I have to say I was somewhat disappointed. Granted, I no more wanted a full-out fight or nasty trap any more than any other relatively sane man, but somehow I expected...more. I mean, this was a man who had plotted to take over the world. One comes to expect certain standards; Moriarty, for example, would never have disappointed.

"Huh." Shannan shook her head as the image stopped speaking. Ranting, actually. "Derry's really gone over the edge."

Mrs. Hudson had quietly told Holmes and I that the miniature, ghost-like image of the renegade Jedi was a previously recorded message. While I could not hope to understand the technology that produced a three dimensional, moving replica of the recorder, I did understand phonographs...and this was close enough.

I won't repeat the message word-for-word, but the general gist went something along the lines of: "Curse you for foiling my plans!" It wasn't even original. I heard the same garbage from villains in poorly written melodramas.

I winced, Holmes rolled his eyes, and in the corner of the room Grey Wolf and Maeve succumbed to a fit of snorting giggles. While it was somewhat disconcerting to see the tall, imposing pseudo-Indian in such a state, I couldn't help but sympathize.

The door opened and MacEiver trotted into the room, cradling something in his hands. While the rest of us were subjected to Derry's histrionics, he had gone prowling. From the grim expression on his face, it was well he had.

"Bomb," he said succinctly, and the grins on our faces faded. "It was wired to all the systems in the building," he added. "If it had gone off, it would have taken most of the street with it."

"Vindictive fellow," Holmes observed. "And a reminder to us all not to underestimate him. Derry is now a desperate man, well on his way to being cornered. I'm certain you are all familiar with the saying about cornered rats?"

This was met with thoughtful–and somewhat humbled–silence.

"It is most likely that he will be heading for Scotland, and a ship," Mrs. Hudson said. "But there is a small chance he remains here, in London, or somewhere nearby. I propose we divide into teams, one for Scotland, the other to search for him here or to intercept him should he double back."

The others nodded slowly in agreement. I glanced at Holmes. He caught my eye, and I read in his gaze a deep concern. A slight jerk of his head, and I knew that he wished to speak with me privately as soon as possible. I gave the slightest of nods, indicating that I understood.

The Jedi never noticed.

"This expedition concerns me greatly," Holmes said. We had managed to slip away from the group with virtually no notice; the Jedi were too caught up in their planning.

"Derry must be stopped," I replied. "But I think I understand why you are concerned. They don't seem too worried, do they?"

He shook his head. "I don't pretend to understand completely all the issues here...but I cannot deny solid fact. Among those facts is that Derry killed a contact of mine from an unknown–but apparently impossible–distance. This drug, element, whatever it may be has augmented his powers far beyond what they should be."

"I'm sure they appreciate that fact, Holmes," I suggested, but I didn't sound convincing even to myself. Despite the presence of the bomb, despite all that had happened the Jedi seemed awfully blithe about intercepting their renegade.

"Hm. I'm not so certain, my friend. How long has Derry been feeding off the 'potential' of others? How much power did he glean from those Jedi he held captive? They seem fine, true...but how much, Watson? How much do they even know about this substance?"

Holmes ran both hands through his hair. "I feel helpless in this, Watson," he continued. "I don't understand this 'Force' or what these people are, truly. Perhaps I am overreacting, overestimating Derry's threat."

"I know how much you, of all people, would hate to hear this...but perhaps you should trust your instincts in this."

A brief, luminous grin flashed across my friend's face. "In any other situation, Watson, I would call you on that remark. But I cannot help but agree with you." He shook his head, chuckling. "I like to claim that I never rely on instinct or supposition, but..."

"But you do, more often than most realize," I finished.

"Indeed. I suspect that you, my friend, realize more often than others...but you keep it out of your stories."

I shrugged. "The Sherlock Holmes that inhabits the stories I sell to The Strand is not the Sherlock Holmes I call friend, the man standing here with me. That Holmes is a virtual machine, a man who disdains all emotion." I smiled. "He is, I think, the lesser man."

Holmes reached out to grip my shoulder. "I thank you, Watson," he said. "There are, I think, few men so fortunate as I in their friends."

I clapped his shoulder in response. "So...what is to be done about Derry?"

Holmes pursed his lips. "I'm still working on that. For now, I think it best we go along with whatever plan the Jedi have concocted. However..." He frowned.

"What is it?"

"I wonder, Watson...might I borrow your revolver?"