A/N #2: I seem to be having trouble getting chapters 7 and 8 to cooperate, so I'm going to post 8 later, instead of right on top of it. Don't know why the bloody thing isn't cooperating...
A/N: Thank you all so much for your kind praises! It does my writer's ego good. ;D Now, a moment for my two cents on things that only relate to the story in the most peripheral of fashions. Actually, they don't really relate at all.
If you haven't seen The Chronicles of Narnia yet, I really recommend you do. I have never in my life declared a movie to be perfect–not even The Lord of the Rings, which I love–but I do so about Narnia. It's absolutely perfect. You want wonder, and awe, and sheer joy, go see the movie. Besides, Liam Neeson plays Aslan (well, his voice, anyway) and you can't get much better than that.
Also, for any possible Firefly fans out there, Serenity comes out on DVD on the 20th. Show your support for the Big Damn Movie! Rumor is that they may very well make sequels, but direct to DVD. Don't know about you, but I don't care if they take it onto Broadway, so long as we get more Browncoat goodness. If you've never heard of Firefly, check it out. Best show ever.
Again, I own none of the official characters. Just playin', so don't sue me. Enjoy!
Tea, all in all, was surprisingly pleasant. Holmes, wizard-like, somehow perceived my half-formed notion of revenging myself on him for his earlier behavior, and behaved precisely opposite from what I had expected. He was polite to Mary, as he was with most women who did not irritate him, and not once during the meal did he betray anything other than civility.
The only hiccup came when Ben realized that, as courtesy demanded, he was required to remove his hat. Mrs. Hudson reminded him of this with a meaningful look and raised eyebrow. He darted back out to the foyer, and our landlady followed. They returned some five minutes later. Ben's hair had been carefully smoothed down, the odd tail at the back removed and the longer hairs somewhat blending in with the rest of the hair on the back of his head. The braid seemed to have vanished, but a close look revealed that it had been rather cleverly pinned back along the base of his skull with, I guessed, some of Mrs. Hudson's hairpins. Ben now looked not so much an oddity as merely the victim of a bad barbering job. Mary, who had not ever seen him without his hat, merely gave his hair a mildly sympathetic glance.
Realizing we would not be discussing his origins, Ben tucked into the spread Mrs. Hudson provided like a normal, hungry young man, and proceeded to utterly charm Mary. I was fascinated by the change—he had been so consistently taciturn and silent previously that it was a little startling to see him suddenly all smiles and compliments. After a while, I noticed that he was subtly drawing from my intended information on London, the British Empire, and our world in general, all without letting on that he knew virtually nothing about it. Only once or twice did he let slip ignorance on something he should have been familiar with, but he recovered so quickly and smoothly I doubted that Mary even noticed. I likely would not have noticed if I hadn't been watching for them. Holmes said very little, but I could tell he approved of Ben's skill. I found myself desiring to meet the fellow who had trained the young man so well.
The meal ended without incident, and as Mrs. Hudson began clearing away the tea things Holmes cleared his throat. "We have quite a lot to do, Watson," he said. "Miss Morstan," he addressed my fiancée, "I apologize that I must monopolize so much of your intended's time, but this case—"
"I quite understand Mr. Holmes," she said evenly, though I could tell she wasn't completely happy with the situation. "John—?"
"I'll see you home, Mary," I said quickly, feeling something of a heel. After all, our wedding was only a short way off, and here I was practically abandoning her… "Perhaps we could discuss, ah, the linens on the way?" I extended this pathetic peace offering as a child would extend a captured lizard: not at all sure of its reception.
Mary, bless her heart, received it well. She returned my smile. "That would be lovely, John." We rose to go to the door when a sharp gasp from Ben drew our attention.
He had suddenly gone deathly pale. Mrs. Hudson, standing just behind the young man, placed her hands on her shoulders, worry etched on her kindly face. The physical contact seemed to brace him, and he straightened.
"What is it?" I asked, concerned.
"My master...I felt him, just for a moment." He dragged his hands back through his hair, leaving it standing up in agitated tufts.
"John," she began.
"I'm sorry, Mary, but you have to go," I said. "This is a terribly delicate case, and…ah…"
"I understand," she said. Wonderful woman that she was, she knew when to let a subject drop. Having been intimately involved in one of Holmes's more dangerous adventures, she'd no desire to become involved in another. "You should stay. I think you're needed more here," she added. Kissing me lightly on the cheek, she murmured a goodbye to Ben, though he wasn't listening, and to Holmes, who waved a hand impatiently at her, and slipped out before I could do more than give a feeble protest. "Come visit soon," were her parting words, over her shoulder, and she was gone.
"Mrs. Hudson—" Holmes said.
She looked up at him, and, understanding, patted Ben a few more times on the shoulder and disappeared with the tea tray into the back of the house.
Holmes turned back to Ben. "Explain," he ordered.
The young man took a deep breath, and all traces of his previous shock vanished abruptly. "I'm not certain how much of this you will believe, Mr. Holmes," he said, "so I will not go into great detail. Suffice it to say that there is a bond between a Master and a Padawan—an apprentice—that is not unlike that between a parent and child. There are differences, however. For one thing, it is a great deal more palpable. It allows a Master and his—or her—Padawan to know each other's physical condition, their emotional state and, if the bond is deep and strong enough, where they are. After we were separated, I know that my master lost consciousness, but after that...nothing. I don't know why, but I was almost certain he wasn't dead. Now I know he isn't—I felt him, for just an instant, wondering where I am. I also got a very brief impression of his location before it cut off again."
If Holmes's eyebrows had risen any higher, they'd have been lost in his hairline. "That is..." he shook his head. "Well, if I did not already know you are not from this world, I would brand you as mad. However, I agreed to suspend my disbelief in regards to this, so...where is he? And please don't tell me it was in a small dark room, because that is no help at all."
"It was," Ben confessed, "but I would say that it is in a slum area. The construction of the walls was poor, and there were a number of water stains on the ceiling. Dust, cobwebs, and I think I saw a small furry animal with a bare tail." He snorted. "Somehow, I'm not surprised to discover that there are rats here just as there are on almost every planet in the galaxy. I don't suppose you have cockroaches as well?"
"Naturally," Holmes said. "Unfortunately, there are a number of slums in London—Whitechapel and Tottingham Road are only two of the most notorious. I think that it is time to go out and see if I can't chase a few more informants out of their holes, where I'm sure they've all been hiding since they heard of Rat's untimely demise."
"I believe I can be of assistance there," Ben said. "The weak-minded or weak-willed are easily persuaded by a Jedi's, ah, abilities."
Holmes's lips thinned. "I think there is still a great deal you are not telling me, Kenobi."
"Trust me, Mr. Holmes, if things develop as I fear, you'll have plenty of opportunities to see what a Jedi can do firsthand."