Hello, everyone! This is my first story on FF.net, so I would really appreciate some constructive criticism, hint-hint! But before you do, I'd like to make a couple quick notes:
--I'm not an expert on the Victorian era, and despite being a big fan, I don't know *everything* about the Sherlock cannons (I wish!). I am a relatively new fan, having started reading the stories not more than six months ago; needless to say, this is my first attempt at Sherlockian fan-fiction. Many readers may find some historical/Sherlockian inconsistencies, and I apologize in advance for any errors in these departments; they're completely unintentional.
--Contrary to popular rumor, I do not own Sherlock Holmes and Watson, etc. They are fictional characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (you should already know this!). Although, if I did own them, I'd take really good care of them, feed them, and take them for walks every day... whoops, I'm getting carried away. See, I must be crazy, and it's impossible to sue a crazy girl! So please don't even try!
--I *do* however, own Leyla Ann Clairemont and her younger sibling, Rita Michelle. Touch them with a ten-foot-pole and I'll … er… hate you forever! So there! Seriously, though, act like a decent human being and please don't use them for your own stories without my expressed permission.
That having been said, on with the show!
CHAPTER ONE: THE HAND THAT SEWS TIME
* * * * * *
I walked out into the brisk September air, clutching my schoolbooks in my arms and shivering, wishing I had taken my sister up on her offer this morning and borrowed her sweater. The clouds hung low and thick over the horizon, the first few sprinkles of rain hitting the ground. I heaved an exasperated sigh as I trudged across the school parking lot.
"This week sucks," I muttered to myself as I trudged over to the dorms and opened up the entrance door with difficulty, careful not to drop any books. I had turned in my first article to my journalism teacher for the first semester of the year—I'm a college sophomore, you see—on how classic rock has not died out and continues to influence people today. But nooo! According to Mr. Jackson, I hadn't even graced the topic he wanted the entire class to write about. He wanted an article on how modern rock music differs from classic rock and whether or not we think it will die out soon or not.
Oh! Well, excuse me if I didn't directly compare Pink Floyd to Metallica, everyone. Pardon me if the words, "In this journalist's humble opinion, modern rock music will never truly shine as the classics always will" aren't comparison enough! Urgh!
To top that all off, dad never bothered calling me all week. He's probably still in Vegas with that bimbo he's dating. I rolled my eyes with disgust, wondering what mom would say if she was still alive. All it took was three short years and he was off with another woman.
I was especially fuming with white-hot rage since last week had been the anniversary of her death, and he hadn't even taken the opportunity to call us and remember her for a while. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd even forgotten.
Sighing irritably as I set those bitter thoughts aside, I stopped in front of my dorm room that I shared with my younger sister – by only one year—and fumbled for my keys with my free hand, failing miserably to stick the door key into the keyhole. Apparently, the commotion had alerted my sibling inside, for she opened the door before I even had a chance to unlock it. "Hey, Leyla."
"Help me out, Rita," I commanded, dumping the books in her hands before she even had a chance to reply. I didn't particularly feel like being courteous at the moment. "Guess what Mr. Jackass did? I finally handed him the stupid article after stressing over it for a full week, and then he--"
I stopped mid-sentence, having turned around after closing the door and realizing that two other people were in my dorm. "Oh. Hi there."
The three people waved and mumbled a quiet greeting, whom I instantly recognized as Rita's friends Andrew and Lily. They were sitting between the two beds on the carpeted floor, situated around a book in the middle of the room. My previous train of thought now forgotten, I noticed the mess that they had made. They had a bag marked "rose petals", a bottle of perfume, and several candles as well…
I cocked an eyebrow. "Should I even ask?"
"It's not what you're thinking," Lily piped up. "Check out this book I found yesterday." Lifting the book from its place on the floor, she held it out to me and I took it, wondering what the source of all of this weirdness was.
I glanced over the cover. "Time Paradoxes and the…" I stopped, knowing exactly what this was all about. "Oh God, not again, Lily."
"Sit down," she patted a space between where she and my sister sat, and I begrudgingly accepted the invitation. Hey, at least it beat pouting about my stupid teacher or dad. At this point, even heated debates about whether time travel was even possible or not between me and Rita's weirdo friends were more welcomed than the headache that had steadily been growing since I walked out of class today.
I had only known Lily for about a year, but I knew enough about her to know that she had this almost frightening obsession with the idea of time travel. Basically, this girl fit the stereotypical profile of a nerd; believed in aliens, total comic book freak, bookworm, and obsessed with the idea of warping time. She definitely had the smarts to boot the image some more, too; chemistry and calculus, of all things, were her two favorite subjects.
Although she definitely didn't look like the stereotypical nerd; not by any means. The girl was stunningly beautiful and who, for only a freshman college student, looked incredibly mature for her age. Long blonde hair that touched her waist, crystal blue eyes, and yes, perfect teeth… to think that a girl could be as smart as she was and to look so beautiful was sometimes not fair, especially to someone as plain as me. I looked in the mirror and all I saw was Leyla Ann Clairemont. A simple girl living an average life and probably doomed to a plain existence.
To top all of that, Lily was practically the personification of the word ideal, something I definitely was not. Perfect family, perfect grades, surrounded by friends…
If she weren't my sister's dearest friend, I'd probably hate her guts.
"…are you listening, Leyla?"
I snapped back to attention. Glancing around the room, I noticed that all eyes were transfixed on me. "W-What?"
Lilly folded her arms with a sigh. "On the Table of Contents, there are listed several different things that you can do with time. You can either pull someone in from the future/past, go to a different place in time yourself, learn how to arrive at a certain destination, and it's also of key importance that you read the guidelines, since you don't want to do something wrong and--"
I rolled my eyes. "Where did you say you found this book?"
"At an old bookstore," Lilly blinked innocently. "Look, if it doesn't work, you can say whatever you want, but what have you got to lose by spending five minutes working the formula out with us?"
"Uh, because last time, it took two weeks, when you had us help build you that stupid 'Timeatron' and nothing ever happened. Then there was the time we drove for miles until we hit Long Beach when the tides were just right and watched you jump in the water into what you thought was a time porthole, and nothing happened--"
"Your name is Leyla?"
I turned my head towards the person who interrupted me. I found the question odd, since I'd met Andrew, Lily's boyfriend, before. "Yeah…?"
"I love that song," he chuckled stupidly. "Got me on my knees, Leyla…"
I groaned irritably, annoyed with both the constant time experiments and Rita's stupid friends. I was just about to tell them exactly what I thought of them hanging out in my dorm until Rita intervened on their behalf. "What we were going to do before you came in was try to go somewhere in time. Now, what you do…" she slid a large bowl into the center of our circle from the pile of miscellaneous items, "is one at a time, each person puts in the ingredients."
Annoyed, I questioned her, "Ingredients?"
Rita sighed, glancing at her friends with a slight smirk. "Don't take it personally, guys, she's just all stressed out about journalism class." Opening the small refrigerator that sat in the corner of our room, she pulled out four Wine Coolers, handing a Fuzzy Navel to me and a different flavor to each person in our small group, a vainglorious smirk plastered on her face. "I wonder how much alcohol it will take for Leyla to forget all about that…"
* * * * * *
By about midnight, I was laughing so hard at the complete silliness of our actions that Rita had to hold me steady. We started joking about the time traveling adventures we were going to have-- laughing and chattering about the mindless, nonsensical things that people talk about when alcohol is flowing through their veins. The music we had in the background was loud—it seemed louder as usual, as a matter of fact, and I was wondering if people were going to start pounding on our doors to turn the racket down.
Lilly, having placed her candle in the center of her bowl with the right amount of rose petals and perfume, as the book had instructed, held her sloppily written note up in the air. She announced with a slurred speech, "San Francisco, 1960!" She laughed at the sound of it. "My generation, baby!"
I wiped the tears out of my eyes, all of the drama in reality blissfully set aside, and abruptly announced where I was going to go. "1979!"
Rita shook her head, "No! I want 1887! I want to go live on Baker Street and hang out with Sherlock Holmes," she half-laughed, half-yelled her statement. "We need to go in pairs!"
"Pfft!" I waved my arm in the air at the sound of her request. "What is it with you and Victorianisms? Party like it's '79, partner," I slapped her on the back, nearly knocking her to the ground.
She laughed. "You, my friend, are drunk!"
"1979!"
"1887!"
"'79!"
"'887!"
I doubled over laughing at how stupid that sounded, and giving into sibling pressure, I scribbled the date on the piece of paper, "September 15, 1887… be-otch… whoops, I didn't mean to write that… LONDON."
After promptly throwing my note into our bowl full of rose petals, perfume, and a candle, Rita struck the match. "Ready, aim, fire!" She giggled like a pyromaniac as she completed the final step in "time travel" and lit the candle on fire, after which Lilly and Andrew did the same.
After a few impatient seconds of nothing happening, I flopped on the ground like the miserable drunk I was and laughed, "Looks like another time flop, Lilly…"
BAM, BAM, BAM!!
I clutched my head as some jerk-off pounded on our door, the sound piercing my brain. "WHAT?!"
"WILL YOU TURN THAT CRAP DOWN?!"
I sighed, remembering the music that was blaring from our boom box. Andrew immediately turned the volume down, but I, in my overconfident, brain-swimming-in-alcohol state of consciousness, I dragged myself off of the floor to give this person a piece of my mind. "Ugh," I groaned as I finally stood up on rubbery legs, struggling to walk towards the door.
"Leyla!" Rita whispered harshly, "don't open the door drunk, you'll get us all in trouble!"
Waving a hand dismissively at her remark, I continued towards the door, at which I heard Rita hop onto her two feet quickly—she obviously was much more sober than I was—and race towards me just as I layed my hands around the knob and turned it, swinging the door open. "Hey man, who do you--"
I realized that I was drunk. I also noticed that the evening had blended into a jumbled haze of images. But I had never hallucinated before, and at this moment, that's what I was positive I was doing. Instead of looking out at the inner hallway of my dorm, I was looking out at an empty, dark street lined with oil lamps, save for the occasional horse drawn… carriage… looking thing…
I turned towards my sister, suddenly feeling very unsteady. The first thing that I noticed were that the door to my dorm was no longer there. We were standing in a park. Then I felt the sudden outside chill. Then I noticed my sister's eyes, wide open in aghast horror. Good feeling gone. I definitely was going to be sick.
"Rita," I cried weakly, "help me…"
That's when I felt my body plummeting. I lost my balance, and I heard this blood-curdling scream just before everything went black.
* * * * * *
Basically, in this chapter, I was setting up the characters, but now that they've reached the Victorian era, all is set for our fan fiction adventure! Read and review, and I'll be back with the next chapter in no time!
-Jamie
--I'm not an expert on the Victorian era, and despite being a big fan, I don't know *everything* about the Sherlock cannons (I wish!). I am a relatively new fan, having started reading the stories not more than six months ago; needless to say, this is my first attempt at Sherlockian fan-fiction. Many readers may find some historical/Sherlockian inconsistencies, and I apologize in advance for any errors in these departments; they're completely unintentional.
--Contrary to popular rumor, I do not own Sherlock Holmes and Watson, etc. They are fictional characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (you should already know this!). Although, if I did own them, I'd take really good care of them, feed them, and take them for walks every day... whoops, I'm getting carried away. See, I must be crazy, and it's impossible to sue a crazy girl! So please don't even try!
--I *do* however, own Leyla Ann Clairemont and her younger sibling, Rita Michelle. Touch them with a ten-foot-pole and I'll … er… hate you forever! So there! Seriously, though, act like a decent human being and please don't use them for your own stories without my expressed permission.
That having been said, on with the show!
CHAPTER ONE: THE HAND THAT SEWS TIME
* * * * * *
I walked out into the brisk September air, clutching my schoolbooks in my arms and shivering, wishing I had taken my sister up on her offer this morning and borrowed her sweater. The clouds hung low and thick over the horizon, the first few sprinkles of rain hitting the ground. I heaved an exasperated sigh as I trudged across the school parking lot.
"This week sucks," I muttered to myself as I trudged over to the dorms and opened up the entrance door with difficulty, careful not to drop any books. I had turned in my first article to my journalism teacher for the first semester of the year—I'm a college sophomore, you see—on how classic rock has not died out and continues to influence people today. But nooo! According to Mr. Jackson, I hadn't even graced the topic he wanted the entire class to write about. He wanted an article on how modern rock music differs from classic rock and whether or not we think it will die out soon or not.
Oh! Well, excuse me if I didn't directly compare Pink Floyd to Metallica, everyone. Pardon me if the words, "In this journalist's humble opinion, modern rock music will never truly shine as the classics always will" aren't comparison enough! Urgh!
To top that all off, dad never bothered calling me all week. He's probably still in Vegas with that bimbo he's dating. I rolled my eyes with disgust, wondering what mom would say if she was still alive. All it took was three short years and he was off with another woman.
I was especially fuming with white-hot rage since last week had been the anniversary of her death, and he hadn't even taken the opportunity to call us and remember her for a while. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd even forgotten.
Sighing irritably as I set those bitter thoughts aside, I stopped in front of my dorm room that I shared with my younger sister – by only one year—and fumbled for my keys with my free hand, failing miserably to stick the door key into the keyhole. Apparently, the commotion had alerted my sibling inside, for she opened the door before I even had a chance to unlock it. "Hey, Leyla."
"Help me out, Rita," I commanded, dumping the books in her hands before she even had a chance to reply. I didn't particularly feel like being courteous at the moment. "Guess what Mr. Jackass did? I finally handed him the stupid article after stressing over it for a full week, and then he--"
I stopped mid-sentence, having turned around after closing the door and realizing that two other people were in my dorm. "Oh. Hi there."
The three people waved and mumbled a quiet greeting, whom I instantly recognized as Rita's friends Andrew and Lily. They were sitting between the two beds on the carpeted floor, situated around a book in the middle of the room. My previous train of thought now forgotten, I noticed the mess that they had made. They had a bag marked "rose petals", a bottle of perfume, and several candles as well…
I cocked an eyebrow. "Should I even ask?"
"It's not what you're thinking," Lily piped up. "Check out this book I found yesterday." Lifting the book from its place on the floor, she held it out to me and I took it, wondering what the source of all of this weirdness was.
I glanced over the cover. "Time Paradoxes and the…" I stopped, knowing exactly what this was all about. "Oh God, not again, Lily."
"Sit down," she patted a space between where she and my sister sat, and I begrudgingly accepted the invitation. Hey, at least it beat pouting about my stupid teacher or dad. At this point, even heated debates about whether time travel was even possible or not between me and Rita's weirdo friends were more welcomed than the headache that had steadily been growing since I walked out of class today.
I had only known Lily for about a year, but I knew enough about her to know that she had this almost frightening obsession with the idea of time travel. Basically, this girl fit the stereotypical profile of a nerd; believed in aliens, total comic book freak, bookworm, and obsessed with the idea of warping time. She definitely had the smarts to boot the image some more, too; chemistry and calculus, of all things, were her two favorite subjects.
Although she definitely didn't look like the stereotypical nerd; not by any means. The girl was stunningly beautiful and who, for only a freshman college student, looked incredibly mature for her age. Long blonde hair that touched her waist, crystal blue eyes, and yes, perfect teeth… to think that a girl could be as smart as she was and to look so beautiful was sometimes not fair, especially to someone as plain as me. I looked in the mirror and all I saw was Leyla Ann Clairemont. A simple girl living an average life and probably doomed to a plain existence.
To top all of that, Lily was practically the personification of the word ideal, something I definitely was not. Perfect family, perfect grades, surrounded by friends…
If she weren't my sister's dearest friend, I'd probably hate her guts.
"…are you listening, Leyla?"
I snapped back to attention. Glancing around the room, I noticed that all eyes were transfixed on me. "W-What?"
Lilly folded her arms with a sigh. "On the Table of Contents, there are listed several different things that you can do with time. You can either pull someone in from the future/past, go to a different place in time yourself, learn how to arrive at a certain destination, and it's also of key importance that you read the guidelines, since you don't want to do something wrong and--"
I rolled my eyes. "Where did you say you found this book?"
"At an old bookstore," Lilly blinked innocently. "Look, if it doesn't work, you can say whatever you want, but what have you got to lose by spending five minutes working the formula out with us?"
"Uh, because last time, it took two weeks, when you had us help build you that stupid 'Timeatron' and nothing ever happened. Then there was the time we drove for miles until we hit Long Beach when the tides were just right and watched you jump in the water into what you thought was a time porthole, and nothing happened--"
"Your name is Leyla?"
I turned my head towards the person who interrupted me. I found the question odd, since I'd met Andrew, Lily's boyfriend, before. "Yeah…?"
"I love that song," he chuckled stupidly. "Got me on my knees, Leyla…"
I groaned irritably, annoyed with both the constant time experiments and Rita's stupid friends. I was just about to tell them exactly what I thought of them hanging out in my dorm until Rita intervened on their behalf. "What we were going to do before you came in was try to go somewhere in time. Now, what you do…" she slid a large bowl into the center of our circle from the pile of miscellaneous items, "is one at a time, each person puts in the ingredients."
Annoyed, I questioned her, "Ingredients?"
Rita sighed, glancing at her friends with a slight smirk. "Don't take it personally, guys, she's just all stressed out about journalism class." Opening the small refrigerator that sat in the corner of our room, she pulled out four Wine Coolers, handing a Fuzzy Navel to me and a different flavor to each person in our small group, a vainglorious smirk plastered on her face. "I wonder how much alcohol it will take for Leyla to forget all about that…"
* * * * * *
By about midnight, I was laughing so hard at the complete silliness of our actions that Rita had to hold me steady. We started joking about the time traveling adventures we were going to have-- laughing and chattering about the mindless, nonsensical things that people talk about when alcohol is flowing through their veins. The music we had in the background was loud—it seemed louder as usual, as a matter of fact, and I was wondering if people were going to start pounding on our doors to turn the racket down.
Lilly, having placed her candle in the center of her bowl with the right amount of rose petals and perfume, as the book had instructed, held her sloppily written note up in the air. She announced with a slurred speech, "San Francisco, 1960!" She laughed at the sound of it. "My generation, baby!"
I wiped the tears out of my eyes, all of the drama in reality blissfully set aside, and abruptly announced where I was going to go. "1979!"
Rita shook her head, "No! I want 1887! I want to go live on Baker Street and hang out with Sherlock Holmes," she half-laughed, half-yelled her statement. "We need to go in pairs!"
"Pfft!" I waved my arm in the air at the sound of her request. "What is it with you and Victorianisms? Party like it's '79, partner," I slapped her on the back, nearly knocking her to the ground.
She laughed. "You, my friend, are drunk!"
"1979!"
"1887!"
"'79!"
"'887!"
I doubled over laughing at how stupid that sounded, and giving into sibling pressure, I scribbled the date on the piece of paper, "September 15, 1887… be-otch… whoops, I didn't mean to write that… LONDON."
After promptly throwing my note into our bowl full of rose petals, perfume, and a candle, Rita struck the match. "Ready, aim, fire!" She giggled like a pyromaniac as she completed the final step in "time travel" and lit the candle on fire, after which Lilly and Andrew did the same.
After a few impatient seconds of nothing happening, I flopped on the ground like the miserable drunk I was and laughed, "Looks like another time flop, Lilly…"
BAM, BAM, BAM!!
I clutched my head as some jerk-off pounded on our door, the sound piercing my brain. "WHAT?!"
"WILL YOU TURN THAT CRAP DOWN?!"
I sighed, remembering the music that was blaring from our boom box. Andrew immediately turned the volume down, but I, in my overconfident, brain-swimming-in-alcohol state of consciousness, I dragged myself off of the floor to give this person a piece of my mind. "Ugh," I groaned as I finally stood up on rubbery legs, struggling to walk towards the door.
"Leyla!" Rita whispered harshly, "don't open the door drunk, you'll get us all in trouble!"
Waving a hand dismissively at her remark, I continued towards the door, at which I heard Rita hop onto her two feet quickly—she obviously was much more sober than I was—and race towards me just as I layed my hands around the knob and turned it, swinging the door open. "Hey man, who do you--"
I realized that I was drunk. I also noticed that the evening had blended into a jumbled haze of images. But I had never hallucinated before, and at this moment, that's what I was positive I was doing. Instead of looking out at the inner hallway of my dorm, I was looking out at an empty, dark street lined with oil lamps, save for the occasional horse drawn… carriage… looking thing…
I turned towards my sister, suddenly feeling very unsteady. The first thing that I noticed were that the door to my dorm was no longer there. We were standing in a park. Then I felt the sudden outside chill. Then I noticed my sister's eyes, wide open in aghast horror. Good feeling gone. I definitely was going to be sick.
"Rita," I cried weakly, "help me…"
That's when I felt my body plummeting. I lost my balance, and I heard this blood-curdling scream just before everything went black.
* * * * * *
Basically, in this chapter, I was setting up the characters, but now that they've reached the Victorian era, all is set for our fan fiction adventure! Read and review, and I'll be back with the next chapter in no time!
-Jamie
