Chapter Six

The rectangle shaped room which featured two windows facing out onto the street greeted me like a fresh memory-which, I supposed it was. And while it had been over a year for Sherlock Holmes and co., for me it had been a few hours. Ah, the practicalities of wearing a wristwatch seemed to shout at me. However, to do justice to myself, why should I wear a wristwatch at night? Indeed, that is when this trouble had all began, at night, on our anniversary.

I stood and then was ushered to a chair, of which the Dr. Watson had formally sat.

"Come in Mrs. Hudson," said Holmes. I had not heard anything beyond the door, lost as I was in my own thoughts, but I did not doubt that there had been sounds of the small pattering of the landlady.

Through the door emerged Mrs. Hudson. With her, she carried a platter of tea.

"What would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

Formalities (what little they were) aside, we soon embarked on a conversation, which left me rethinking earlier thoughts. How and why had I gotten here? What were the strange markings upon my belly? What was this anniversary?

The conversation included Holmes attempting to get the better of me. And by attempting, I mean really trying to figure out who I was and why I was here. At least I knew the part about my being-the question was, why was I here.

"So why the difficulties Mrs. Russell? Why the elaborate disappearance? The names? The pretenses?"

Carefully lowering my tea, I responded in the best way, when dealing with Holmes in one of his inquisitive modes-the truth. Sooner or later, I knew he would find holes in whatever story I concocted and really, I doubt I would have thought of one to fool a wandering passerby.

A simple, "Holmes I am from the future, I am your wife, I,...I...-" No, no, that would not work at all. Perhaps half-truths would be the best. He would no doubt sense something missing, but for the meantime, the bare truth would hopefully work its wonders.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, I am not from this time."

"Explain," an eyebrow was raised, and the possibility of him thinking me mad, suddenly entered my mind.

"Well, what you know of me is this," I began slowly, "I appear, in the river one night. Thankfully I am brought here by companions of Dr. Watson, who rooms with you here at Baker Street. I am helped and clothed by you all and then I in turn 'run away'. Then it is discovered that I went to a hotel and checked in under an alias, under your brother's name. This, you deducted, I did solely to off balance you in my 'escape' and you did not see me again until today at your bolt hole, of which you thought to be solely in your knowledge."

"Thus far you are correct. But what of the attire? You are, if I am right, wearing my, errr, one of my disguises," his cheeks took on a faint reddening of his ownership of the maid's dress.

"Yes, well, the day I left Baker Street, I went to go to the bolt hole, as that was one of the few places I am knowledgeable enough of, that I deemed an appropriate place to go."

"Yes, and upon getting to the building, or rather lack of building, you realized that it had not been built yet."

"Indeed."

"What then? It has been over a year, explain more."

"I cannot explain more than this. When I noted the building did not yet exist I was suddenly transported forward in time. I cannot explain it."

"In time, as in travel? Are you suggesting to me that you, Mrs. Russell, participated in time travel?" He said cautiously, no type of emotion filtering through his voice.

"Yes," I attempted to keep the hesitating note out of my voice. I desperately wanted his approval in my sanity, and this reaction I knew, would mean a great deal. I watched his face intently looking for a raised eyebrow--- or a fractional tilt of the head.

Instead of reacting or continuing the present track of thought he took a new route.

"I don't suppose you realize what I am now doing?" He questioned, walking across the room and looking out onto the cobbled street. "Does your ability to walk through time, as though a garden give you the ability to know and realize yet un-happened facts?" He was fishing, I realized. --Though what type of fishing was yet unknown. He wanted to first know if I believed in what I said. Then he would decide, through deductive reasoning, whether or not he too believed me.

I drew in a quick breath, unsure of how to proceed. Our last conversation in the bolthole had touched upon acquaintanceship, as when he had in a way hugged me. I did not know how to approach the fact that my husband to be was currently working on the case involving the women. I was sure this was what he wanted to know-- Did I know what he was currently doing. Was I for real or was I a fraud.

Author's Note:

To all the reviewers.