Prompt: Dr. Watson stuck in a time loop, from .coat

"Holmes!" I cried out as I saw my friend lose his balance after knocking out the thief we had been hired to catch and begin to fall from the edge of the roof.

Then I woke up, with no clear idea of how I had come to be there. In my own room, at 221b Baker Street, in my own bed. I hastened downstairs, to ask Holmes how the fight had ended. I could only assume that I had been knocked out and was only now coming back to myself. Who was it who had carried me back to our rooms? Was it Holmes? It could not have been, he had been about to fall from the edge of the roof. How had he survived? Perhaps he was even now in hospital, and I quickened my pace.

Only to find Holmes seated at his armchair with a pipe, looking for all the world as relaxed as if last night had never happened. "Ah, Watson. Mrs. Hudson has left a breakfast platter for you," he said.

I stared at him. "How did we escape last night, Holmes?" I asked. "That fiend had you against the edge of the building. I must have been knocked out! Did Scotland Yard arrive in time?"

"My dear Watson, whatever are you on about?" Holmes asked. "We spent last night here among the newspapers and monographs, do you not remember? You grumbled about the sudden turn in the races and I was engaged in editing my small work on the different makes of carriage wheels."

"No," I said, "No, it cannot be true." Before I had a further chance to explain myself, the page announced the arrival of a client. To my surprise, the man, when he entered, was the very same client as yesterday, in whose service we had ended up on the roof. The man was well-dressed, intelligent and refined, though he fingered his hat nervously as he approached.

"Forgive my interruption. I have a problem of a most delicate nature, that I soon fear will become a crime past all imagining."

At Holmes's urging, he told us his story, an affair of a disgruntled employee who he believed was breaking into his place of business to make off with the profits. What was most interesting to me, however, was that this same man had given us the same story yesterday, with not a difference in wording.

"A pretty problem, Watson," Holmes said, in exactly the same words he himself had used yesterday. "There are factors of interest, though the motive is clear as day. Still, determining how the fellow is getting into the building is worthy of at least two pipes."

"But you said this yesterday!" I burst out, unable to contain myself. "Do you not remember, Holmes, that we had this same case yesterday afternoon?"

"Watson, are you feeling quite well?" Holmes asked. "Of course we did not have this same case yesterday? I certainly should have remembered it!"

He, of all people, would have, and I fell silent as he smoked his two pipes before inviting me to go out on a walk. Perhaps something was wrong with my memory? Could I have been hit in the head hard enough to relive an entire day in my mind? As we ambled through the streets, I listened as he listed the very same deductions as he had yesterday and laid out the very plan that had ended with us on the roof. It seemed to me we had even passed the same people yesterday - the flower-seller on the corner arguing with the fruit-seller next to her over their shared space, the cab that veered out of the way of a boy with his ball. It was a puzzle, and if only Holmes would believe me, I had no doubt he should be able to figure it out.

We went through all the same motions as yesterday until we came to the same roof to catch the thief, and once again Holmes stood at the edge. Perhaps, knowing it was coming, I would be able to stop it this time. I started towards him, only to cry out in alarm as he began to fall. "Holmes!"

I awoke again in my bed in Baker Street. This time, I was not as surprised to find Holmes seated at the armchair. "Ah, Watson. Mrs. Hudson has left a breakfast platter for you," he said again.

"Holmes, do you really not remember we have done this twice before?" I said. "In barely ten minutes, a client will be shown up to us."

"I shall take that bet," Holmes said, though he seemed to think nothing of it when the very same client appeared again and told us the same story he had. I studied Holmes carefully. Could it be he truly had no idea we had lived through the same twice already? He had little patience for extraneous facts, and would be thoroughly bored being told the same story three times. Yet he seemed as interested as if he had never heard it before.

He smoked the same two pipes and invited me on the same walk, where I observed the very same flower-seller arguing with her neighbor. "That cab will soon veer away from the boy with the ball," I said to Holmes, pointing out the cab in question.

"Watson, please tell me you have not decided to become a clairvoyant!" Holmes said. "You know how I detest such charlatans!"

"I have not!" I said indignantly. "Simply watch, Holmes." Sure enough, the cab in question veered exactly as I said it would. Holmes turned to look at me in amazement.

"You noticed the boy and correctly predicted the cab would move in time. You are developing, Watson!"
"No!" I said. "I knew because I have seen this before."

"Well, it promises to be an interesting problem," Holmes said. "When we have finished with this case remind me to turn my attention to it."

That was not to be, for we once again found ourselves at the roof's edge, exactly where we had been the last two nights. I was determined, this time, to get to Holmes before he could fall. Perhaps, knowing what would happen as I did, I would be able to stop it this time. I had an idea that if I could only see what came after that moment, this nightmare might end.

"Holmes!"

It was not to be. I could not overcome the thief's accomplice who held me back, and I again woke to find myself in my Baker Street bedroom.

"Ah, Watson. Mrs. Hudson has left a breakfast platter for you."

"Not again, Holmes," I said wearily.

"She leaves you one every day, old fellow. Shall I tell her you no longer desire breakfast?" Holmes asked.

"Holmes, you must listen to me!" I said urgently. "We have been living the same day over again for the last three days!"

"That is impossible, Watson," Holmes said. "Even if it were not, how should you notice and not I?"

"I don't know!" I cried. "I only know that it is true. In ten minutes, a man shall come through that door, asking for our help, and we shall end the night on the rooftop of his company, you about to fall from the edge. After that, I always awake and start the day over again."

It happened exactly as Holmes said, and I saw him give me a quizzical look as the client arrived. Yet, knowing him as I did, I knew he did not entirely believe me. However, I knew one way to ensure that he would. "You were about to say that this man was recently promoted to a new position in his company, is not yet married but is planning to propose to his intended, and does a great deal of playing cards. Oh, and he recently had electric installed in his house," I said, rattling off the deductions I had heard Holmes give three times already.

I saw Holmes's eyes widen, though when the man left he turned to me. "Well, Watson, I see you are learning something of deductions! This is excellent."

I resisted the urge to hang my head, merely allowing him to continue with his two pipes. "A pretty problem, Watson," he said. "There are factors of interest-"

"You have said this already," I said.

"Have I? Well, perhaps we should take a walk. I have an idea as to how we should catch this fellow."

I walked as if in a dream, sidestepping the flower-seller and the fruit-seller and pulling Holmes out of the way of the veering cab without a thought. I was lost in trying to determine how I should get out of this mess. Yet by that night, as we again climbed up to the roof, I was as lost as I had been for the last three days. I was so distracted I was hardly able to pay attention to my fight, and only waited for the moment I knew would come. Were we to be doomed to live out this day forever? There had to be some way to get out of it. "Holmes!"

I awoke again in Baker Street, and this time, instead of heading downstairs as I normally did, I immediately dressed myself to go out. I knew there was but one man in the country who might be able to help me. "Ah, Watson. Mrs. Hudson has left a breakfast platter for you," Holmes said as I appeared. I did not answer and instead left Baker Street altogether. Perhaps I had to refuse to engage entirely in this farce to do something about it.

I arrived at the Diogenes Club and requested a meeting with Mycroft Holmes in the Strangers Room. When he arrived, I confess I was quite overcome. "Oh, Mr. Holmes, I do not know what to do!"

"That is, I suspect, what my brother is accustomed to hearing from his visitors," Mycroft said, not unkindly. "I, however, am not. What exactly is the trouble, Dr. Watson?"
"I know you shall think me mad when I explain it," I said. "But it is the truth. I have been living the same day over again for the past four days! I tell you, every detail is exactly the same!" I detailed the things I had noticed - things Holmes had said to me, the nature of his client, the people I had noticed on our walk, ending with the fight on the roof.

Mycroft, when I had finished, appeared quite interested. I began to hope that he might not disbelieve me. "Come with me, Dr. Watson," he said, and I followed him through a door I had never noticed before, and then down a flight of steps.

The underground chamber we went into was as brightly lit as if it were daylight, and I was amazed. No electric lights I had seen mimicked daylight so well. There were tables, and what appeared to be electronic inventions all about, none of which I could identify. I looked around with interest. "W?" Mycroft asked. "I have something for you."

A man turned around from the far side of the room. His features were nondescript save for his large mustache. "M?" he asked.

"M?" I asked Mycroft quizzically. I had never heard him called so informally, even by his own brother.

"Oh, do forgive me, Dr. Watson. I am, as my brother may have told you, more influential in the British government than I would have most people believe. As such, I have access to the resources of departments vital to our security, whose existence I prefer to keep secret. As such, I find it a benefit that none should know I am involved with them."

I understood this to mean some sort of intelligence service, and I nodded quickly. Mycroft smiled. "Good. Dr. Watson, this is W., our technological wizard. W, Dr. Watson. I believe he might be able to do something about your little problem. It's a time loop, I believe." This last was said to the man with the mustache, W., who looked at me with new interest.

"Oh, yes. I have some experience with time and its motions. I shall certainly be able to help you." He led us through a labyrinth of corridors until we reached a small room with only one contraption in it. It looked rather like an automobile, but one without wheels. "I should like you to sit in that," W. said. "Time loops are unusual things. Usually, they mean that something must be done, or more usually, undone for it to break."

"Time loops?" I asked.

"Yes," W. said. "Were you doing anything, when you noticed it start?"

"Why, yes," I said, and again relayed the story of Holmes and I on the roof.

"Excellent. It makes it much easier if we have a specific point," W. said. "I will ask you to sit in this, Doctor." He indicated the contraption on the ground. "This device will take you to the exact moment of that fight so you may take your counterpart's place and prevent Mr. Sherlock Holmes from falling off that roof. Evidently, that is the moment at which Time chose to break. I can only conjecture that the continued existence of Mr. Holmes is essential in some way."

"I expect so," Mycroft said. "I hardly know what my brother gets up to, but it seems likely we will need his services at some point or another."
"I shall go with you to switch out your counterpart," W. said. "I will take him back with us, and once Time rights itself, the extraneous Watson will simply melt away into his own timeline."

That did not sound very pleasant, but I understood little about these thing. "Do you mean to tell me that you mean to travel back to last night? That this machine in here can travel through time?" I asked incredulously.

"Indeed," W. said. "As I said, I have some experience in these matters, though I have honed the technology since then."

I looked at W. again and I had a sudden flash of intuition as I put certain facts together. "You cannot be Mr.-"

"No time" W. said suddenly. "Come, Doctor." He sat in the contraption himself and not a second after I followed, the underground room disappeared around us and it was night again. I looked around, recognizing the rooftop. I turned and saw Holmes about the fall, heard myself cry out before the sound was suddenly cut out. A glance told me that W. had succeeded in getting my counterpart onto the time machine, and I did not stop to see it disappear. I ran towards the edge of the roof and grabbed Holmes before he fell.

"Why, thank you, my dear Watson," Holmes said. "That was quite a feat, to get here so quickly from across the roof!"

He did not appear to have noticed, a near miracle, though perhaps nearly falling from a precipice does tend to limit one's perception of their surroundings. "It is good that I did," I said.

"Yes," he agreed. "Just in time, as well."

I laughed aloud, as he had no idea how very much time had to do with it. "Come, Holmes, let us go back to Baker Street." Where, with any luck, I would at last awake on a new tomorrow.

A/N: I took as fact a fan theory that Mycroft was the original M. of the James Bond universe, and expanded that to include a W. in the place of Q. If you didn't catch it, he's H.G. Wells.