Twisting Time
Chapter Four
Note to the reader: The dates are carefully researched, as best they can,
and I ask that you read over things carefully if you think you have found a
mistake. Watson's note at the is written after the case is finished.
February 1887
London, England
Russell's POV:
The building was not there. Which meant, of course, that Holmes' bolthole
would not be there. Sighing in frustration, I held my arms close, the wind
still cold. Passerby looked at me once or twice, but the majority, I am
happy to claim, ignored me. I felt, as no doubt the reader can deduce, like
a fool.
Not only had I no place to go, but also I had sent the hound and doctor
upon my heels by leaving that fool of a name at the hotel! Mrs. Mycroft
indeed! Holmes' first move, I knew would be to rush to Mycroft's club.
Unless I was mistake, which I doubted, Uncle John had not yet met up with
the elder Holmes brother. He should have, I thought, met up with him on the
case titled "The Greek Interpreter" which was not "due to happen" until
1888. This should prove interesting indeed.
Turning, I moved away from the area, which would one day hold the home of
one of Holmes' boltholes. What to do now? I glanced about, straining my
mind of Victorian London, and unfortunately, finding nothing of worthwhile.
Walking a ways absentmindedly, I noted a change. The clouds above suddenly
drew together, forming a dense shadow around me. I turned back, hoping to
catch a glimpse of the reactions of the passersby or a constable, or
someone, but there was no one there. Straining my eyes back to the sky, the
clouds had blocked the sunlight and the temperature seemed to drop a
further five decrees and the wind picked up.
No one was around, and then suddenly everything was black! I was alone, in
the darkened world. I was, I thought, experiencing the same symptoms of
events that I had had to reach 1887. I was traveling through time, again.
***
April 1888
London, England
Dr. John H. Watson's POV:
To Sherlock Holmes she is always THE WOMAN. I have seldom heard him mention
her by any other name. Mrs. Mary Russell was her name. She had fooled him,
less than a year ago, during the strange case, which I am only now
mentioning due to the present case involving another woman. Two women in
two years have beaten the great detective in several cases. The case that I
mentioned which occurred one year ago was strange due to the lack of
conceivable evidence and data. Holmes was frustrated a great deal after her
disappearance. His brother Mycroft, whom I met briefly during the case,
offered no suggestions or any possible connections. Holmes resorted to
pacing his dark study for hours on end, eyes shut tight in concentration.
He continued in such away of not eating or even, at one point, not smoking
in avid frustration at the case. Eventually another case turned up, which,
unfortunately for you dear reader, I am not, allowed divulging information
due to government security.
The case upon which we encountered the second woman was interestingly
enough, though not nearly half as interesting as it could have been
regarding Holmes and Irene Alder. However many other interesting things
occurred which prevented the meeting of these two individuals. Not in the
least was the return of Mrs. Mary Russell.
This is, my dear reader, that very interesting case.
I must put here now a note to myself. This story is not to be published for
some time. Now, I have not decided upon a finale date, but as of now, mid
April of the year 1888, this is not to be published. Another note I must
include here, for future-editing purposes is, to exclude direct mention of
the probability of Time Travel. Time Travel, I must confess was a much
spoken topic by Holmes, myself and Mrs. Mary Russell during the case.
***
March 1888
London, England
Russell's POV:
The darkness was not as overwhelming as it had been the first time. In
fact, it only seemed to last a brief moment while the other time, the
blackness and silence and array of colors could have lasted forever.
There was only a brief glimpse of a distant prism of colors before I was in
London once more. No snow lay on the ground. I glanced about, the sky was a
tad overcast, and the wind temperature was much lower and calmer. Traveling
through time should come with an answer book, or at least a handbook!
I must here remind the reader that, I Mary Russell Holmes was indeed a theology student as well as a chemistry student. The idea of time travel had reached my ears during a discussion or two during a meeting with fellow students. I had even at one point argued against the probability of such a thing. However at present I was not experiencing the feeling, which was described to be the feeling of time travel-though how they would know I have no idea. I was overly spectacular of such a thing occurring I admit, when this entire affair began, but at the present it seemed the best answer to an array of questions.
It was not February, I thought; no, the ground and the sky and the clothing
might account for it not being that month. But what really told me that it
was not February was the shouting of newspaper boys proclaiming the date
mixed up with some crime. Apparently, Sherlock Holmes had solved another
crime. This one, about two months ago was still in the news, surprising.
Perhaps the information had only just now reached the papers.
I was still clad in the maid's attire taken from my future husband's
lodgings over a year ago. In my mind of course, it had only been a couple
of hours at the most. I was back near where I had left, moments before, and now,
Holmes' bolthole building was present!
It was awfully convenient and strange that in the passing of a year I ended up exactly, or near enough, where I had left. My mind at that point began to subconsciously think up or try to think up passages of the Bible. No solution came. Whatever was happening seemed to have me bent on entering the bolthole, or at least so I thought. What was the purpose of my being here? Were there fates involved? Was I even time traveling? Was there such a thing as time traveling? Why here-why now?
Inhaling deeply, and ignoring several small children who ran about, I made my way to the front of the building. It was then that I felt a sharp pain in my head. A headache, I thought sarcastically, wonderful!
Climbing up the stairs of the department store, which was large and
bustling with activity, I walked down the passages until I came across the
entrance. Carefully, so as not to be observed, I climbed in slowly.
The room was sparse only the cramped couch and dresser stood there. There
was no line of worn rug upon the floor where he had, or would, pace for
hours on end. There was make up and disguise material though limited in
numbers and quantity. The room, in short was unused for the vast majority.
Sitting down, I decided, that the couch may suit me well enough for a bit of rest. The banging hammers in my ears agreed with me and I rested myself down for a quick nap. Time traveling, or whatever was taking place seemed to have a bad effect in regards toward headaches!
***
Watson's POV:
"Holmes, whatever is the matter?" I asked.
"Nothing, nothing, it just does not seem to fit in with data!"
"What? What doesn't seem to work?"
"The King of Bohemia!"
"What about him? He told us his case last night!"
"True, true something just seems odd about it. I don't like it!"
"Experiencing a premonition, Holmes?" I asked jokingly. His attitude toward
the supernatural and anything of the sort had been loudly expressed one
point when I had last seen met with him.
"Very funny Watson," Holmes said dryly. I am sorry to say there was no
humor in his voice.
"Come now, old boy, let's hear it," I said, trying to get the truth out of
him.
"Well, ever since. . . that case-" He stopped. I knew at once he was
talking about the Mrs. Russell case, which he had, in his own words, failed
miserably at.
I stood silent, allowing him to continue.
"I think something is going to happen," he said softly. "You know I don't
hold a candle to that mishmash, but I think- I know," he paused, "That
something is going to happen."
"I see," I replied. I turned away from him to glance out the window,
noting nothing extraordinary. His feelings on Mrs. Mary Russell were shrouded in secrecy. As I looked back to the previous year I remember feeling a brief jolt of shock that Holmes would offer tea and then pour it. He had never done that with any other client or person in my presence, I had always done the deed. I remember starting to say "What are doing!" and then I stopped. I had always thought from that moment that Holmes held some feeling of warmth for that woman. What was now bringing out these possible feelings?
My musings were interrupted by Holmes when, "Now then, I will need to go out Watson, for a bit I need to do some primary investigating," he stood and stretched.
With that he left the room and me to the still silence of the morning.
***
Holmes' POV:
What was needed in the case of Irene Adler was data, data, data. Women are
naturally secretive, and they are likely to do their own searching. The
present case required me to go in disguise. A common, out-of-work laborer,
I should think. A groomer, perhaps. The disguise would require a beard,
change of clothes, a change of dialect, I relished the thoughts!
A stop at a bolthole was needed. And one preferably near the Aldler home,
and one that would have a crowded surrounding. Of course, I thought of only
one.
Making my way briskly down the street, I noted several newspaper lads
screaming out my name. A previous case, no doubt, printed from Watson's
writings of a case of some sort. From the vastly exaggerated headlines I
deduced the "case" to be that of "The Valley of Fear", no doubt secret
handshakes and romantic driddle was added from Watson's overly dramatic
touch.
Ah! There, the building of destination. The home of my newest bolthole. Not
yet used a great deal, but I foresaw long hours in that space. Climbing the
steps, I noted the shoppers and urchins. Good. Many people was a good
thing, no one would notice a finely dressed man being replaced by a lower
class groomer.
Walking a brief ways I made it to the entrance. Carefully watching about me
I quickly opened the hidden entrance and made my way inside. The door had
been opened recently, perhaps just this morning, or at the latest, last
night. How anyone could have found such a spot, as this was unnerving. This was the first time that someone had broken into a bolthole of mine! I was, as I stated a tad unnerved. There was no evidence supporting a violent entry. Someone had known exactly where to find it and how to open the door. Almost as if that person had been there before.
Ducking my head a bit from a wooden beam, I came to where the dresser and
couch were.
Suddenly I had the strangest feeling and then I saw, on the couch was one strikingly familiar woman.
I confess that it took the briefest of moments to gather my wits and recall
that this was Mrs. Mary Russell, alias, Mrs. Lowell, alias, Mrs. Mycroft.
The woman moved a bit in sleep; she looked exhausted. And yet, the dress,
the dress was mine. The maid's disguise that had been lent to the woman!
She still wore it! In fact, she looked very much the same as she had over a
year ago! Her coat had been discarded on the floor.
I felt my face flush a tad in color.
Her arm moved a bit and her nose twitched. She was awakening, I thought,
from the briefest of naps. Her eyes opened slowly------
To be continued..
Author's Note: Thanks to March Hare again for beta reading! ::grins::
What do YOU think? Review!!!! ((smiles))
Chapter Four
Note to the reader: The dates are carefully researched, as best they can,
and I ask that you read over things carefully if you think you have found a
mistake. Watson's note at the is written after the case is finished.
February 1887
London, England
Russell's POV:
The building was not there. Which meant, of course, that Holmes' bolthole
would not be there. Sighing in frustration, I held my arms close, the wind
still cold. Passerby looked at me once or twice, but the majority, I am
happy to claim, ignored me. I felt, as no doubt the reader can deduce, like
a fool.
Not only had I no place to go, but also I had sent the hound and doctor
upon my heels by leaving that fool of a name at the hotel! Mrs. Mycroft
indeed! Holmes' first move, I knew would be to rush to Mycroft's club.
Unless I was mistake, which I doubted, Uncle John had not yet met up with
the elder Holmes brother. He should have, I thought, met up with him on the
case titled "The Greek Interpreter" which was not "due to happen" until
1888. This should prove interesting indeed.
Turning, I moved away from the area, which would one day hold the home of
one of Holmes' boltholes. What to do now? I glanced about, straining my
mind of Victorian London, and unfortunately, finding nothing of worthwhile.
Walking a ways absentmindedly, I noted a change. The clouds above suddenly
drew together, forming a dense shadow around me. I turned back, hoping to
catch a glimpse of the reactions of the passersby or a constable, or
someone, but there was no one there. Straining my eyes back to the sky, the
clouds had blocked the sunlight and the temperature seemed to drop a
further five decrees and the wind picked up.
No one was around, and then suddenly everything was black! I was alone, in
the darkened world. I was, I thought, experiencing the same symptoms of
events that I had had to reach 1887. I was traveling through time, again.
***
April 1888
London, England
Dr. John H. Watson's POV:
To Sherlock Holmes she is always THE WOMAN. I have seldom heard him mention
her by any other name. Mrs. Mary Russell was her name. She had fooled him,
less than a year ago, during the strange case, which I am only now
mentioning due to the present case involving another woman. Two women in
two years have beaten the great detective in several cases. The case that I
mentioned which occurred one year ago was strange due to the lack of
conceivable evidence and data. Holmes was frustrated a great deal after her
disappearance. His brother Mycroft, whom I met briefly during the case,
offered no suggestions or any possible connections. Holmes resorted to
pacing his dark study for hours on end, eyes shut tight in concentration.
He continued in such away of not eating or even, at one point, not smoking
in avid frustration at the case. Eventually another case turned up, which,
unfortunately for you dear reader, I am not, allowed divulging information
due to government security.
The case upon which we encountered the second woman was interestingly
enough, though not nearly half as interesting as it could have been
regarding Holmes and Irene Alder. However many other interesting things
occurred which prevented the meeting of these two individuals. Not in the
least was the return of Mrs. Mary Russell.
This is, my dear reader, that very interesting case.
I must put here now a note to myself. This story is not to be published for
some time. Now, I have not decided upon a finale date, but as of now, mid
April of the year 1888, this is not to be published. Another note I must
include here, for future-editing purposes is, to exclude direct mention of
the probability of Time Travel. Time Travel, I must confess was a much
spoken topic by Holmes, myself and Mrs. Mary Russell during the case.
***
March 1888
London, England
Russell's POV:
The darkness was not as overwhelming as it had been the first time. In
fact, it only seemed to last a brief moment while the other time, the
blackness and silence and array of colors could have lasted forever.
There was only a brief glimpse of a distant prism of colors before I was in
London once more. No snow lay on the ground. I glanced about, the sky was a
tad overcast, and the wind temperature was much lower and calmer. Traveling
through time should come with an answer book, or at least a handbook!
I must here remind the reader that, I Mary Russell Holmes was indeed a theology student as well as a chemistry student. The idea of time travel had reached my ears during a discussion or two during a meeting with fellow students. I had even at one point argued against the probability of such a thing. However at present I was not experiencing the feeling, which was described to be the feeling of time travel-though how they would know I have no idea. I was overly spectacular of such a thing occurring I admit, when this entire affair began, but at the present it seemed the best answer to an array of questions.
It was not February, I thought; no, the ground and the sky and the clothing
might account for it not being that month. But what really told me that it
was not February was the shouting of newspaper boys proclaiming the date
mixed up with some crime. Apparently, Sherlock Holmes had solved another
crime. This one, about two months ago was still in the news, surprising.
Perhaps the information had only just now reached the papers.
I was still clad in the maid's attire taken from my future husband's
lodgings over a year ago. In my mind of course, it had only been a couple
of hours at the most. I was back near where I had left, moments before, and now,
Holmes' bolthole building was present!
It was awfully convenient and strange that in the passing of a year I ended up exactly, or near enough, where I had left. My mind at that point began to subconsciously think up or try to think up passages of the Bible. No solution came. Whatever was happening seemed to have me bent on entering the bolthole, or at least so I thought. What was the purpose of my being here? Were there fates involved? Was I even time traveling? Was there such a thing as time traveling? Why here-why now?
Inhaling deeply, and ignoring several small children who ran about, I made my way to the front of the building. It was then that I felt a sharp pain in my head. A headache, I thought sarcastically, wonderful!
Climbing up the stairs of the department store, which was large and
bustling with activity, I walked down the passages until I came across the
entrance. Carefully, so as not to be observed, I climbed in slowly.
The room was sparse only the cramped couch and dresser stood there. There
was no line of worn rug upon the floor where he had, or would, pace for
hours on end. There was make up and disguise material though limited in
numbers and quantity. The room, in short was unused for the vast majority.
Sitting down, I decided, that the couch may suit me well enough for a bit of rest. The banging hammers in my ears agreed with me and I rested myself down for a quick nap. Time traveling, or whatever was taking place seemed to have a bad effect in regards toward headaches!
***
Watson's POV:
"Holmes, whatever is the matter?" I asked.
"Nothing, nothing, it just does not seem to fit in with data!"
"What? What doesn't seem to work?"
"The King of Bohemia!"
"What about him? He told us his case last night!"
"True, true something just seems odd about it. I don't like it!"
"Experiencing a premonition, Holmes?" I asked jokingly. His attitude toward
the supernatural and anything of the sort had been loudly expressed one
point when I had last seen met with him.
"Very funny Watson," Holmes said dryly. I am sorry to say there was no
humor in his voice.
"Come now, old boy, let's hear it," I said, trying to get the truth out of
him.
"Well, ever since. . . that case-" He stopped. I knew at once he was
talking about the Mrs. Russell case, which he had, in his own words, failed
miserably at.
I stood silent, allowing him to continue.
"I think something is going to happen," he said softly. "You know I don't
hold a candle to that mishmash, but I think- I know," he paused, "That
something is going to happen."
"I see," I replied. I turned away from him to glance out the window,
noting nothing extraordinary. His feelings on Mrs. Mary Russell were shrouded in secrecy. As I looked back to the previous year I remember feeling a brief jolt of shock that Holmes would offer tea and then pour it. He had never done that with any other client or person in my presence, I had always done the deed. I remember starting to say "What are doing!" and then I stopped. I had always thought from that moment that Holmes held some feeling of warmth for that woman. What was now bringing out these possible feelings?
My musings were interrupted by Holmes when, "Now then, I will need to go out Watson, for a bit I need to do some primary investigating," he stood and stretched.
With that he left the room and me to the still silence of the morning.
***
Holmes' POV:
What was needed in the case of Irene Adler was data, data, data. Women are
naturally secretive, and they are likely to do their own searching. The
present case required me to go in disguise. A common, out-of-work laborer,
I should think. A groomer, perhaps. The disguise would require a beard,
change of clothes, a change of dialect, I relished the thoughts!
A stop at a bolthole was needed. And one preferably near the Aldler home,
and one that would have a crowded surrounding. Of course, I thought of only
one.
Making my way briskly down the street, I noted several newspaper lads
screaming out my name. A previous case, no doubt, printed from Watson's
writings of a case of some sort. From the vastly exaggerated headlines I
deduced the "case" to be that of "The Valley of Fear", no doubt secret
handshakes and romantic driddle was added from Watson's overly dramatic
touch.
Ah! There, the building of destination. The home of my newest bolthole. Not
yet used a great deal, but I foresaw long hours in that space. Climbing the
steps, I noted the shoppers and urchins. Good. Many people was a good
thing, no one would notice a finely dressed man being replaced by a lower
class groomer.
Walking a brief ways I made it to the entrance. Carefully watching about me
I quickly opened the hidden entrance and made my way inside. The door had
been opened recently, perhaps just this morning, or at the latest, last
night. How anyone could have found such a spot, as this was unnerving. This was the first time that someone had broken into a bolthole of mine! I was, as I stated a tad unnerved. There was no evidence supporting a violent entry. Someone had known exactly where to find it and how to open the door. Almost as if that person had been there before.
Ducking my head a bit from a wooden beam, I came to where the dresser and
couch were.
Suddenly I had the strangest feeling and then I saw, on the couch was one strikingly familiar woman.
I confess that it took the briefest of moments to gather my wits and recall
that this was Mrs. Mary Russell, alias, Mrs. Lowell, alias, Mrs. Mycroft.
The woman moved a bit in sleep; she looked exhausted. And yet, the dress,
the dress was mine. The maid's disguise that had been lent to the woman!
She still wore it! In fact, she looked very much the same as she had over a
year ago! Her coat had been discarded on the floor.
I felt my face flush a tad in color.
Her arm moved a bit and her nose twitched. She was awakening, I thought,
from the briefest of naps. Her eyes opened slowly------
To be continued..
Author's Note: Thanks to March Hare again for beta reading! ::grins::
What do YOU think? Review!!!! ((smiles))