rose from his now-aching knees and wrapped his arms around Beth. The lump in his throat was back with a vengeance, but he wasn't going to allow any of his lurking fears to spoil this moment. Surely there must be something the Doctor could do...

Beth's blush had deepened again at the boys' cheering, but she couldn't object to the proposal itself, or the hug. She raised her hand to his face and grinned even as her gathering tears fell, heart full to bursting. And, well, if they had to perform like this, she was going to give the finale. Stroking his cheek for a moment, she reached for the back of his neck and pulled him gently into a kiss, prompting another wave of cheers.


The Doctor hurried away from the kitchen to the front door and waited for the couple. That… that was seriously one of the most precious things he'd ever had the privilege to witness, even if only muffled through a door. There had to be some way…

Then they came out, Sherlock and Beth, looking as happy as any couple, young or old, deeply and irreversibly in love. Beth was starting to pin up her hair, which was significantly longer than it had been when she'd first arrived, and Sherlock's contented smile quickly turned into a swift, slight frown. Why, the Doctor didn't know, but a sobering thought came to him—Moriarty was still out there.

"You two be careful," he murmured.

Beth smiled faintly. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him."

The Doctor smiled. "That's my girl." Beth certainly could have handled all of Time and Space… wait, maybe she still could...

Sherlock smiled sheepishly, and the Doctor had to stifle a grin of his own upon the realisation that the detective was wearing a faintly possessive expression, My girl, his arm on Beth's tightening almost imperceptibly. Now that was kind of adorable—the Great Detective that madly in love with a slip of a girl. Who'd've thunk?

"And take good care of that baby," Beth added.

The Doctor smiled broadly. "Awww, she and I are getting on just fine. Got her to go to sleep—has to count for something."

Sherlock was about to walk out the door, then stopped and turned, frowning. "Doctor… the TARDIS looked decidedly worse for wear when we saw her just now. Dare I ask what happened in the Rift?"

The Doctor's smile faltered, bad memories clamouring at the edge of his mind. Not to mention his poor old girl, she must have been so lonely… "We got banged around for the better part of a year, that's all. …weeeeell, okay, maybe there were a few reeeally nasty things in there trying to get into her—" not that he knew it at the time, but the old girl communicated it to him later—"but the TARDIS is the TARDIS. Ab-so-lutely nothing gets in that girl if she doesn't want it, an' she wasn't wantin' it. "

Sherlock nodded, giving him his patented "We will talk about this later" Look.

The Doctor shook his head. "Just go already—it's getting late! Have fun, save the world, be brilliant!"

"And all that jazz?" Beth added.

The Doctor nodded, impressed—that was an obsolete saying by her time, and jazz itself was a very rare taste. Sherlock, however, grimaced, not much impressed by most future music. "As long as it's not the Beatles," he said wryly.

Beth perked up. "Oo, I love the Beatles!"

Her husband groaned and shook his head in mock despair. The Doctor had a hard time holding in his laughter while holding the sleeping Kathy. "All right, get out of here, you two! Shoo!"


Holmes smiled, squeezed Beth's hand, and let it go, leaving the house and whistling for a cab. "Hansom!" As a cab rolled up the street towards them, he turned back to her. "And just one bar of 'Yellow Submarine' and you shall be walking," he warned lightly.

"But it's so completely appropriate," Beth deadpanned.

He gave her a half-hearted glare. "As if Watson's humour wasn't bad enough!"

She giggled. "Oh, hush."

The cab settled, and Holmes helped her up before climbing in himself. "Gloucester Road Station."

The cab set off, and Beth sat back, all but basking in the cold November sunlight. "So," she mused, "we're checking out the tracks again."

Holmes nodded. "Best not to leave any detail to chance. It is possible there is still some clue which I failed to see the last time." Not that Beth would tell him if there were. Not verbally, anyhow... Staying focussed on his surroundings, while ignoring Beth's body language... Hm, perhaps bringing her along for this hadn't been his best idea ever, but he certainly wasn't about to send her away again.

Beth nodded back. "Right…" She wondered just what, at this point, he thought was going on—he might not theorise without data, but he had to have some thoughts, nonetheless. She could ask and not let slip any spoilers, couldn't she? Of course she could—she'd have to get used to doing it, if somehow she could stay in this era... "Okay, I gotta ask, and I won't give anything away, I promise. Just curious… as to what you think is going on? I mean, obviously, you were investigating Oberstein before, and he did turn out to have the plans..."

"Indeed, although I failed to obtain any incriminating evidence from his house." So stupid of him, not to have taken someone along as lookout. "At the very least, I hope to discover tonight who his accomplice is, for he certainly could not have acted alone. We shall see."

She nodded again, slowly, tamping down the urge to give just a little hint. Besides, there other things to discuss... such as why her husband was more skeletal now than ever. "So… you were going to tell me what happened to you..."

"Oh." Blast, he'd hoped she might have forgotten about that.

She sighed. If this evasiveness was what she had to look forward to, she might strangle him herself and spare them both. "Sherlock, you were looking half-dead before Kathy healed you!" Beth wouldn't soon forget the sight of both men bleeding out on the carpet, and Sherlock literally white and emaciated, looking more like a corpse than a living being. "What happened?"

Holmes took a deep breath, clasping his hands tightly. "Well... Jones had a little more trouble getting me back to England than he anticipated. The sedative he was using meant I couldn't keep anything down..." He shuddered, remembering how fervently he had wished for death's blessed release as his entire stomach apparently tried to make a bid for freedom. "So, basically... he had to choose between keeping me quiet and feeding me."

Beth shivered, eyes widened and chest clenched as she listened. "Oh, honey…!" She wound an arm around him, holding him close, then frowned in confusion. "Wait, Jo… What happened to Moran?"

...Moran's temple exploding outwards, toppling forward into the snow... "He shot himself, love, while we were still at the chalet."

Beth stared, speechless. Moran... had shot himself? Why?!

Holmes's knuckles were white, blinking hard. "I'm sorry, Beth..." he whispered. "After everything he'd done... I could gladly have put a bullet through his head myself... and I couldn't even move!" Not even to hold Beth in his arms one moment longer...

Chest aching, she held him close, rubbing his arm comfortingly. "Oh, Sherlock…" She took his hand in hers and kissed it; then, after a few seconds, gave voice to her confusion. "Why would he shoot himself?"

"Because..." Damn it, he couldn't think of any way to tell her which wouldn't frighten her. "Because Moriarty didn't want you dead. Moran must have believed that this..." He squeezed her hand; "failure was the last straw, that he needn't bother going back."

Beth paled. Moriarty's allowing them to escape suddenly made far, far more sense. He was testing me. And if there was one thing she'd learned in the past few months, it was that no one was truly incorruptible—everyone had their breaking point, and hers was probably all too visible to the Professor... And Moriarty was still out there. She shuddered, too shaken by the first revelation to respond to the second.

"I'm sorry, Beth..." Holmes put his arm around her, no longer caring who might see them. "I didn't understand until they came for us." I won't let him have you...

She nestled into his hold, trembling, grateful for the comfort. "I never thought..." Her voice was hoarse; she shook her head and all but tucked herself beneath his arm, as if it could protect her from all unfriendly eyes and thoughts. She wished it could. "How," she murmured finally, "did you get away from... Jones, you said?"

He nodded. "It was Johnstone, sweetheart. His men recognised me in Dieppe, and because we weren't... you weren't with me..." Why had it taken him so long to understand what the captain had seen from the very first?

Beth bit her lip. Bless Johnstone—he'd always been kind to her. "Oh gosh… I need to th—" She stopped, feeling the blood drain from her face: Johnstone was back in the past, and she'd probably never see him again, and he wouldn't remember her if she did... I can't ever thank him... And she didn't love her husband any less, but suddenly the thought of never seeing the smuggler again hurt, and she had to blink back sudden tears.

Holmes kissed her hair, a lump in his throat. "They dumped Jones out of the boat halfway across the Channel, took care of me when they realised I was ill. They were very kind, Beth... though I think more for your sake than mine." Johnstone's face, all the way back to England...

Beth stifled a sob—she still hadn't really cried since returning to life and she didn't want to now. That was a can of worms she wasn't ready to open. But poor Sherlock...

He rocked her gently, shamefaced as he remembered. "And I'm afraid I repaid that kindness rather poorly."

She took a shuddering breath before she could speak. "...what do you mean?"

"Well, the details are rather blurred... but for some reason I was convinced that I would find Watson at Baker Street."

Beth's eyes widened in fresh horror—Sherlock must have been delirious to have thought that. She lifted herself a bit and wrapped an arm around him. "Oh, honey…"

"I was so determined to reach London... Johnstone took me there by cart..." Which had been quite as unpleasant as any of the earlier stages. "But when we reached it, I was ill enough that he decided I should go to the Infirmary."

She squeezed his hand and murmured, "But you went home."

He nodded wretchedly. "I hadn't given him the address. I waited until his back was turned, then fled... He must have been so worried..."

Beth held him tightly, letting her tears fall. "Yeah," she croaked out. Johnstone had been unprincipled, not heartless... She felt a pang in her chest, not just for Sherlock, and wished that romantic feelings didn't have to be so bloody complicated.

"I don't remember much after that..." His lips were sealed on the little he could remember. "The next thing I recall clearly is waking up in my old room. Mrs. Hudson had found me on her front doorstep."

Beth shivered and rubbed his arm soothingly, not wanting to imagine Sherlock so deathly ill.

"She took me in, nursed me through the fever..." Smiling tenderly, "And though I didn't know it at the time, it was she who brought Watson and I back together at the last."

Beth smiled mistily. "Still Mrs. Hudson..." Thank goodness... Sherlock would probably have died, otherwise...

"Watson told me, while we were out earlier: he received a letter from her at Rosewood, on my behalf, asking him to come to Baker Street. I must have told her where to reach him..." Holmes shivered. "Unfortunately, he wasn't the first to arrive."

And both friends had been bleeding from gunshot wounds when she came back... She shivered, too, and squeezed him gently. "Moriarty?"

Holmes nodded, grateful for the comfort. "He'd come to take me 'back home', as he put it. I refused – although I doubt I could have physically done much to prevent it... but, mercifully, that was when Watson arrived."

"Oh, sweetheart..." She exhaled slowly to conceal the fact that she was shaking ever so slightly—she hadn't known it had been that close. "Thank God John got there when he did."

"I thought I was dreaming at first," he whispered. "How could he have known where to find me?" A misty smile crept back over his face. "But I was so very glad to hear his voice again."

Her heart lifting, Beth echoed his smile and kissed his cheek.

Holmes wrapped both arms around her tight, saying softly, "You were right, Beth..." Watson missing him, their friendship being at the heart of the problem, both of them needing to forgive each other... "You were right about everything."

She couldn't reply; she could only hug him tightly back, heart too full for words.


Alighting from the cab, Holmes paid the driver and led the way into the station. "Now then, we cannot simply walk along the tracks. Last time I procured the services of a railway official, William Smythe – ah, there he is!" Holmes waited until the man had finished giving another patron directions before approaching. "Pardon me, sir, might we beg a few moments of your time?"

Smythe turned with a smile and touched his hat. "Good day, gents! How can I assist you?"

Holmes bowed in return. "Sherlock Holmes. I am acting on behalf of her Majesty's government in investigating the death of Cadogan West."

The official's eyes widened. "Why, Mr. Holmes! Yes, sir, I read all about it in the papers – terrible business, that!" Collecting himself, he stuck out his hand. "William Smythe, at your service."

"A pleasure, Mr. Smythe," the detective smiled sincerely as he shook hands. "Would it be possible for my associate and I to inspect the railways lines from here to, say, Kensington?"

"No trouble at all, Mr Holmes, happy to oblige! Although I will have to accompany you, you understand – safety regulations and all."

"Of course," Holmes nodded. "Lead on."

Beth couldn't help grinning at being called Sherlock's "associate," so she'd pulled her cap a little further down. But as she tagged along just behind him, she realised that she was drawing a blank as she tried to call to mind what had happened in the written story—or even the Granada episode. For all that this case had been central to her life for a long while now, she really couldn't remember. She sighed and adopted her Cockney accent, whispering, "Guv, 'm sorry, but Oi jes realised m' brains 're fried. Wot 're we lookin' for?"

Holmes's lips twitched at the irony, but answered in a sympathetic murmur, "We are looking for a particular spot where several elements come together: where the lines run in the open air with houses abutting, and the Underground trains are frequently held motionless. I discovered last time that there are very few back-stair windows along this stretch of track where all three factors apply, from which Cadogan West's body could have been placed upon the roof of the train."

"O' course..." Zed, what is wrong with you?! "Sorry, shoulda known tha'."

Holmes looked at her consideringly. Should he...? "Well, dear 'boy', perhaps this is a good time to see how much you have learnt." He nodded encouragingly at the way ahead. "Find the location."

Her eyes went very round as she mouthed, "Seriously? Bli-MEY." It was simultaneously scary and uplifting—on the original round of investigation, he would never have done this. Heart hammering, she turned to face the tracks, took a deep breath, and willed herself to calm down and remember the story.

And then she realised: this area felt familiar. In fact, she'd been here already, on the other side of the houses. So how far from here, exactly, was the one they were looking for...? She started walking slowly along beside the tracks, glancing back and forth between the railroad and the backs of the fine houses on either side.

Holmes watched with the proud smile of a teacher watching a favourite student, while Smythe looked wonderingly between the pair of them, but said nothing.

Beth quickened her pace, and managed to keep her Cockney as she muttered. "In'ersection... where are you?" Where was it, where was it, where was it... "Yew can' be very far..." And, sure enough, up ahead was a place where the lines ran in the open air and came to a point, and the houses were close up on either side. The architecture looked very familiar. "Tha's it!" She started running.

"Careful there, young man!" Smythe called, he and Holmes quickening their own pace.

"Yassir!" Beth shouted over her shoulder. Grinning, she skidded to a halt, the intersection directly ahead.

The two men rejoined her in a few moments, Holmes arching an inquiring eyebrow. "Well?"

Beth pointed. "Point... 'ouses..." She made a sweeping motion from the windows over the tracks to the tracks themselves.

Holmes nodded slowly, taking care not to stare at one window in particular. "But what makes you certain that this is the correct address?" There were other places on the line with all three elements, after all.

She made a small "o" with her mouth—she'd forgotten that he didn't know she'd followed him that first night.

Beth's face... what did she know that he didn't? Holmes gave her a questioning look, resolved not to press her if she couldn't answer.

"Been 'ere b'fore," she murmured.

Holmes's eyes narrowed. Before... oh. "Why am I not surprised?" She'd never listened to him before that, why spoil a perfect record?

She managed to hold his gaze, though it still wasn't easy when he narrowed his eyes like that. He probably didn't even know just how intense his gaze really was. "Oi tried to... let yew know... But not in time..."

Holmes shook his head with a sigh, then smiled mischievously. "But there is one other way you could have known, a piece of evidence staring straight at you." If Watson were to include it when writing up the case...

She could only stare at him blankly, not at all remembering what she ought to be looking for. She couldn't even reason out what it ought to be. So much for being a hardcore fangirl...

Then again, it had been a long day for both of them. Taking pity on her, Holmes prompted gently, "The window..."

Beth frowned up at the buildings and shook her head. "Oi don't... oh." She saw it—the one window that looked different from the other blackened windows. "Oh, cor, the sill is smudged! The, ah, the ash! Soot." A body being pushed out a window would smudge the soot considerably.

"Precisely."

"Well done, young sir!" Smythe exclaimed, shaking his head in admiration, even looking a shade envious. "Looks like you've got a right promising apprentice there, Mr. Holmes!"

"Without a doubt," Holmes smiled, noting Beth's sudden blush with some amusement. "We have done all we can here, Mr. Smythe. Let us return to the station."


Back on the platform, Holmes shook hands with Smythe, smiling gratefully. "Thank you very much for your time and trouble, sir. Your assistance has been invaluable."

William Smythe was beaming from ear to ear. "A pleasure, Mr. Holmes, truly. The wife's never going to believe me when I tell her! A very pleasant afternoon to you both, sirs!" The official walked off, chuckling to himself.

Grinning from ear to ear, Beth waited until the man was out of earshot. "Aww, a fanboy!" Of course there were fans in this era—she could never forget the story of London turning out to wear black armbands in the wake of "The Final Problem"—but it was really cool to see it in real life.

His glare was only a half-hearted one, nodding down the street. "Time we were moving on." There'd been no way through to Caulfield Gardens from the tracks, and he had to make doubly certain that Oberstein had vacated the premises.

"Yessir," she drawled. As they headed around towards the street, she almost matched his stride. I'm almost as tall as he is—how is he still all legs? "Lot nicer in the daytime, this place," she mused.

"Mm. Although I'll be glad to see the back of all this fog." Nine months of the damn stuff... He'd never be able to eat Mrs. Hudson's pea soup ever again.

Beth smirked. "I'm gonna miss it. Handiest thing ever." Her tone might have been light, but in a way, it was very true—she reveled in the weak sunshine, but the fog... the fog had been a friend.

Ah. "Which is no doubt how you avoided my notice the first time."

She put on her most innocent expression and tone, belying the fact that she suddenly felt a good deal more exposed without the embrace of the fog and darkness. "What can I say: it's a positive life-saver."

His expression softened as he heard what she wasn't saying. "Very true." And probably on many more occasions than you'll ever hear about... But this was hardly the time for speculation, they'd arrived at No. 13.

Beth studied the place in better lighting than she'd had before. "Nice. Almost kinda ritzy."

Holmes snorted as he bent to examine the front step. "Is that another term for 'pretentious Greco-Roman'?" Columns didn't belong on anything smaller than a bank, in his opinion.

She giggled quietly, then sobered. "Doesn't look like he's been home in a bit..." Of course, she knew he hadn't been, but the place just looked dark and deserted. It was a little sad, really... she wondered what would become of the place at the end of this mess.

"Thus far." Holmes straightened and headed for the area, swinging himself over the railing.

Beth followed, trying to figure out what exactly he was looking for. For as long as she could remember, she'd wanted to be a detective, but she clearly had a long way to go...

Holmes examined the area door and the ground before it, peered through the grimy basement windows, but could discover no sign of any recent activity. "It seems that the bird has indeed flown."

"Good deal," she said softly, and yawned. And grinned. "And don't worry: tonight, I'm staying home."

He grinned back, concealing his sudden sinking feeling; he'd forgotten this was as far as she could go with him. "You still need to work on your acting, love, that sounded far too innocent." Back up on the pavement, he took out his watch, and blinked in dismay – he really needed to grow accustomed to living in linear time again.

She looked at him curiously. "What?"

"It's later than I first thought – Mrs Hudson will have served dinner for everyone else half an hour ago." Of course, Watson didn't have to join him for at least another hour... There was no reason he and Beth couldn't make other arrangements in the meantime.

Oh, she hadn't thought of that. "Well..."

A bird whistle sounded nearby—a very familiar bird whistle. She hesitated.

Holmes's ears had also pricked up – was that Kelly? "What is it?" he murmured.

Well, she needed to see what the Irregular wanted. "Give me a few minutes?"

"Certainly." What was she up to?

"Just a few," she grinned, and took off towards the Irregular.

Holmes seated himself on a nearby bench, passing the time by taking out his notepad and scribbling a note for Watson. Dining at Goldini's. Please join me there as soon as you may. Bring my kit with you and a revolver. — S.H.

Ten minutes later, he looked up at the sound of footsteps, and stared to see Beth approaching, looking very different from when she'd left him. True, he'd seen her dressed up before, but never in Victorian clothing! The hat suited her perfectly, and what he could see of her dress beneath the long coat... Mouth closed, you idiot, you're gawping.

Beth smiled shyly. Just the way he was looking at her took her breath away, like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and nothing else mattered. It was almost overwhelming.

"Beth..." Holmes smiled back foolishly, still recovering. "You look... You look lovely, my dear."

She didn't know where to look—the adoration in his eyes was too much; she still didn't know how to cope. "Thank you," she said softly. "It's not, um, it's not the nicest dress I've ever had, but, um..."

He took her hand and kissed it, wishing fervently that he dared do more, even with the lingering fog shielding them.

Beth could only blush and wish for another kiss—public Victorian propriety was going to take a lot of getting used to.

"And as I was about to mention, there is a pleasant little Italian restaurant just down the street from the station."

Beth grinned. "Oh, I know. And so does Sally. She used the amazing psychic abilities she picked up from Kathy to read your mind and send one of the boys over with a decent change of clothing for me."

Holmes blinked, then started to laugh. "Cherie, sometimes I honestly do not know whether to be reassured or terrified by your and Sally's knowledge of my published cases." He offered her his arm, shaking his head. "Watson has much to answer for."

Beth smiled, slipping her arm around his. "I wouldn't argue too much with his stories, sweetheart," she murmured. "They're important to far too many people, myself included."

He gave a resigned nod, sighing. "I believe I encountered most of them in '69." The main reason he'd been reluctant to attend Brett's performance at Wyndham's Theatre... "Don't ask, please."

She gaped. "Oh, not fair! You do not mention something like that and then try to get out of saying any more about it, mister!"

Holmes shook his head firmly. "If you wish for more details, ask the Doctor."

Beth growled in frustration, huffed, and started to think out loud. "Let's see, 1969..." She nodded slowly as she cast her mind back over the timeline of Sherlockian filmography. "I can see how that would be traumatic... That was before the revival in the 1970s, and the only major actor at the time was Peter Cushing!" She gave an exaggerated shudder—she respected Cushing as an actor, and thought he made a fantastic villain in Star Wars, but... She blinked. In 1969, the most well-known version of Sherlock Holmes aside from Basil Rathbone had been much, much older than the real deal was now. "Oh my gosh, you poor thing!"

He nodded mournfully, though rather impressed at her line of reasoning.

She gave a sympathetic laugh—his reaction was kind of cute. "Aww."

"Dare I ask how many actors have... caricatured Watson and I since Gillette?" At least Watson had gotten off lightly in meeting Edward Hardwicke. Let him find out about Nigel Bruce's performance, however, and there would be trouble for somebody...

"Umm... dare I say that nobody really knows for sure?" She had definitely not winced at the word caricatured, nope, not a little bit. "Well, okay, maybe somebody does... But... we're looking at well over a hundred, and that's just on screen, doesn't even count theater or radio. I think people largely stopped counting after the year 2000." She gave a genuine shudder as she thought of Sherlock seeing some of the adaptations she had. "And you do not ever want to see some of the stuff that was produced between 1969 and my time. Check that: half. No, maybe most. Hm..." She wondered how he'd react to things like The Great Mouse Detective or the BBC's Sherlock or Sir Ian McKellen in Mr. Holmes...

"Beth?"

"Hm? What?"

"Apologies, my dear," Holmes smiled, "but you looked lost in thought. We have arrived." He opened the restaurant door and bowed her inside.


Ria: *hugs the Holmeses* So glad we could give those two a more traditional proposal, even if it did happen a little late. And more case-solving, squee!

Thanks to all our readers for waiting so patiently for the next chapter, Dr. Reality's been a right thorn in the side the last few months.

Sky: *groans* True, dat. And, heck, it was fun just to have some happy moments with the Holmeses again, the poor things. *joins the group hug*

Here's hoping the next chapter will come much more quickly!