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Chapter Eight
Falling Action/Rising Action

The conclusion of a case is generally a rather haphazard affair. There are a thousand little loose ends that remain to be tied, and every single one demands to be taken care of right now, thank you very much.

The first loose end was getting back to Vauxhall Road. We couldn't very well drag Grant back. Evidently Holmes had foreseen something like this because no sooner was Grant neatly trussed and gagged, a hansom cab rolled up.

"Evenin' sir, miss." The driver said, tipping his hat at us and sounding smugly conspiratorial. As soon as we were all safely onboard, the driver snapped his whip smartly and headed back to Vauxhall Road without a single word from Holmes.

What awaited us there resembled a small riot. Several police constables were holding back a crowd of gawkers while another two watched over the semi-conscious, blanket-wrapper figure of Jane Goldmeyer. One detective was taken down the statement of a well-to-do woman, who seemed to be narrating with her hands. Another was listening to her irate husband with an air of exaggerated patience. The husband paused for breath and the officer who had been listening to his verbal abuse began to dish out some of his own, to the immense glee of the crowd.

I considered allowing the scene to continue simply for entertainment value, but the cabby had other ideas. The driver pulled up right in front of 720 Vauxhall Road, blithely ignoring the yells of the constables. The crowd held its collective breath.

Zachary Grant spilled out onto the street. The police stared while the crowd of working class men roared with laughter. Holmes stepped out next, then offered his hand to me. I hardly needed help getting out of the cab but I took it anyway.

Holmes flipped the driver a coin (a sovereign) and the driver pulled away before anyone could stop him. The crowd was buzzing with excitement at this new development. I noticed that the officer listening to the husband was in fact Inspector Lestrade.

Holmes strode up to Lestrade, outwardly unaware of the stir he was creating. Lestrade had pulled himself together and resumed his customary scowl. His mood was not in the least bit improved by presence.

"Ah, Lestrade. I see you received my telegram." Holmes said genially, then proceeded to explain the events of the day to him. When no more men came tumbling out of carriages the crowd of on-lookers drifted away. Grant, who was by now fully conscious and spitting mad, was hauled off to jail. Jane was taken to the hospital to meet up with her family and recover.

Holmes paused at the part where Grant escaped out the alley and my ears perked up. Holmes had skipped over my role in the day's events fairly lightly but I was curious how he would tell the tale of me bringing down Grant with a stun gun.

"And then what?" Lestrade prompted.

"He simply collapsed. The shock of losing his captive overwhelmed, I should say." I refrained from laughing. It was hardly the dramatic ending the readers of Conan Doyle were used to.

Lestrade didn't look too terribly convinced either, but let it slide. He could hardly be mad seeing as how we had literally dropped his suspect at his feet. He was quite content to take himself home for the night.

As did we, but rather than taking a carriage we walked back on the streets of London. In a city as old at London, the layout of city streets, is, at times, shall we say, a bit complex. But Holmes led through the twisty streets and alleys and in no time at all we were at Baker Street.

"Shall I expect your departure to be as abrupt as it was last time?" Holmes asked, meaning, will you literally disappear into thin air again?

"I've been meaning to ask you, what did that look like? Was like on Star Trek…" I trailed off, remembering there was no such thing as Star Trek, yet. Holmes blinked politely.

"Never mind." I sighed. Maybe if I set up a video camera…

Holmes poured a glass of something alcoholic, and offered me some. I accepted, and it turned out to be some very good brandy. I was, in fact, expecting to be pulled back to my present and Holmes' future, in a few minutes. I come to visit for the day and look what happens.

"You didn't answer my question." Holmes pointed out.

"No I didn't."

Holmes cleared his throat. "All right, all right." I stood walked over to the window. I followed the progress of a hansom cab down the street for a moment. "Any minute now that damned machine should kick in. You'd think he'd fix an accurate timer on it or something."

"Ah." Holmes came over to the desk and leafed through the letters there. Actually there was only one that remained unopened. He opened it with careful nonchalance. "You visits have become…"

I glanced up as Holmes trailed off. He was reading the note with a frown. It was my turn to clear my throat. He handed the note to me. It was a death threat; it seemed to have been transcribed straight from a dime novel.

"Red ink. How quaint." I remarked, looking up to say something reassuring when a movement on the street caught my eye.

Let me pause to describe the layout to you. There were two windows in the famous sitting room with the desk set between them. From my angle I could see the cab from earlier (marked by its dapple gray horse) coming back down the street. I could also see the rifle sticking out of one of the windows.

Without pausing for thought I dove at Holmes. His momentary shock at this action allowed me to knock him to the floor, just as the window above shattered into a crystal storm. The report of the rifle echoed in the canyon of the streets as the sound of hooves sped away.

I rolled over onto my back, which was a mistake. The floor was covered in tiny knives of glass. I could hear Holmes moving as well, which was a comforting sign. I sat up carefully, checking to make sure I didn't have any large holes in me.

Since everything seemed to be in working order I stood and surveyed the damage. The broken glass only heightened the impression that a twister had come through recently.

"Are you all right?" Holmes asked anxiously. I nodded, feeling strangely detached.

"You?" I realized he was grasping me by both shoulders. Good thing too, because everything was beginning to swim into nauseating black. Everything but Holmes. ~Strange~ I thought as my mind recognized the symptoms of time travel. ~Usually, everything fade out.~


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CLIFFHANGER!!! oh, I love these. but i won't leave you hanging... or will I? :)

Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Review!

.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·.