Holmes' mind seemed to start up again, like a dormant candle being relit, he didn't know if it was a conscious decision that his 5 senses begin one at a time.
First his sense of taste came back to him; this helped little in determining what had happened to him so he quickly moved on to the next sense. He felt he was lying down, on an extremely soft bed, or lounge.
His smell began working next, he could smell dust; he was in an untidy place. He could smell perfume; the American lady was no doubt there.
He then started listening, he could hear traffic outside. Traffic, he knew what the sounds were.
Cars, they were cars, but he struggled to remember how he knew. He also heard the two Americans talking.
"I think he's waking up," said the woman.
Holmes had concluded all he could from his four senses, and opened his eyes with a frustrating expression.
"My dear colonial friends, may I ask why I have been kidnapped?"
"Oh Emmett!" Clara collapsed to her knees and hugged her husband.
"My dear, why do you insist on calling me that name? I am Mr. Sherlock Holmes of 221B Baker Street."
"No you're not Doc. You are Doctor Emmett Brown, and you are in the year 1985." Marty stated.
The sound of the traffic was driving Holmes mad, they were a constant reminder that something in this environment wasn't right, and now he had this strange declaration that he was in the future. He couldn't take it any longer, Holmes jumped up and shot to the window and swung open the blinds.
To his surprise and horror, he was right. The beeping, engine noises were from motor cars, just as he pictured.
"Great Scott," these words caused a smile on Marty and Clara's faces, they were making some progress.
"Everything you have told me is right. I'm not Sherlock Holmes; I'm a Doctor in the future. How has this happened?"
"Emmett, what is your earliest memory?" Clara walked up to Doc, and placed her hand on his shoulder.
"I . . . I, never thought about it." Doc struggled to remember "Doyle!" he exclaimed, "I remember meeting Doyle in a bar."
"Yes!" Clara was delighted, "You met him in a saloon here in Hill Valley. Do you remember how you traveled to London?"
"I was an idiot!" Doc angrily realized.
"What happened, Doc?" Marty stepped forward, seeing that his memory was flowing back.
"Some how our conversation moved to crime detection, and I foolishly started talking about Sherlock Holmes, I didn't realize Doyle was the author."
"So Doyle was interested in Sherlock Holmes?" asked Marty.
"Oh yes, after all, it was his creation. I guess he must have put something in my milk, because I can't remember much after that. Only glimpses of memories being hypnotized on a boat. I then thought I was Sherlock Holmes, but it's all fading away so fast now." Doc took a step back and sat down on a chair.
Marty glanced at his watch, "Oh, I better be getting home, now that you're feeling better, Doc. I'll stop by tomorrow after school." Marty headed for the door.
"Thanks for all your help, Marty. I knew I could depend on you," Clara smiled as she sat down next to Doc.
"My pleasure."
"Yes, thankyou, Marty," Doc looked up and forced a smile, but his mind was still contemplating the falseness of his memories.
Marty smiled back, "Bye." He left Doc's 1985 home which bore small resemblance to his 1955 garage.
Marty settled back into his normal life again, he found himself in that English class again and again and again, and soon it was as if his time travel adventure was far behind him.
The Doc was making alot of progress also; Marty popped in every now and then and was delighted to see he was getting back to his usual self.
Marty hopped it would be some time yet before Doc would regain his full memory, after all, Marty was enjoying stopping by his home just like old times.
Marty then found himself after a long day of school, sitting on a bench in the town square with Jennifer Parker.
"Jen, I'm just worried that I'm never going to see him again," he told her about his fear.
"The Doc will be back, this is his home too," Jennifer tried to relieve Marty.
"Yeah, you're right," Marty was then distracted by something shining, he looked and saw it was a police siren light. Marty stood to get a better view of two police cars parked on the sidewalk. Officers moved out of the petrol cars and walked down the alley way.
"What's going on over there?" Marty walked over, Jennifer followed close behind. As they arrived at the scene, a policeman was tapping off the area with yellow crime scene tape.
"Keep back kids," said the deep voiced officer.
"What's going on?" asked Jennifer, straining her neck to see down the alley.
"There's been another murder," the big cop said just before he turned and walked slowly down the alley.
"Another murder? Has there been a murder?" Marty asked confused.
"Yeah, it was on the news last night, a girl was killed while waiting at the train station early yesterday morning."
"Whoa, so it's a serial killer?"
"Yeah, a weirdo. A witness saw the killer leaping away from the station," Jennifer recounted.
"Leaping?" Marty almost laughed, if it wasn't for the seriousness of the crime.
"The old man said he saw this guy 'leaping away', he sprang over the railway track and over a building."
This time Marty couldn't hold back the giggle, "when Superman starts killing people, all hope is lost."
Jennifer softly slaps his arm, "Marty, it's not funny. The killer didn't fly away, he jumped, as if he had springs on his feet."
"Sounds just like Spring-Heeled Jack," Marty noticed.
"Spring heeled who?"
"Spring-Heeled Jack. You know, he was a serial killer back in the olden days, he jumped over buildings and he spat fire,"
Marty tried to make her recall.
"You mean Jack the Ripper?" Jennifer said, slightly repulsed.
"No, Spring Heeled Jack was almost a superhero, if it wasn't for all the evil."
"A superhero?" Jennifer curiously asked.
"Well, yeah, he could jump really high, he breathed fire and . . ." Marty was interrupted.
"Fire. Marty," she paused to swallow, "the girl at the train station was burnt to death."
Marty and Jennifer both looked as they noticed smoke slowly escaping into the clean air above the alley.