I half expected to see our set when we burst through the door, once again abruptly and unexpectedly. I didn't know whether to be upset or thankful when my eyes came to rest on the astonished pair before us.

"Gentlemen, this is becoming a habit," Watson said drily. Jeremy and I stood puffing in front of them and I could feel my face getting warm from embarrassment. Were we getting worked up over nothing? Surely a man's life means something, whether we were in a fantasy world or not?

"We're very sorry," Jeremy began, "but we have urgent information regarding Mr. Cubitt."

Holmes's eyebrow met his hairline, "You have information about Mr. Cubitt. You stated last night that you know no one here."

"We don't," I insisted. "And we don't know Mr. Cubitt. But we know Doctor Watson's story."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Watson demanded. "I've never seen the man before today! Let alone written a story about him."

"Well, obviously you haven't written it yet," Jeremy said matter-of-factly. "But you will. And we've read it. To make this all even crazier, this is the exact story we were shooting when this madness began."

"Shooting?" Watson looked confused. "What do you shoot at?"

Jeremy ran a frustrated hand through his hair, "No, no, never mind. That doesn't matter. What does matter is that this man's life is in jeopardy and we can stop it."

Holmes eyes narrowed, "How can you have information about this case? What is going on here? Were you lying last night or now? And why? What can you hope to gain?" He stepped forward quickly to stand face to face with Jeremy.

I was struck again by their amazing resemblance. The sharp features, the black hair slicked back, the authoritative way they held themselves. Even in his sleep-rumpled suit, Jeremy was nearly as imposing as the real thing.

And I felt an unaccountable urge to come between them, to shield Jeremy from the anger Holmes was projecting.

Without thinking, I did so, quickly inserting myself between them, and not-so-gently shoving Holmes back a step. "What exactly are you accusing us of?" I demanded hotly.

Watson had moved quickly when I pushed Holmes back, and he was now standing next to his friend, his eyes on me. I didn't like the look I was receiving. I realized I had made a big mistake in laying a hand on Holmes. The doctor looked positively murderous. I was suddenly very nervous.