Chapter Two
The sitting room at 221 b Baker Street was full of smoke. Murray sat uncomfortably near a window glancing out onto the street below. It was almost eight in the morning and several hansoms were already on the street. Around the corner a group of newspaper boys had just split up. One set up and began shouting the morning's news in a loud manner. Murray smoked a thin cigar and watched the passerby. He and his manservant Hari had arrived at John Watson's residence little over five hours ago. With them had been an unconscious young woman they had pulled from the river. It was a miracle she had survived. Immediately upon their arrival, John had taken charge of the poor woman and along with Hari he had taken her to Holmes' bedroom.
"Mrs. Hudson will be up any moment I suggest you prepare yourself," clipped Holmes. His words were sharp and loud.
Holmes' words snapped Murray back to the present. This Holmes was an interesting chap with quirks and habits, he thought to himself. Then there came a knock at the door.
"Come in, Mrs. Hudson!" Holmes cried from his chair near the fire. Murray stood and put out his cigar, standing straight, almost at attention
In came Mrs. Hudson. Her hair had at one time been the darkest brown, now though it was graying and showing white near the back.
"A visitor?" She asked politely. "Did he come last night?"
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson," John said, coming out of the room where the girl had been laid upon Holmes' bed. "With a few others as well," Hari followed the doctor, and upon seeing the landlady, bowed his head and motioned his hands in a respectful matter.
"Oh, I see," she said, a bit flustered. She peered over the doctor's shoulder catching a glimpse of the girl's sleeping body. "Mr. Holmes, who is-" she began.
"Ah, glad you noticed," said Holmes, standing up and facing her. Previously, he had sat in his chair puffing away at a foul-smelling pipe. "The lady needs some help, perhaps you could-" before he could finish Mrs. Hudson had brushed passed John and walked into Holmes' bedroom.
"Oh goodness!" she exclaimed. The woman's strawberry blond hair was a tangled mass and her coloring pale. "Is she sick?"
"Murray here pulled her from the river; he brought her here last night. I was not expecting Murray until this afternoon, but he thought she needed immediate assistance," Watson explained from the doorway.
"Is she all right now?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "I wish I had been here!" Indeed she had, for no doubt the rules of propriety had been thrown out the window when it came to this young woman's treatment. The previous day, Mrs. Hudson had taken the day off to visit a close friend who had taken a sudden turn for the worse in her illness. She had been gone all night and had only arrived an hour ago.
"Nothing a bit of rest, warm food and comfort won't cure," answered John.
"In that case, I'll be up soon with your breakfasts," she murmured, taking a quick head count of all the visitors, and then left the flat.
"Interesting woman," said Murray.
"A very kind and generous one," said the doctor.
"Indeed," said Holmes, not listening.
Murray walked to the windows and looked out onto the street again. "John, how have you been?" he asked. Not a great deal of conversation had taken place between the two friends since Murray's arrival to the flat
"Fine, fine, I don't think I have properly introduced Holmes," said the doctor rubbing an eye, he was tired. "Holmes, this is James Murray, he was my orderly in the war, saved my life," he said, nodding toward his friend.
"A pleasure to meet you, sir, a pleasure indeed," said Holmes, being gracious from his chair. He had moved back toward his fireplace chair and was staring up at the ceiling.
"Yes, a pleasure," echoed Murray. "And this is my friend, Hari," he motioned toward the small man, dressed in bright clothes. "He calls himself my servant, and indeed he acts like one, but in truth, he is just a good friend."
Hari bowed to the two gentlemen in turn.
"John tells me that you are a private consulting detective," began Murray.
"THE private consulting detective, THE, not A, THE, I am THE only one in THE profession, for I have created it!" said Holmes turning away from the ceiling and looking at the former orderly.
"Oh," said Murray somewhat taken back by the man's reaction.
"So sorry," said Holmes wincing suddenly, "the tobacco is out," he said, as though that explained the entire matter.
John motioned for Hari and Murray to take a couple chairs surrounding a table. Hari pulled out a chair for Murray and as his "friend" sat down, he in turn took a chair to the left of him.
"So you detect," Murray stated.
"Yes, he is contacted by the police somewhat regularly and gets clients from many states in society," said John.
"What can you de-te-c-t about the woman?" asked Hari in broken English.
"Good thinking, Hari!" cried Murray. "Can you deduce anything about her life, her personality? Even while she is unconscious?"
"Undoubtedly," he paused dramatically. "Watson, why don't you try, you know my methods," said Holmes, taking a chair at the table as well. His pipe was full once more with the foul smelling tobacco.
"Alright, let's see," thought aloud Watson, thinking back through the hours, "Well, her clothes suggest that she was preparing for bed, yet she had a heavy coat on, that coat by the way, must had slid off rather uncomfortably at one point, there are marks on her skin that show it was probably pulled out from under her by the current or something similar," he stopped and scratched his jaw, "She's married, does some sort of writing, wears glasses and-" before he could get farther, a knock at the door interrupted the conversation.
"Ah, Mrs. Hudson!" cried out Holmes, leaping to the door and opening it. She looked at him, her brows somewhat elevated, and then sighed and realized he was hungry. Occasionally, he wouldn't eat for days and then suddenly, totally unexpectedly, he would bow down and have a large, large meal.
"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes, thank you, ah yes, all right now," she moved the tray that was filled with porridges and hot tea. She set the tray down and took a bowl of soup and spoon from the tray and walked to the detective's bedroom.
"Here you are Murray, Holmes, Hari," said Watson, filling teacups and acting as host for the moment.
"Water only," said Hari hurriedly before the tea could be pored into his cup, "Please."
"Ah, all right," said Watson, searching about the room he found a pitcher of water that had been gotten early in the morning to nurse the woman. This pitcher he recalled had not been used.
The tea (and water in one case) was poured and soon the men were about to restart the conversation over breakfast when they heard a scream.
The quick scream brought all the men standing, save Holmes. "She must be awake," he said, stressing the word MUST in an annoyed fashion. Quiet murmurings were heard through the door; the men strained their ears while they sat back down to their tea.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Hudson walked back out of the room, her face drawn into a smile. "She's awake."
"What happened, what was her first reactions into consciousness?" asked Watson.
"I don't know, she was mumbling in a foreign language, I don't know what it is, I think she," Mrs. Hudson began only to be interrupted by the detective.
"Hebrew or Arabic," said Holmes.
"Hebrew or Arabic?" Murray repeated stunned, "How on earth could you know- ?" he stopped short at Holmes' look of protest.
"Simple, the ink marks on her hands indicates that she writes right to left, the only possibility being Hebrew," he said, raising an eyebrow
"You saw her hands, but you barely saw her," stated Murray.
"I saw enough," he said softly.
"Indeed, and the Arabic?" Murray questioned.
"Merely an idea," he answered.
~~~~
The darkness was overpowering. The need to see light, lights of any type, was extreme. The desire to see was overwhelming within me. My head was throbbing; my sides ached from some sort of sharp contact. The faint light that had been above me and then next to me had vanished quickly. With that came numbness and the feeling of desolateness.
Seconds or days might have gone by in that dark place of blackness. Images in light gray appeared before me a few times. Images of both good and bad things. In my thoughts I cried out in despair, what was this place! Holmes! Where was I! I thought that this was a nightmare, or an illusion. Why then could I still think? It seemed that it lasted forever. I felt as though I was flying upwards yet falling down, down to the pit of life, at the same time. I told myself that this could not be happening. Yet the voices around me protested! And yet, beyond those voices were familiar voices. Voices that were so achingly familiar, yet non- recognizable.
As my mind fell back and forwards at the same time and my eyes seemed to burst with despair at not seeing anything, I slowly realized that I was coming out of it. For, in the distance, there was a gigantic wall of lights! Reds, blues, greens and brilliant yellow and white! The colors screamed out at me to watch them. And I did. The colors got closer and closer and closer and closer and closer, until they were right upon me!
It was then that I opened my eyes, saw the woman and screamed!
Good Lord! It was Mrs. Hudson's double, her twin, her sister! The woman looked exactly like her, only, it was then that I realized it, younger
"Calm down!" she said soothingly, casting aside a bowl of soup on a piece of furniture. She took her arms and held my shoulders. She was about to cry out for help when I began mumbling, babbling even, in Arabic. I was, I confess, going through a bit of shock at the moment. I don't remember even knowing what I was saying. It was instinct. In those long weeks in Jerusalem under the tutelage of Holmes, I had learned Arabic. I could speak it quite fluently. When I was distressed or enraged I would, at times, resort to a quick bit of foul language under a different tongue.
Even in my sleep, if I had a terrible dream, not THE DREAM, but a dream, Holmes insisted that I would mumble out phrases in Arabic. I believed him.
The poor woman, whoever she was, reacted a bit violently to my bout of hysterics. She held my shoulders strongly and began stroking my back in a comfortingly manner. I cried a bit, but soon stopped speaking in Arabic.
"I'm going to go now, dear, but eat this soup," she said a few minutes later, handing me the soup and spoon. "Wait here, now." With that she left I had heard the mumblings of the familiar voices outside the door. I ate the soup slowly.
The broth was cooling and the meat inside was cold. Even so, eating helped me regulate myself. I had reacted poorly, that I knew. That poor woman. Who was she, I wondered. As I drained the bowl, I glanced about the room. The bed I was in was a narrow double, obviously a man's. The room was disorganized with paper sneaking out from the drawers in a heavily piled desk. There was a mirror in the far back of the room, and it was then that I realized my hair was horrifically tangled.
There were interesting articles of clothing spread in one corner. It looked as though they had been pushed aside hurriedly. As though the room had received an unexpected guest, I thought wearily. I pushed myself up more in the bed and found that I could see the clothes much better now.
They varied to an astonishing rate. There was an old fashioned cabbies' uniform, complete with company hat and gloves. Next to those though, were the grab of a fisherman, laborer, policeman, (a constable, I noted) a tuxedo (and top hat), a parlor maid (to my surprise), and several lumps were beneath these items. I assumed these bumps to be shoes
Warily looking about the room, I got up. The clothes interested me and I wished to see the shoes that lay beneath. Getting up, I noted that bruises were forming at my sides. Something had happened, then; they (the bruises) were taking on the form of a thin handle and large flat end. A cane? But what type? Brushing the thought aside I made my way to the pile of clothing.
I found, underneath it all, several pairs of shoes. Just as I had thought, the shoes were all of different sizes and values.
Then, suddenly, a knock at the door. Quickly, I made my way back to the bed and sat upon it. "Come in," I said. It was the woman again.
"Hello, my dear, are you feeling better?" she asked.
"Much, thank you, and I am so sorry about before," I said. I said this quickly, saying the last part in reference toward the outbreak of Arabic.
"Quite all right, dear," she said. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, and there are some-" she stopped at my expression.
"M-Martha Hudson?" I stuttered.
"Why, yes. Do I know you?" she asked quizzically.
"Ummm, I," I froze. Oh this was, this was, I thought, searching for the right term, surreal. I got up from the bed again, and this time walked to a window. I looked out. The window, I knew would not face the main street but rather it would give me a good view of the skyline. And as I looked out the window, I knew where and when I was. "Leave me for a moment," I said shortly, knowing she would go out into the sitting room
"I'll be right back," she said, looking at me worriedly.
I felt my breath seize up in my chest and slowly sat down in a near chair. The cloths, the room, the newspaper articles, the view, Mrs. Hudson, it could only mean one thing. I was at 221 b Baker Street. But not, as I would expect, in 1923!
I felt my face flush and took many deep breaths. Perhaps it was the fact that I had read that novel by Wells, that time travel or the idea of moving through time came to me quickly. The book, I had thought when I had finished it and set it aside, was fantasy and totally barbarically written. But now, as I put my hands to the bottom of the chair, I knew that some of it was not as fantastical as it seemed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mrs. Hudson, to our surprise, came out of the room quickly, upon her second entrance.
"What is it?" Watson asked, concerned. Mrs. Hudson's face was one of worry.
"She asked me to leave, she turned pale as a ghost and asked me to leave," she said.
"Tell me exactly what happened," requested Holmes suddenly, his interest piqued.
"Well, she had finished her soup and was sitting up. I told her my name and she seemed surprised. Oh, she seemed surprised to see me when she first awoke as well, but you'd be surprised to see anyone after what she's been through," she stopped and continued with Holmes' nod. "She knew my first name somehow, almost as she knew me, but I have never seen her before, I know it, and then she walked to your window and looked out. She seemed to be surprised. Then she told me to leave her alone for a moment."
"Interesting," Murray said, Hari nodded slowly.
"Very. Is that all Mrs. Hudson," Watson asked.
"Yes, Doctor."
"Well, perhaps you and I should go in, I need to question her about those bruises and how she ended up in the river," Watson said, standing up.
"If it is all right with you, John, I must check in with the hotel," said Murray, "I hate to leave, seeing as I have brought her to you, but I am supposed to met someone in an hour and-"
"Say no more," replied Watson, interrupting his former orderly.
Murray spoke rapidly and softly to Hari, and then proclaimed; "Hari is staying here, so that he can help and keep me informed with the situation. I feel responsible for this intrusion," Murray said.
"All right, if that is agreeable by everyone," Watson said. Mrs. Hudson kept glancing at the young woman's door. Holmes nodded stiffly. With that, Murray quickly left.
Watson looked about to say something, but then glanced at Hari and stopped. Hari stepped back and sat on the floor looking at the closed door of the detective's bedroom.
"Well, why don't you bring the woman out here," said Holmes, he was irritated with the trouble this woman had caused.
"After the examination Holmes, after the examination," said Watson.
"Of course," Holmes said sarcastically. With that he sat on the ground next to Hari and began speaking to him in Hari's native tongue.
Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Watson went back to the young woman's room.
"Ah, you are awake," said Watson.
"Yes," the woman said.
"What is your name?" asked Mrs. Hudson.
"Mary Russell," the woman said carefully.
"I see," Watson commented. "Do you mind, Mrs. Russell if I examine you further, I noted a pair of bruises earlier, but was concerned about various other health worries at that time," he said quickly.
"Of course, you noted I was married," she said, more to herself then to the two others.
"Yes," he answered.
The examination went quickly and Mrs. Hudson found an article of clothing, the parlor maid's dress, and handed it to Mrs. Russell.
The two left the room to Mrs. Russell, so she could change. Moments later, she opened the door and her eyes met Holmes'.
~~~~~
Perhaps it was not a time travel, I thought to myself. I stood up after Mrs. Martha Hudson left the room and attempted to come to grips with the situation. The familiar voices had been Mrs. Hudson and no doubt, my future husband and Dr. Watson. I strode over to the desk and pulled out some newspaper clippings. The dates varied between 1878 and 1887. The newest ones were from early February 1887. 1887! That was, doing some quick math, thirty-six years in the past!
I traveled back, back in time to 1887! I wasn't even born yet, I realized. Quickly gathering up my thoughts, I turned my attention to the present, even though it was the past, I thought. I must not say anything! Nothing! I can't do anything! If I do anything, this will affect the future. There was no future yet, and it could not be tampered with! No cars! I realized with chagrin. A lot of things would be different, notably my dear husband.
No! He was not my husband. This man was not and is not the man I had or rather have come to love. The tenses, I knew, would become headache starters. I must act normal, or normally until I can come to grips! I must be normal, not react, try not to know.
This would be much easier, I thought, if I had not read Uncle John's stories!
It was with careful thought that I greeted Uncle John and Mrs. Hudson when they came into my room. I was surprised when Uncle John noted my wedding ring. I introduced myself as Mary Russell, Mrs. Russell, apparently, to them. Uncle John of course was younger, his mustache not gray but light brown. The cheerful wrinkles were, I noted, not there yet.
I was soon clothed in a parlor maid's pale gray dress. Not unbecoming, I thought, yet not becoming at the same time.
The time soon came, when I walked out of the bedroom, Holmes' I knew, judging by the contents, and my eyes met Holmes'.
I must confess, he was handsome, at least in my eyes. His thinning hair was now lush and dark and his hooded eyes were not quite as hooded. His eyes, those grey, all-seeing eyes were the same though. I studied him and he studied me. I wondered what he would make of me. It was with some surprise though when he greeted me in the way he did.
"Marhaba sitt," he said softly, looking directly at me. Marhaba was the Arabic word for welcome. Sitt, was the Arabic word for lady.
I realized that he had figured out I spoke Arabic and I glanced down at my hands. Ah yes, how bittersweet this was. He had noted that the ink on my hands cold only have come from writing right to left, thus the Hebrew. He then presumed that I spoke Arabic as well. He had deduced that I wrote Hebrew the first day that I met him, both now and in 1915. With a jolt, I noted that 1915 was in twenty-eight years.
"Salaam alikum effendi," I said, an Arabic phrase of greeting and effendi, being an honorary address to a male.
"Alikum es-salaam," he replied.
It was then that we both noted Mrs. Hudson and Uncle John's astounded looks.
"Maalesh," I said under my breath, Holmes heard and chuckled.
"Welcome, Mary Russell," he said.
"Hello, Mr. Holmes," I answered.
Author's Note: Thanks a bundle to my BETA READER: MARCH HARE!!!! ::grins:: I am really thankful to your help in the vast world of grammar!!! To the readers, I must confess that this chapter originally stopped where she screamed, but I thought it much better to continue on! I hope you all enjoyed, review with suggestions, or email me at: scorpiodragon@mychi.com!
The sitting room at 221 b Baker Street was full of smoke. Murray sat uncomfortably near a window glancing out onto the street below. It was almost eight in the morning and several hansoms were already on the street. Around the corner a group of newspaper boys had just split up. One set up and began shouting the morning's news in a loud manner. Murray smoked a thin cigar and watched the passerby. He and his manservant Hari had arrived at John Watson's residence little over five hours ago. With them had been an unconscious young woman they had pulled from the river. It was a miracle she had survived. Immediately upon their arrival, John had taken charge of the poor woman and along with Hari he had taken her to Holmes' bedroom.
"Mrs. Hudson will be up any moment I suggest you prepare yourself," clipped Holmes. His words were sharp and loud.
Holmes' words snapped Murray back to the present. This Holmes was an interesting chap with quirks and habits, he thought to himself. Then there came a knock at the door.
"Come in, Mrs. Hudson!" Holmes cried from his chair near the fire. Murray stood and put out his cigar, standing straight, almost at attention
In came Mrs. Hudson. Her hair had at one time been the darkest brown, now though it was graying and showing white near the back.
"A visitor?" She asked politely. "Did he come last night?"
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson," John said, coming out of the room where the girl had been laid upon Holmes' bed. "With a few others as well," Hari followed the doctor, and upon seeing the landlady, bowed his head and motioned his hands in a respectful matter.
"Oh, I see," she said, a bit flustered. She peered over the doctor's shoulder catching a glimpse of the girl's sleeping body. "Mr. Holmes, who is-" she began.
"Ah, glad you noticed," said Holmes, standing up and facing her. Previously, he had sat in his chair puffing away at a foul-smelling pipe. "The lady needs some help, perhaps you could-" before he could finish Mrs. Hudson had brushed passed John and walked into Holmes' bedroom.
"Oh goodness!" she exclaimed. The woman's strawberry blond hair was a tangled mass and her coloring pale. "Is she sick?"
"Murray here pulled her from the river; he brought her here last night. I was not expecting Murray until this afternoon, but he thought she needed immediate assistance," Watson explained from the doorway.
"Is she all right now?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "I wish I had been here!" Indeed she had, for no doubt the rules of propriety had been thrown out the window when it came to this young woman's treatment. The previous day, Mrs. Hudson had taken the day off to visit a close friend who had taken a sudden turn for the worse in her illness. She had been gone all night and had only arrived an hour ago.
"Nothing a bit of rest, warm food and comfort won't cure," answered John.
"In that case, I'll be up soon with your breakfasts," she murmured, taking a quick head count of all the visitors, and then left the flat.
"Interesting woman," said Murray.
"A very kind and generous one," said the doctor.
"Indeed," said Holmes, not listening.
Murray walked to the windows and looked out onto the street again. "John, how have you been?" he asked. Not a great deal of conversation had taken place between the two friends since Murray's arrival to the flat
"Fine, fine, I don't think I have properly introduced Holmes," said the doctor rubbing an eye, he was tired. "Holmes, this is James Murray, he was my orderly in the war, saved my life," he said, nodding toward his friend.
"A pleasure to meet you, sir, a pleasure indeed," said Holmes, being gracious from his chair. He had moved back toward his fireplace chair and was staring up at the ceiling.
"Yes, a pleasure," echoed Murray. "And this is my friend, Hari," he motioned toward the small man, dressed in bright clothes. "He calls himself my servant, and indeed he acts like one, but in truth, he is just a good friend."
Hari bowed to the two gentlemen in turn.
"John tells me that you are a private consulting detective," began Murray.
"THE private consulting detective, THE, not A, THE, I am THE only one in THE profession, for I have created it!" said Holmes turning away from the ceiling and looking at the former orderly.
"Oh," said Murray somewhat taken back by the man's reaction.
"So sorry," said Holmes wincing suddenly, "the tobacco is out," he said, as though that explained the entire matter.
John motioned for Hari and Murray to take a couple chairs surrounding a table. Hari pulled out a chair for Murray and as his "friend" sat down, he in turn took a chair to the left of him.
"So you detect," Murray stated.
"Yes, he is contacted by the police somewhat regularly and gets clients from many states in society," said John.
"What can you de-te-c-t about the woman?" asked Hari in broken English.
"Good thinking, Hari!" cried Murray. "Can you deduce anything about her life, her personality? Even while she is unconscious?"
"Undoubtedly," he paused dramatically. "Watson, why don't you try, you know my methods," said Holmes, taking a chair at the table as well. His pipe was full once more with the foul smelling tobacco.
"Alright, let's see," thought aloud Watson, thinking back through the hours, "Well, her clothes suggest that she was preparing for bed, yet she had a heavy coat on, that coat by the way, must had slid off rather uncomfortably at one point, there are marks on her skin that show it was probably pulled out from under her by the current or something similar," he stopped and scratched his jaw, "She's married, does some sort of writing, wears glasses and-" before he could get farther, a knock at the door interrupted the conversation.
"Ah, Mrs. Hudson!" cried out Holmes, leaping to the door and opening it. She looked at him, her brows somewhat elevated, and then sighed and realized he was hungry. Occasionally, he wouldn't eat for days and then suddenly, totally unexpectedly, he would bow down and have a large, large meal.
"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes, thank you, ah yes, all right now," she moved the tray that was filled with porridges and hot tea. She set the tray down and took a bowl of soup and spoon from the tray and walked to the detective's bedroom.
"Here you are Murray, Holmes, Hari," said Watson, filling teacups and acting as host for the moment.
"Water only," said Hari hurriedly before the tea could be pored into his cup, "Please."
"Ah, all right," said Watson, searching about the room he found a pitcher of water that had been gotten early in the morning to nurse the woman. This pitcher he recalled had not been used.
The tea (and water in one case) was poured and soon the men were about to restart the conversation over breakfast when they heard a scream.
The quick scream brought all the men standing, save Holmes. "She must be awake," he said, stressing the word MUST in an annoyed fashion. Quiet murmurings were heard through the door; the men strained their ears while they sat back down to their tea.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Hudson walked back out of the room, her face drawn into a smile. "She's awake."
"What happened, what was her first reactions into consciousness?" asked Watson.
"I don't know, she was mumbling in a foreign language, I don't know what it is, I think she," Mrs. Hudson began only to be interrupted by the detective.
"Hebrew or Arabic," said Holmes.
"Hebrew or Arabic?" Murray repeated stunned, "How on earth could you know- ?" he stopped short at Holmes' look of protest.
"Simple, the ink marks on her hands indicates that she writes right to left, the only possibility being Hebrew," he said, raising an eyebrow
"You saw her hands, but you barely saw her," stated Murray.
"I saw enough," he said softly.
"Indeed, and the Arabic?" Murray questioned.
"Merely an idea," he answered.
~~~~
The darkness was overpowering. The need to see light, lights of any type, was extreme. The desire to see was overwhelming within me. My head was throbbing; my sides ached from some sort of sharp contact. The faint light that had been above me and then next to me had vanished quickly. With that came numbness and the feeling of desolateness.
Seconds or days might have gone by in that dark place of blackness. Images in light gray appeared before me a few times. Images of both good and bad things. In my thoughts I cried out in despair, what was this place! Holmes! Where was I! I thought that this was a nightmare, or an illusion. Why then could I still think? It seemed that it lasted forever. I felt as though I was flying upwards yet falling down, down to the pit of life, at the same time. I told myself that this could not be happening. Yet the voices around me protested! And yet, beyond those voices were familiar voices. Voices that were so achingly familiar, yet non- recognizable.
As my mind fell back and forwards at the same time and my eyes seemed to burst with despair at not seeing anything, I slowly realized that I was coming out of it. For, in the distance, there was a gigantic wall of lights! Reds, blues, greens and brilliant yellow and white! The colors screamed out at me to watch them. And I did. The colors got closer and closer and closer and closer and closer, until they were right upon me!
It was then that I opened my eyes, saw the woman and screamed!
Good Lord! It was Mrs. Hudson's double, her twin, her sister! The woman looked exactly like her, only, it was then that I realized it, younger
"Calm down!" she said soothingly, casting aside a bowl of soup on a piece of furniture. She took her arms and held my shoulders. She was about to cry out for help when I began mumbling, babbling even, in Arabic. I was, I confess, going through a bit of shock at the moment. I don't remember even knowing what I was saying. It was instinct. In those long weeks in Jerusalem under the tutelage of Holmes, I had learned Arabic. I could speak it quite fluently. When I was distressed or enraged I would, at times, resort to a quick bit of foul language under a different tongue.
Even in my sleep, if I had a terrible dream, not THE DREAM, but a dream, Holmes insisted that I would mumble out phrases in Arabic. I believed him.
The poor woman, whoever she was, reacted a bit violently to my bout of hysterics. She held my shoulders strongly and began stroking my back in a comfortingly manner. I cried a bit, but soon stopped speaking in Arabic.
"I'm going to go now, dear, but eat this soup," she said a few minutes later, handing me the soup and spoon. "Wait here, now." With that she left I had heard the mumblings of the familiar voices outside the door. I ate the soup slowly.
The broth was cooling and the meat inside was cold. Even so, eating helped me regulate myself. I had reacted poorly, that I knew. That poor woman. Who was she, I wondered. As I drained the bowl, I glanced about the room. The bed I was in was a narrow double, obviously a man's. The room was disorganized with paper sneaking out from the drawers in a heavily piled desk. There was a mirror in the far back of the room, and it was then that I realized my hair was horrifically tangled.
There were interesting articles of clothing spread in one corner. It looked as though they had been pushed aside hurriedly. As though the room had received an unexpected guest, I thought wearily. I pushed myself up more in the bed and found that I could see the clothes much better now.
They varied to an astonishing rate. There was an old fashioned cabbies' uniform, complete with company hat and gloves. Next to those though, were the grab of a fisherman, laborer, policeman, (a constable, I noted) a tuxedo (and top hat), a parlor maid (to my surprise), and several lumps were beneath these items. I assumed these bumps to be shoes
Warily looking about the room, I got up. The clothes interested me and I wished to see the shoes that lay beneath. Getting up, I noted that bruises were forming at my sides. Something had happened, then; they (the bruises) were taking on the form of a thin handle and large flat end. A cane? But what type? Brushing the thought aside I made my way to the pile of clothing.
I found, underneath it all, several pairs of shoes. Just as I had thought, the shoes were all of different sizes and values.
Then, suddenly, a knock at the door. Quickly, I made my way back to the bed and sat upon it. "Come in," I said. It was the woman again.
"Hello, my dear, are you feeling better?" she asked.
"Much, thank you, and I am so sorry about before," I said. I said this quickly, saying the last part in reference toward the outbreak of Arabic.
"Quite all right, dear," she said. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, and there are some-" she stopped at my expression.
"M-Martha Hudson?" I stuttered.
"Why, yes. Do I know you?" she asked quizzically.
"Ummm, I," I froze. Oh this was, this was, I thought, searching for the right term, surreal. I got up from the bed again, and this time walked to a window. I looked out. The window, I knew would not face the main street but rather it would give me a good view of the skyline. And as I looked out the window, I knew where and when I was. "Leave me for a moment," I said shortly, knowing she would go out into the sitting room
"I'll be right back," she said, looking at me worriedly.
I felt my breath seize up in my chest and slowly sat down in a near chair. The cloths, the room, the newspaper articles, the view, Mrs. Hudson, it could only mean one thing. I was at 221 b Baker Street. But not, as I would expect, in 1923!
I felt my face flush and took many deep breaths. Perhaps it was the fact that I had read that novel by Wells, that time travel or the idea of moving through time came to me quickly. The book, I had thought when I had finished it and set it aside, was fantasy and totally barbarically written. But now, as I put my hands to the bottom of the chair, I knew that some of it was not as fantastical as it seemed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mrs. Hudson, to our surprise, came out of the room quickly, upon her second entrance.
"What is it?" Watson asked, concerned. Mrs. Hudson's face was one of worry.
"She asked me to leave, she turned pale as a ghost and asked me to leave," she said.
"Tell me exactly what happened," requested Holmes suddenly, his interest piqued.
"Well, she had finished her soup and was sitting up. I told her my name and she seemed surprised. Oh, she seemed surprised to see me when she first awoke as well, but you'd be surprised to see anyone after what she's been through," she stopped and continued with Holmes' nod. "She knew my first name somehow, almost as she knew me, but I have never seen her before, I know it, and then she walked to your window and looked out. She seemed to be surprised. Then she told me to leave her alone for a moment."
"Interesting," Murray said, Hari nodded slowly.
"Very. Is that all Mrs. Hudson," Watson asked.
"Yes, Doctor."
"Well, perhaps you and I should go in, I need to question her about those bruises and how she ended up in the river," Watson said, standing up.
"If it is all right with you, John, I must check in with the hotel," said Murray, "I hate to leave, seeing as I have brought her to you, but I am supposed to met someone in an hour and-"
"Say no more," replied Watson, interrupting his former orderly.
Murray spoke rapidly and softly to Hari, and then proclaimed; "Hari is staying here, so that he can help and keep me informed with the situation. I feel responsible for this intrusion," Murray said.
"All right, if that is agreeable by everyone," Watson said. Mrs. Hudson kept glancing at the young woman's door. Holmes nodded stiffly. With that, Murray quickly left.
Watson looked about to say something, but then glanced at Hari and stopped. Hari stepped back and sat on the floor looking at the closed door of the detective's bedroom.
"Well, why don't you bring the woman out here," said Holmes, he was irritated with the trouble this woman had caused.
"After the examination Holmes, after the examination," said Watson.
"Of course," Holmes said sarcastically. With that he sat on the ground next to Hari and began speaking to him in Hari's native tongue.
Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Watson went back to the young woman's room.
"Ah, you are awake," said Watson.
"Yes," the woman said.
"What is your name?" asked Mrs. Hudson.
"Mary Russell," the woman said carefully.
"I see," Watson commented. "Do you mind, Mrs. Russell if I examine you further, I noted a pair of bruises earlier, but was concerned about various other health worries at that time," he said quickly.
"Of course, you noted I was married," she said, more to herself then to the two others.
"Yes," he answered.
The examination went quickly and Mrs. Hudson found an article of clothing, the parlor maid's dress, and handed it to Mrs. Russell.
The two left the room to Mrs. Russell, so she could change. Moments later, she opened the door and her eyes met Holmes'.
~~~~~
Perhaps it was not a time travel, I thought to myself. I stood up after Mrs. Martha Hudson left the room and attempted to come to grips with the situation. The familiar voices had been Mrs. Hudson and no doubt, my future husband and Dr. Watson. I strode over to the desk and pulled out some newspaper clippings. The dates varied between 1878 and 1887. The newest ones were from early February 1887. 1887! That was, doing some quick math, thirty-six years in the past!
I traveled back, back in time to 1887! I wasn't even born yet, I realized. Quickly gathering up my thoughts, I turned my attention to the present, even though it was the past, I thought. I must not say anything! Nothing! I can't do anything! If I do anything, this will affect the future. There was no future yet, and it could not be tampered with! No cars! I realized with chagrin. A lot of things would be different, notably my dear husband.
No! He was not my husband. This man was not and is not the man I had or rather have come to love. The tenses, I knew, would become headache starters. I must act normal, or normally until I can come to grips! I must be normal, not react, try not to know.
This would be much easier, I thought, if I had not read Uncle John's stories!
It was with careful thought that I greeted Uncle John and Mrs. Hudson when they came into my room. I was surprised when Uncle John noted my wedding ring. I introduced myself as Mary Russell, Mrs. Russell, apparently, to them. Uncle John of course was younger, his mustache not gray but light brown. The cheerful wrinkles were, I noted, not there yet.
I was soon clothed in a parlor maid's pale gray dress. Not unbecoming, I thought, yet not becoming at the same time.
The time soon came, when I walked out of the bedroom, Holmes' I knew, judging by the contents, and my eyes met Holmes'.
I must confess, he was handsome, at least in my eyes. His thinning hair was now lush and dark and his hooded eyes were not quite as hooded. His eyes, those grey, all-seeing eyes were the same though. I studied him and he studied me. I wondered what he would make of me. It was with some surprise though when he greeted me in the way he did.
"Marhaba sitt," he said softly, looking directly at me. Marhaba was the Arabic word for welcome. Sitt, was the Arabic word for lady.
I realized that he had figured out I spoke Arabic and I glanced down at my hands. Ah yes, how bittersweet this was. He had noted that the ink on my hands cold only have come from writing right to left, thus the Hebrew. He then presumed that I spoke Arabic as well. He had deduced that I wrote Hebrew the first day that I met him, both now and in 1915. With a jolt, I noted that 1915 was in twenty-eight years.
"Salaam alikum effendi," I said, an Arabic phrase of greeting and effendi, being an honorary address to a male.
"Alikum es-salaam," he replied.
It was then that we both noted Mrs. Hudson and Uncle John's astounded looks.
"Maalesh," I said under my breath, Holmes heard and chuckled.
"Welcome, Mary Russell," he said.
"Hello, Mr. Holmes," I answered.
Author's Note: Thanks a bundle to my BETA READER: MARCH HARE!!!! ::grins:: I am really thankful to your help in the vast world of grammar!!! To the readers, I must confess that this chapter originally stopped where she screamed, but I thought it much better to continue on! I hope you all enjoyed, review with suggestions, or email me at: scorpiodragon@mychi.com!