Um…hi? Also, there is something that you should know: this is not meant to be taken seriously. It is a funny fic that is meant to be taken with a grain of salt. I know it's been a long time, but here's the next chapter:
The next morning I went downstairs and found the kitchen empty again. I knew from what limited Cannon that I had read that Mrs. Hudson had only one day off, and it was late enough that she should have been up and at 'em. I barely had time to wonder where everyone was, when Mrs. Hudson came through the kitchen door at top speed, carrying an empty bucket. She rushed to the sink (A/N ~ I assume that they did have them, if not, bear with me) and started to fill the bucket. Over her shoulder, Mrs. Hudson told me that "Mr. Holmes set his laboratory on fire again! I don't know why he insists upon messing about with those terrible chemicals, but every now and again he does something insane, like setting my house on fire…"
"Mrs. Hudson, why don't you give me that bucket…just sit down here and relax. Your house is not going to burn down, I'll go help…" I hastily finished filling the bucket and raced up the stairs. I knew what door it was because of the smoke billowing out of it. I went in cautiously and saw Holmes and Watson surrounded by noxious fumes, grinning like maniacs. As I looked around for the huge fire that was going to burn down Mrs. Hudson's home, I saw a lit candle. True, it was larger than a normal candle, but there was no way it could have burned down the house.
Holmes must've seen me through the fumes, because he said to Watson, "Look, old boy, our good land lady has called in the fire brigade." He sounded very cheerful, as though he had just discovered something very important. And he was making jokes. This was so unlike the Holmes I thought I knew. I was almost tempted to run out of the room screaming, but I didn't think that that would go over very well, so I settled for a glare to end all glares.
Watson, in the spirit of the moment, decided to make a little funny of his own. "I say, Holmes, if looks could kill, you would be very dead right now!" It really wasn't that funny, but Holmes laughed. Hard. And his voice was squeaky. Actually, now that I thought about it, his first comment was high and squeaky as well. "What's wrong with you? You sound like a hamster on helium." The idea struck me as it came out of my mouth. "Holmes! You haven't been sucking on helium have you???"
He looked rather offended, as he replied, "Of course not I was simply testing the properties of said element when the balloon (aka silk bag thing filled with helium) that contained it in went over this candle. Mrs. Hudson was walking by when it exploded.
"Right. Sure. You may want to go down and apologize to Mrs. Hudson, though. She is sitting down in the kitchen having a nervy b."
" A what?" the helium was rapidly vanishing, making him sound more like a normal man than like a drugged up small furry creature.
"A nervy b. A nervous breakdown. She thinks that you are going to burn her house down."
"Perhaps you are right," Holmes thought out loud. "It would not bode well to have our landlady angry with us." This last was obviously directed to Watson. I rolled my eyes and shook my head as I made to leave the room. Iron fingers clamped down on my arm and I spun around to face the steel gray eyes of the Great Detective. "Why did you offer to help put out this fire?"
I bit back the sarcastic remark that almost dripped off my tongue. He was serious. I didn't understand that at all. Why wouldn't I want to help put out the fire that threatened one of the most famous addresses in both history and literature? Another thought occurred to me on the heels of the last: he didn't know that his address would be famous. I didn't do it to save the people as much as I did it to save the house and all that it meant to me and to the rest of the world.
He must have seen these thoughts cross my face, because he released me and waited patiently for me to answer him. "I did it for what you and this house will be to the rest of the world." Again I turned to leave, and again he grabbed my arm.
"What do you mean, what I will be to the world?"
"Don't you think that what you are doing will have an impact on the rest of the world? To almost every one who has ever read the stories that Watson wrote, you are The Great Detective, not even capable of doing wrong. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I let you die in a fire. Even a non-existent one."
I had shocked Holmes into silence, which was rare in itself. I took the opportunity to finally leave the smelly laboratory and take refuge in my room, for yet another thought occurred to me: that was not the first time that I had given that speech. I had written it in the fic that I had written. The ultimate test would be the response to the ad in the paper. I took a deep breath and set myself to wait.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Over dinner that night, I was informed that I now had a position as a governess. Holmes had 'taken the liberty of accepting for me' because it was, apparently, an offer I couldn't refuse. I would be teaching French-speaking ten-year-old twin girls the English language. Their father, the man who had called that afternoon, had serious privacy issues, so I was to continue to live at Baker Street. The arrangement for my rent had been settled as well: I would do all of the cooking for the house, leaving Mrs. Hudson quite a bit more free time, that she used to brush up on her quilting skills. I must have nodded or shown some other sign of acquiescence, because conversation turned to the case Holmes was currently working on.
I kept going over these details in my mind, thinking that they sounded too familiar to be entirely coincidence. My mind, however, refused to cooperate, and I left it for later, listening in on the details, or rather lack thereof, of their newest case.
It appeared to be rather. Apparently, someone was stealing artifacts from the British Museum, and murdering all of the guards that had the unlucky night shift the night that the newly dubbed 'cat burglar' decided to strike. The latest thing to turn up missing, along with three dead guards, was a Renaissance era golden box that had once held the manuscripts of DiVincci.
"I do not know what is wrong with me, Watson." Holmes lamented over dinner. "I cannot seem to find anything linking this thief to a living man. He leaves neither fingerprints nor footprints, and his lock picks leave no marks upon the lock. I must admit: I am at a loss."
"Do not despair, Holmes. He is only human: he will make a mistake, and you will catch him" at that comment, I wondered if Watson was always so optimistic. From the little that I had heard, the case was impossible.
"What makes you two so sure that this thief is a man? Why couldn't it be a woman?"
"My dear Anna," Holmes began in the most patronizing voice that I had ever had the displeasure of having to listen to. "It simply could not be a woman because a woman, if she even had the forethought to plan something as elaborate as these robberies, would have neither the physical strength nor the strength of character to go through with it"
I waited in vain for a 'Just kidding' to follow this, the most sexist thing that I had ever heard I'm my entire life. Not surprisingly, it didn't come. I stood from the table, blinking rapidly, and left the room, biting my lip in the effort to keep from saying what was in my mind. From the hallway, I heard the unmistakable drawl of an amused Englishman say, "Holmes, I think you've offended our guest."
"I believe that you are right, Watson." To my surprise, Holmes sounded almost remorseful.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Later that night, as I was lying in bed, all of the odd feelings of déjà vu that I had been experiencing since my arrival in 1892 clicked into place. I had written them all in my fic. The gray haired man with twin girls, the mini explosion in the lab, and the case. I knew the ending of the case! But I couldn't tell them; it might have an impact on history.
I took a deep breath, trying to contain my enthusiasm. Fine, I couldn't tell them the end, but I could help solve it. The only problem was that I couldn't remember what I had done to my main character. I knew that I had intended to kill her, but could not remember if I had gone through with it. Well, there was nothing I could do about it, so as I drifted off to sleep, I lay wondering…no my beta reader was too good, or someone would have mentioned it…it couldn't be…
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