Yup, I actually edited the chapters, so people won't get headaches as much as they did before. Thanks to my new 'baby', which has a different system on it than my last one, I'm able to save in HTML mode!!!!

I don't own Mentos, the most wonderful candy in the world (maybe not, but I like 'em.

I don't Holmes or Watson, either (sigh) I am workin' on that one. though!





I tapped my foot impatiently. What could take Krysten so long? I only let her into the shop to pick some candy for her addiction. Even I was faster with my mocha. Mocha was the only substance I was ever addicted to I was standing in the middle of an airport in London, waiting for my best bud to finish with her fetish. I sighed and
walked back into the shop, grabbing her by the collar and hailing a taxi.

"Liv?" She whined. I threw her some candy from my purse. "Oh, come on, can't we get some-ooh! Mentos!"

I smacked her on the back of the head, and the rest of the ride was silent. By the time we reached the law firm, I had started to tap my fingers on my knee.

As I paid the cab driver, I suddenly felt nervous. What would Watson leave? Would the Will say anything about me? My palms were so sweaty that I had to wipe them on my jeans.

With Krys is tow, I entered the museum. It was nearly six-closing time. Going to the information desk, I explained why I was there.

"Oh my god!" The young man cried. "You're Miss Watson? Oh, this is absolutely bad!"

"Um, why is this bad?" Krys stepped over from a display case.

"Oh, you're American, aren't you?" The boy looked at me with a look that said 'I feel so sorry for you'. " It means 'wonderful'. How do you know Miss Watson?"

"We're roommates." I listened to my voice. For some reason, it sounded . . .. . British. I guess the boy thought that I was a local. I tried to correct my voice. "We're both from America, but we only expect to stay long enough to find out what all this was about."

"You got me there! I could have sworn you were English!" The boy started laughing, then waved goodbye to some people leaving. The lawyer is in the back room, and so is his secretary. Go right back," we started to walk off, but
the boy called us back. "Could I, um, get your autograph?"

I smiled, and quickly jotted my signature on an extra map of the museum before walking to the back.

A professional-looking man who introduced himself as Mr. Young greeted me, and a voice from behind nearly made my blood run cold.

"So, the Watson's are back in England." It was the female version of Professor
Moriarty. She held out her hand. "I'm Miss Perrins; Mr. Young's secretary." She gave me a sickly sweet smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

I slowly shook her hand. "Likewise."

I turned to Young, asking him what there was. Young, in return, asked Perrins to leave the room. She slinked to the door.

"Miss Watson, this trunk was one of the many things left in the Will," his eyes shifted to Marianson, and I laughed.

"She's fine. If any private information gets out, it's death by slow and painful torture for her."

"All right, this is yours." He gestured to a heavy looking trunk on the desk.

Carefully, I opened the trunk, gasping at what I saw.


Inside were manuscripts. Dozens and dozens of manuscripts, in a doctor's handwriting, were packed in neat piles. I sat in a chair and thumbed through them, but paused when I started to survey the trunk.


The lid was curved, but the inside was rectangular, meaning there was space in-between. Watson was capable of learning from Holmes, and did. Was there documents hidden in here?


" 'Things aren't always what they seem'." I quoted dream-Holmes. I started to slide my finger across the top . . . . .. and found an indent. Digging my finger into it (and receiving almost a century of grime deposited under my fingernail) it opened, and Young and Krys both let out sharp noises. I could feel my pulse quickening as I started to read the papers.

Although no one will ever believe the authenticity of these accounts, the paper went on, Irene Norton nee Adler was not 'the woman'. Olivia Watson, my great great great granddaughter, is owed this title. Somehow, some way that we never figured out, she came to us.


Olivia was a beauty. She had eyes of amber that shone and a creamy complexion. Wherever she went, so did her boundless energy and her shimmery voice. Alas, my description would never fully describe her.

Sherlock Holmes and I were the first to ever meet her, and throughout our knowing of this lady, she stayed a constant source of admiration and vexation all at once. In her time, women were able to have careers, and were given education of a man. Her intelligence was amazing, and it helped us more than once.

To my dismay, Olivia (we masqueraded as brother and sister) is no more. At a dinner party, she and Holmes went off, and when we found them, Holmes was dead from a gunshot causing too much loss of blood. Olivia, gone, vanished without a trace.

Holmes shall probably be remembered as a man of no heart, but is the exact opposite that is true. I do believe it is safe to say that he loved her, and the reverse. I do hope that they are both together, somewhere.

Holmes had a younger brother, a direct look alike of Sherlock and a brain to almost match, has taken his place on Baker Street. He fits the description of my deceased friend much better.

In the following pages are the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Olivia
Watson.


I put down the packet, tears pricking at the lids of my eyes. It had been real. And, because of me, Holmes was dead. I held in my sudden wish to scream and start crying, and turned to the other two.

"Is there anything else, or are we allowed to go to the hotel?"

Young started to read the paper, and his mouth formed a large 'o'.

"There is one more thing."

"Which is what?"

"More like 'Which is whom'. Ms. Watson," he took off his reading glasses, "you now have possession of the cryogenically frozen body of Sherlock Holmes."

Outside in the hallway, someone let out a gasp and dropped papers, followed by high heels hobbling to pick them up, and a knock on the door. Ms. Perrins's head poked through the door. "Mr. Young? I need to go do an errand I just remembered. Is that all right?"

"I suppose. Go."

I turned towards Krys, who wasn't speaking, but gasping for breath. Young continued. "You have the right to decide to revive him or not. It's still experimental, but you have the choice."

I stared down for a minute, knowing that my heart had already made the decision for me. "I would like to, ASAP, please."

He nodded, and then showed us to his car. We were on our way.


************************************************************************

Thank u to all the wonderful people that helped to leave reviews. I'm trying my
very best to 'keep it real', and I did research on cryogenics, so I do know that no one was
really revived yet.

And to still further prove my magically delicious powers, I will also explain things further
in the next chap. As my bestest best friend in the whole wide world said it (also the model
for K. M.) "You're [me] vague to an art." Ooh yes, dear, but u still haven't seen all my
vagueness! Till the next time Luvs.
For people who want to add a dreary note to Christmas this year, I suggest reading
"Murder For Christmas". It has tons of stories in it, including Sir Arthur Canon Doyle!
Luvs, luv, luv it, dallings! Bye!

Olivia says she's not going to go through all the pressure of another fic unless she
gets wonderful reviews, come on peeps, she got held at gun point, nearly blown up, and
had to deal with a very chauvinistic Holmes (he changed a bit, didn't he?). *Do* give her
some credit!