Chapter 3

I laid my head back onto the futon sofa as Sherlock Holmes continued to pace around the room. Tim had left long ago. I was tired. Why the hell wasn't Holmes tired? He'd asked me for a pain reliever. Cocaine, specifically. I told him it was illegal in this world of beurocratic buzzkillers, and produced a bottle of Tylenol. Should have given him Tylenol PM, I thought as his circling grew more and more rapid.

"Really, Sherlock," I began for probably the hundredth time, "With all that's happened, you need rest. What are you accomplishing with this pacing?"

He stopped and stared at me for a moment, his gray eyes burning holes into my skull. "My dear Chele," he spoke, as if her were addressing a 5 year old, "I am attempting to determine the method in which I arrived here, so that I might make a speedy return to my own time."

"You have to do this tonight?" The look in his face answered the question for me. I sighed. "Look, as long as you're up, I'm up. Can you at least tell me what happened, and what you saw, and maybe we can figure this out together?" Ok, so maybe it was a little arrogant on my part. Thinking I would be of any assistance to the "Great Detective." But really...what else was there to do?

To my suprise, Holmes came over to the sofa and sat next to me. "As eager as I would be to receive any assistance, I'm afraid there's little information you can provide that I'm not already privy to." His eyes lowered, and he let out a little sigh of frustration. "But perhaps you are right. I've found that the best remedy to a block in thought is to divert one's attention elsewhere. So then, what is there to do in this town at four in the morning?"

SLEEP!! I wanted to scream. But I knew where that response would get me. Now I was the one who jumped off the sofa and started pacing about. Grabbing a glass of water and a bottle of Ephedrine pills, I said "Not a whole lot. This is kind of a 'roll up the streets at nine' type of town." I thought for a bit. "You up for a walk?"

"Of course," said Holmes, rising from the sofa and holding his elbow out to me. I yawned and slipped my arm through his, wishing the Mini-Thins would kick in a little quicker.

* * *

The only place I could think of that was in walking distance was the Grand River. We walked most of the way, arm in arm, in silence. Out of habit, I looked up at the pink sky and sighed. Holmes noticed my wistful attitude, and asked me what was the matter.

"No stars," I replied. "I spent most of my life out in the country. It still seems weird to look up and see the sky all pink like that." He answered me with a nod and kicked at a stone along the paved path. We continued on in silence for a few minutes after that. I broke away from him and sat on a large rock at the river bank. As he joined me, I noticed a wistful look on his face, too.

I gave him my best reassuring smile. "I'm sure it will all turn out for the best," I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He stared at it for a moment, then took it into his own...and set it into my lap. Ok...so he's not a physical contact sort of person, I thought. I turned my gaze out to the river. Or at least, I tried to. The man really was sort of good looking, in a bookwormish sort of way. I dared another glance up at his eyes, and I thought I saw a tear forming.

Holmes quickly turned his head away, then said in a quiet voice, "I wonder how good old Watson got along in his life?" I understood. If I thought he would welcome a hug, I would have, but instead I kept my distance, drawing my arms close around myself.

I smiled softly, catching his eyes, which were perfectly dry now. "Try not to think about it," I suggested. "Who knows? If we do find a way for you to get back, maybe he won't miss you at all."

Sherlock caught on instantly, of course. "Yes...if I were to return to the exact point in time from which I vanished, to them there would be no disappearance at all!" He rose, and stood in front of me. "I've been in a race against the clock when in fact, there is no time limit. Thank you again, Miss Chele," he said, holding his hands out to me. "For putting my mind at ease, if only temporarily."

I stared in amazement of his sudden 180. "Um...no prob..." I took his hands and climbed off the rock, and we continued back to my apartment, his arm once again around mine. His step was much lighter, and he chatted incessantly, pointing out various plants as we walked along the sidewalk. A definite bi-polar case, I thought. Freud would have had fun with him.

* * *

Surprisingly enough, Holmes went to bed as soon as we got back to the apartment. But of course, after my dose of Ephedrine, I was wide awake. I decided it was research time. I logged onto the internet and typed "Sherlock Holmes" in the search request box. Scanning through the Holmes/Watson sites (that image just didn't sit right in my head), I finally found what I was looking for: a biography. Hell, it was only fair, right? He probably knew pretty much everything there was to know about me already. I opened up a Word document and made a list of his likes, dislikes, and interests.

I then promptly deleted the list from my hard drive and closed the browser window. Snooping like that wasn't the way to go about things. If we could know all there is to know about a person before we even meet them, what is the point in even having them around? I switched the computer off and curled up on the couch, trying to get some sleep.