First of all, I would like to thank all of those wonderful people who actually reviewed and dint use the review option as a way to nag me. Obviously that certain someone batta watch her back because I have connections wit connection who have connections with connections (jk)!
Some of the peeps I wish to thank:
Moonshine for being soo nice and yes, that flip thing was from Oh, Jerusalem (BTW, your not annoying; IM me, or email me, I neeeedd ideas!)
Hannah Holmes, aren't u on sh22?
Sweetheart, 'Yo'!
Aen I do try 2 make them live
Kit Thespian, one of the first people that in reviews told me bout' it being messed up (damn computers is all I can say)
Meatloaf the Happy Donkey for your . . .obscure and vague remarks
Rose, thank u for fixing the hair thing (but *of course* he felt like dyeing it!)
Hank Riddle for the longest review in the history fanfictiondom
I refuse to acknowledge a certain person who's name is ( and they did a great job of spelling the name, didn't she folks?) that of a historical figure who was beheaded and is also the name of the doll of Wednesday Friday Adams, to u, I say 2 u bah humbug!
I sneezed, mentally slapping myself. After finding Holmes, as I said it, "lost and forlorn", I hadn't really taken care of myself. Watson had to go visit his sick mother, and Mrs. Hudson and I took care of him. It was chiefly me, because there was always something going on downstairs in the kitchen. Her daughter had come to visit and , because the kitchen was under a slightly less firmer but still strict hand, I was relieved from bedside duty. I hadn't slept in days.
Now, here I was, sick as a dog and trying to disguise my voice so that Mrs. Hudson wasn't worried.
"Come in," my voice cracked. Damn.
I had given Mrs. Hudson a spare key in case of any problems, and this was one of the times she used it.
"Oh, Olivia!" She had come to regard me with a mother-like affection. "You got a fever, don't you?" She put a hand on my forehead. "You do! I'll go fetch you some of my best chicken soup and-"
"Thank you Mrs. Hudson, but I'm all right. If I get up and start acting like nothing's wrong with me I fool my own cold."
"All right," she said incredulously, "if you need anything, you know I am here . ."
"Thank you, I will make sure to ask you for help if I need."
"Oh, by the way, Mr. Holmes is looking for you."
"Oh, why?"
'Said he needed to speak with you about something." Her eyes twinkled "Is he a new beau?"
"Holmes? Goodness," I choked, at the absurdity, "no."
Shaking my head and getting changed, I headed downstairs. When I first entered the room, I found only Watson.
"What are you up to?" I asked quietly.
"Oh, nothing, nothing at all!" He said quickly and stared at me.
"Watson, your blinking at a rate uncountable, you're lying." I grabbed the paper before he could say anything.
" 'Although my good friend and my sister deny their love?' A; I'm flattered that you actually think of me as your sister so much you'll write it in a journal entry, B: that whole love thing *must* go. Where would you get an idea like that?"
"I-" Watson was saved by the Holmes.
"Hello, everyone." He paused in front of me. "You look sick. Watson."
I tried my best to glare at him. "I'm not sick, I'm ju-" I started couching violently and I sat myself down in a chair.
"Honest, Watson," he said matter-of-factly, "you'll catch you're death if you're always worrying about me over you."
"Do not!" I cried indignantly, then mumbled that I had been taking a walk.
"And I *really* fall of a cliff. Go to bed, now."
"I am not a child, Holmes, I don't need you to tell me what to do!"
"Well, let's ask you 'brother' then."
We turned and looked at the doctor, who now squirmed in his chair. "Well, she does look all right . ."
"Ha!"
" . . . but knowing that's she has been up for over forty-eight hours without sleep would leave anyone in need of a nap. I really don't thinks it's my business to decide for her, though."
"You heard the man, Watson," he looked at me like a punishing father, "now go to bed."
I sighed and went back upstairs. Collapsing on my bed, I stared at the ceiling. Iech, life was at an all-time dull. Maybe Holmes was right, I thought to myself, maybe I should take a nap . .
I sat up straight. I couldn't let him be right at everything*. I'd just close my eyes for a few minutes. . .
When I entered the room, I found Holmes hunched over a large, black, mechanical looking thing that looked a lot like something I had seen in a book about weapons through the ages. In fact, it looked a lot like . .
"Yes, a bomb." Holmes didn't even look up.
"Where's it from?"
"The front door," he pointed to our good friend, the doctor, who was shaking and gripping the chair madly. "He nearly opened it. I stopped him. Honestly, if they thought that this was, when they underestimated my logical abilities, the best that I would be able to possibly figure out, I'm quite insulted."
I didn't know what to say for a few moments, and then started laughing. Holmes finally looked at me through the corner of his eye. I think Watson would have done the same thing, but he was too busy looking at the wall in front of him, unblinking.
"What have *you* been doing in your room all day?" Holmes asked me curiously.
"Oh, Holmes, shut up. *I* don't do any type of drugs and it's just funny because you're completely calm about this entire thing."
"Well, you're 'completely calm' about traveling back in time, aren't you?"
"That's because after my parents divorced, Mum-"
" 'Mum'?"
I glared at him, completely forgetting the disabled bomb in the corner. "Yes, 'Mum', I've called her that all my life, even though I'm American. Anyway, we where always moving around. From New Jersey to Cairo, Egypt, then to Seattle, then on to . . . you get the idea."
"Oh, I see." He sighed. "So, Miss Traveler, I think we need to lay low for a while. Clearly two nearly deadly threats in less than forty-eight hours is something to worry about."
"Yeah, but were to?"
"I do believe last time I saw our friend Mr. Stuntson, he told me that if I ever needed anything he would be glad to comply. I say we take him up on that."
"Good idea."
I went upstairs to pack my stuff, remembering the many various times I'd done it before. My mother was rich, I never knew her job or why, so we were always able to do what we wanted. She would just come home one day and say that we were moving. Our next house's, I never really had a home, would always be picked by me closing my eyes and pointing to a spot on our map of the states. Egypt was the one exception. It was Mum's place of birth, so I had no say in that matter.
I guess I just got used to being new in different places, learned the accents, the culture, local history. I usually used it to help me place a victim or suspects.
Throwing all I could into my bags, I stared at my gun. I raced down the stairs to their apartment.
"Got any bullets?" I asked breathlessly.
"What for?" Watson finally spoke up. Good, he was out of shock.
"Um, let's just say as long as I have my skirt on I'll be armed."
"Yes, I think I do." He went over to a drawer and took out some. "What kind?"
I looked at the gun, sudden realization hitting me. My gun had become a revolver and looked perfect for the time period. I shook my head and handed it to him.
"I have no idea."
A few minutes later, Holmes returned from somewhere and started packing his things. I lugged all mine down the stairs and where Watson's was, who stared at me not even breaking much of a sweat. Holmes told us to wait for a cabdriver who would sneeze and cough three times in a row.
He showed up, and we all started in our way to God knew where. I didn't ask Holmes, who was crammed in the seat with me, due to the fact Watson took up a seat by himself ('big boned' he called himself, ha!), because I knew that he wouldn't answer me.
We ended at the train station, and Holmes told us to quietly and indiscreetly take a compartment. We were completely quiet save for the occasional sneeze, compliments of the dregs of my cold. The train started and we all started doing whatever.
I guess I fell asleep, because the next thing I could remember was Watson across the way chuckling.
"What?" I whispered, then realized what. I had fallen asleep and my head had slipped to Holmes' shoulder. He must have done the same thing because he was obviously asleep and had his head on mine. I elbowed him in the chest.
"Hey, Mr. 'Confirmed Bachelor' do you mind?" I said playfully.
He woke up and realized what happened, then basically flew to the other side of the seat. "I'm . . . I . ."
"It's okay, but if you had drooled I would have killed you."
Watson was laughing . I put on an innocent face.
"You know, I learned how to flip a person, put them in a headlock, and break their spine? You know what that does, don't you, dear brother John? In fact, it's easier if they're sitting in a seat."
He stopped and started to stare out of the window, myself smiling smugly.
Some of the peeps I wish to thank:
Moonshine for being soo nice and yes, that flip thing was from Oh, Jerusalem (BTW, your not annoying; IM me, or email me, I neeeedd ideas!)
Hannah Holmes, aren't u on sh22?
Sweetheart, 'Yo'!
Aen I do try 2 make them live
Kit Thespian, one of the first people that in reviews told me bout' it being messed up (damn computers is all I can say)
Meatloaf the Happy Donkey for your . . .obscure and vague remarks
Rose, thank u for fixing the hair thing (but *of course* he felt like dyeing it!)
Hank Riddle for the longest review in the history fanfictiondom
I refuse to acknowledge a certain person who's name is ( and they did a great job of spelling the name, didn't she folks?) that of a historical figure who was beheaded and is also the name of the doll of Wednesday Friday Adams, to u, I say 2 u bah humbug!
I sneezed, mentally slapping myself. After finding Holmes, as I said it, "lost and forlorn", I hadn't really taken care of myself. Watson had to go visit his sick mother, and Mrs. Hudson and I took care of him. It was chiefly me, because there was always something going on downstairs in the kitchen. Her daughter had come to visit and , because the kitchen was under a slightly less firmer but still strict hand, I was relieved from bedside duty. I hadn't slept in days.
Now, here I was, sick as a dog and trying to disguise my voice so that Mrs. Hudson wasn't worried.
"Come in," my voice cracked. Damn.
I had given Mrs. Hudson a spare key in case of any problems, and this was one of the times she used it.
"Oh, Olivia!" She had come to regard me with a mother-like affection. "You got a fever, don't you?" She put a hand on my forehead. "You do! I'll go fetch you some of my best chicken soup and-"
"Thank you Mrs. Hudson, but I'm all right. If I get up and start acting like nothing's wrong with me I fool my own cold."
"All right," she said incredulously, "if you need anything, you know I am here . ."
"Thank you, I will make sure to ask you for help if I need."
"Oh, by the way, Mr. Holmes is looking for you."
"Oh, why?"
'Said he needed to speak with you about something." Her eyes twinkled "Is he a new beau?"
"Holmes? Goodness," I choked, at the absurdity, "no."
Shaking my head and getting changed, I headed downstairs. When I first entered the room, I found only Watson.
"What are you up to?" I asked quietly.
"Oh, nothing, nothing at all!" He said quickly and stared at me.
"Watson, your blinking at a rate uncountable, you're lying." I grabbed the paper before he could say anything.
" 'Although my good friend and my sister deny their love?' A; I'm flattered that you actually think of me as your sister so much you'll write it in a journal entry, B: that whole love thing *must* go. Where would you get an idea like that?"
"I-" Watson was saved by the Holmes.
"Hello, everyone." He paused in front of me. "You look sick. Watson."
I tried my best to glare at him. "I'm not sick, I'm ju-" I started couching violently and I sat myself down in a chair.
"Honest, Watson," he said matter-of-factly, "you'll catch you're death if you're always worrying about me over you."
"Do not!" I cried indignantly, then mumbled that I had been taking a walk.
"And I *really* fall of a cliff. Go to bed, now."
"I am not a child, Holmes, I don't need you to tell me what to do!"
"Well, let's ask you 'brother' then."
We turned and looked at the doctor, who now squirmed in his chair. "Well, she does look all right . ."
"Ha!"
" . . . but knowing that's she has been up for over forty-eight hours without sleep would leave anyone in need of a nap. I really don't thinks it's my business to decide for her, though."
"You heard the man, Watson," he looked at me like a punishing father, "now go to bed."
I sighed and went back upstairs. Collapsing on my bed, I stared at the ceiling. Iech, life was at an all-time dull. Maybe Holmes was right, I thought to myself, maybe I should take a nap . .
I sat up straight. I couldn't let him be right at everything*. I'd just close my eyes for a few minutes. . .
When I entered the room, I found Holmes hunched over a large, black, mechanical looking thing that looked a lot like something I had seen in a book about weapons through the ages. In fact, it looked a lot like . .
"Yes, a bomb." Holmes didn't even look up.
"Where's it from?"
"The front door," he pointed to our good friend, the doctor, who was shaking and gripping the chair madly. "He nearly opened it. I stopped him. Honestly, if they thought that this was, when they underestimated my logical abilities, the best that I would be able to possibly figure out, I'm quite insulted."
I didn't know what to say for a few moments, and then started laughing. Holmes finally looked at me through the corner of his eye. I think Watson would have done the same thing, but he was too busy looking at the wall in front of him, unblinking.
"What have *you* been doing in your room all day?" Holmes asked me curiously.
"Oh, Holmes, shut up. *I* don't do any type of drugs and it's just funny because you're completely calm about this entire thing."
"Well, you're 'completely calm' about traveling back in time, aren't you?"
"That's because after my parents divorced, Mum-"
" 'Mum'?"
I glared at him, completely forgetting the disabled bomb in the corner. "Yes, 'Mum', I've called her that all my life, even though I'm American. Anyway, we where always moving around. From New Jersey to Cairo, Egypt, then to Seattle, then on to . . . you get the idea."
"Oh, I see." He sighed. "So, Miss Traveler, I think we need to lay low for a while. Clearly two nearly deadly threats in less than forty-eight hours is something to worry about."
"Yeah, but were to?"
"I do believe last time I saw our friend Mr. Stuntson, he told me that if I ever needed anything he would be glad to comply. I say we take him up on that."
"Good idea."
I went upstairs to pack my stuff, remembering the many various times I'd done it before. My mother was rich, I never knew her job or why, so we were always able to do what we wanted. She would just come home one day and say that we were moving. Our next house's, I never really had a home, would always be picked by me closing my eyes and pointing to a spot on our map of the states. Egypt was the one exception. It was Mum's place of birth, so I had no say in that matter.
I guess I just got used to being new in different places, learned the accents, the culture, local history. I usually used it to help me place a victim or suspects.
Throwing all I could into my bags, I stared at my gun. I raced down the stairs to their apartment.
"Got any bullets?" I asked breathlessly.
"What for?" Watson finally spoke up. Good, he was out of shock.
"Um, let's just say as long as I have my skirt on I'll be armed."
"Yes, I think I do." He went over to a drawer and took out some. "What kind?"
I looked at the gun, sudden realization hitting me. My gun had become a revolver and looked perfect for the time period. I shook my head and handed it to him.
"I have no idea."
A few minutes later, Holmes returned from somewhere and started packing his things. I lugged all mine down the stairs and where Watson's was, who stared at me not even breaking much of a sweat. Holmes told us to wait for a cabdriver who would sneeze and cough three times in a row.
He showed up, and we all started in our way to God knew where. I didn't ask Holmes, who was crammed in the seat with me, due to the fact Watson took up a seat by himself ('big boned' he called himself, ha!), because I knew that he wouldn't answer me.
We ended at the train station, and Holmes told us to quietly and indiscreetly take a compartment. We were completely quiet save for the occasional sneeze, compliments of the dregs of my cold. The train started and we all started doing whatever.
I guess I fell asleep, because the next thing I could remember was Watson across the way chuckling.
"What?" I whispered, then realized what. I had fallen asleep and my head had slipped to Holmes' shoulder. He must have done the same thing because he was obviously asleep and had his head on mine. I elbowed him in the chest.
"Hey, Mr. 'Confirmed Bachelor' do you mind?" I said playfully.
He woke up and realized what happened, then basically flew to the other side of the seat. "I'm . . . I . ."
"It's okay, but if you had drooled I would have killed you."
Watson was laughing . I put on an innocent face.
"You know, I learned how to flip a person, put them in a headlock, and break their spine? You know what that does, don't you, dear brother John? In fact, it's easier if they're sitting in a seat."
He stopped and started to stare out of the window, myself smiling smugly.
