Due to the incredible amount of reviews I got for the first chapter of this…thing…(ie, 3) I decided to put up chapter 2 a full week ahead of schedule. So here you go. Also, I have only three and a half chapters of this written, so if I don't get positive comments, I'm not going to write any more. Oh, and I don't own Holmes, but I do own everybody else, and the plot, such as it is.

Chapter 2

"So who is that?" Pip asked me on the way back from the BU Wellness center. We hadn't gone to the ER because, as Pip pointed out, we would spend a lot more time in line and get the same results: some burn cream and an RN who told me, only barely stifling a laugh, to try not to spill any more hot liquids on myself.

"That is Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Your field worked, Pip!" she turned to look at me, wide-eyed with disbelief. I grabbed the wheel as she swerved into the other lane. Pip wasn't exactly the best driver in the world, but she was my best friend, so I would live with it. "Pip, DRIVE!" she'd taken her foot off the gas and there was a whole line of cars behind us, the drivers of which were getting very angry.

"I-it worked? Like for real? This isn't just one of your oh-so-funny pranks is it? Because, Lizzy, if it is, I am gonna kill you sooo many times!" she was still looking at me instead of at traffic, and it was starting to make me nervous.

"Pip, eyes on the road! Yes, it's for real, or at least, if it isn't, I'm not in on the plot. If it isn't, this guy is the best actor of all times. Besides, I wouldn't prank you ever again. I remember what you did to me last time." I shuddered. She'd beaten me with a book until I begged for her to stop. All I did was tell Frank that she was madly in love with him…not that bad, right?

"Wow, can I come over tomorrow and talk to him? I want to know how the experiment went, you know, transcription error wise. Does he look alright?" she was looking at the road again, so I relaxed marginally.

"Yeah, sure, come over whenever. You could stay now if you want. And as to how he looks…" I trailed off and she got the point. Mr. Holmes was an attractive man, that was all I had seen, and Pip knew it.

Sure enough, she rolled her eyes at me. "Whatever. You know I would stay tonight, but he has the couch, I'm assuming, and I have a dorm curfew. So, sorry, but I'm just gonna drop you at the street door and go so I don't get in trouble. I'll be there bright and early tomorrow. Don't you worry."

She dropped me off with the promise of coffee that I couldn't spill on myself, and something with chocolate in it for breakfast. I shook my head at how well Pip knew me and knowing I wouldn't see her again for at least two days (That was just the way Pip worked.) and went up to my apartment.

Which was empty. Holmes was gone. I stood in the doorway for just a moment, then went in. I left the door unlocked, just in case he decided to come back, and set myself up in front of my fireplace with a good book and a warm blanket, trying to invite sleep.

Several hours later, I woke up to the sound of the door opening. I looked over at Holmes, and jumped to my feet. His face was bruising from a beating: one eye black already, and blood oozing from a cut on his lip. The cheekbone opposite his black eye would be a wonderful shade of purple in the morning, but now it was just red and swollen.

"Your first night in Boston and you get mugged. That's just great." I hurried to the kitchen to try and find something to put on his eye. I am a vegetarian, but seeing as how my brother ate here a lot, there was usually a steak or two in the freezer. Holmes was in luck; there was only one. I came out, pinching the bit of dead cow between two fingers. I tossed it to him, and, not surprisingly, he caught it.

"Brass duckels." He muttered, not looking at me. His voice was thick, as if he were talking through a throat cold. Or a broken nose. Wonderful.

"Pardon me?" I stood over him; he looked like he was hurting.

"Brass duckles." He mimed with his hands. Knuckles, I got it. Poor baby. I ruffled his hair, just like I did for the kids I babysat when they got hurt. He looked up at me, startled. And I couldn't move. Or breathe. Nope, no transcription errors there, folks. Just endless gray eyes, spiraling down into eternity…One of his hands reached out, almost touched my (burning, I'm sure) cheek, but he checked himself at the last moment, and looked down at his hands, both of them back in his lap. I backed away hastily, not knowing what just happened, and not sure I didn't want it to happen again. Oh dear. What had I gotten myself into?

The next morning, I didn't stagger out of my room until four in the afternoon. Holmes was still asleep on the pull out, his face a puffy rainbow. I shook my head at him for what would have to be the thousandth time in a day and went into the kitchen to try and make coffee, the normal way. I did my best to be quiet, but I knew I woke him up. I was never very good with a coffeepot, preferring instant coffee. However, we had finished it off last night. But I digress.

Holmes stumbled into the kitchen ten minutes after I did, and sat down stiffly on one of my barstools pulled up to the island in the middle of a white tile sea. I added several bruised or cracked ribs to my mental list of his injuries. The guy went out at two in the morning, in a city that he'd never been in before. It really wasn't a big surprise that he'd gotten mugged. Whoever it was probably beat him more when they didn't see any American cash, as well. Poor guy; he really didn't know when to stay inside.

"Miss James," I came back to earth when I heard my name, as if he had said it several times.

"Hmmm?" I was still trying make the coffee pot work, and I wasn't really paying attention to him.

"I believe there is someone at the door. D'you need any help with that?" he stood as he asked, and looked over my shoulder at my feeble attempts at making it work.

"Knock yourself out. I'll go get the door…it's probably Pip, anyway." I turned to get around him, and got trapped by his eyes again. I couldn't move. The doorbell rang again, and I couldn't do a thing about it. All I could do was stand there and look up at him, and try my very best to breathe. He seemed to be having the same problem that I was, for he was just standing there in front of me, in his bloody shirt (mental note: wash his cloths), looking down at me like it was the only thing in the world he could do. He ripped his gaze away in the next instant, two spots of colour riding high in his pale cheeks. I took several deep breaths and went to let whoever it was in.

It wasn't Pip. It was my brother, Richard. Great. I really didn't need this right now. Richard was one of those people who thought he had to 'protect his little sister at all costs'. He actually said something like that to me once. I think being a cop made that instinct more pronounced. Richard pulled me into the customary bear hug that meant he wouldn't be staying, and said,

"Hello, Lizzybell! Did you just get up? I should have called, shouldn't-" he stopped as Holmes came out of the kitchen, to the sounds of coffee percolating. Richard's eyes narrowed, and he pulled me half behind him, growling, "Who are you and what are you doing in my sister's house?"

"My apologies if this looks inappropriate, but your sister has graciously allowed me to stay with her until such time that I may return home. I am Sherlock Holmes." This mini-speech was delivered in his best and most sincere upper class, overeducated accent. He stuck out a long hand to shake and met frosty silence.

Richard turned to look at me. "You let some freak escapee from a theater guild stay in your house?!? What is wrong with you?" he shouted at me. I pushed him away, and moved in front of Holmes.

"He is not a freak escapee from anything, Richard, and if you ever call me 'Lizzybell' again, you go through a window. He really is who he says he is. Remember what Pip was experimenting with?" blank look. "The quantum computer?" blank look. I took a deep breath and let it out evenly. "Time travel?" he nodded, and I relaxed, just a bit. "Well, it worked. Mr. Holmes here walked through a field. An electromagnetic field that shot him forward in time a hundred or so years, and he ended up in front of the store. So I took him home until we could figure out what to do with him, you know, to send him home."

Richard reluctantly nodded again, and I relaxed entirely. My overprotective brother would not, now, try and murder my houseguest. Richard shook the hand that was again offered, and I went back to the kitchen to see what the guy that hadn't ever been in a modern kitchen made of the coffee sitch. Surprisingly enough, he'd done it right, and the coffee was really good, if a bit strong. And there was plenty for three people. (Even if Pip did show up, she didn't drink coffee, so we would be set).

I brought it out on a tray, so I would have less opportunity to spill it all over myself, and flopped into my chair. They were talking about police work and how it had changed from the 1890's to the 2000's. I picked up the book that I had abandoned last night (or rather, this morning) and ignored them. Or appeared to. What I was really doing was eavesdropping.

"Blah blah, forensic science, blah blah, shoddy police work, blah blah, Jack the Ripper, blah blah, consulting detective" that's where I started to pick up the thread of conversation for real.

"Yes, I am a consulting detective," Holmes said, rather proudly. "Why do you ask?" he was curious rather than cautious.

"You see," my brother the police inspector said, "We have this case down at the station that isn't going so well. Nobody has any leads, and we're all afraid something really bad is going to happen. You wouldn't be interested in helping out, would you?" he was trying not to sound too hopeful, but he'd never been much of an actor.

"I should love to. It will be a challenge, and a way to earn my keep around here. I dislike the notion of imposing upon your sister." He lowered his voice for that last bit, so I had to strain to overhear it. I rather liked his sense of chivalry, and the fact that he was trying to be a gentleman. It was a nice change from the normal guys one found in this day and age.

"Don't worry about it. It's dad's apartment, he's just letting her live he- oh my God, Liz, I forgot to tell you. Mom said she was coming for dinner tonight. That's why I came, to warn you." He looked rather apoligetic, as well he should. My mother and I did not get along. At all. It was the same with Richard and dad, they just clashed. Of course, they were both worse after the divorce, using us as pawns in their never-ending chess game. The objective was not to win, but to inflict as much pain on the opponent as possible. Thus, dad got this killer apartment for me, to spite mom. Mom, in retaliation, got Richard a killer apartment five blocks down. It would only end when one of them died. Which would not be soon. This was not a problem that I wanted to deal with today. She would flip when she found Holmes. I couldn't very well send him off with Richard, because there would be no guarantee that he would come back in one piece. And, mom would only tear him apart verbally, whereas with Richard's friends, it would be physical. Some very quick thinking was in order here, my friends.

"Ok, here's what we're gonna do:" I began, knowing full well that I sounded like a football coach and not caring a whit. "Richard, you will go home very quickly and bring back something halfway decent for him to wear. Something nice, Richard, with a tie. You do have a tie, don't you? I will start…something…that will make mom happy. And I should probably get dressed." I looked down at myself and realized that I should probably have done so before coming out into the living room. It wasn't that I was indecent, but then, I wasn't a Victorian. I didn't have a problem with flannel boxers and a tank top, but then, as I looked back over the hour I'd been up and moving around, Holmes hadn't been able to look me in the face. Except that one time in the kitchen… This would really take some getting used to.

I hugged my brother good bye and went to survey my wardrobe for something that would make my mother happy. After long deliberation (ie, ten minutes), I settled on a long black A-line skirt and a light blue blouse. I grabbed hair sticks and a towel, and headed to the bathroom to shower. On the way to the bathroom, I happened to catch site of Holmes sitting on the couch, looking lost. Leaving the bundle in my arms in a heap on the floor, I went over to him and sat next to him on the couch.

"You okay?" I asked him quietly.

He turned to me, and tried to smile. "I am just a bit dazed. I take it I am to meet your mother?" As a tactic to change the subject, my mother was the best.

"Yeah, and I apologize in advance for whatever she says to you. My mother is not a very nice woman. But you'll find that out for yourself. All we have to figure out now is what to tell her. I think our best bet is just to say you're my boyfriend, and just throw all the sheets from the couch in my room. She'd believe that, I think." I didn't like the idea of making a guy I just met lie to my mother, much less about our relationship, but what else could I do? If he didn't want to do it, I would just have to tell my mom that he was gay or something. I looked a question at him.

"Just what exactly does being 'your boyfriend' include?" he was looking at me strangely, and it was hard to breathe again. I swallowed hard.

"Um…I suppose it amounts to about the same thing as being courted…except, in most cases, things move faster." I was blushing like mad by then, and I couldn't look him in the face at all. I didn't know what he would think. I was waiting for the acidic remark that would out me well and truly in my place when I heard,

"I believe that would be a worthy expenditure of time for an evening. What will I be expected to do?" there was humor in his voice, as if he would be enjoying himself this evening. Oh boy. Keep in control here Liz.

"Um…I donno. Tell my mother…that we've been seeing each other for a couple weeks…and we met at the store…and I donno. Just make it up as you go along I guess. D'you think you can do that?" I was stammering like an idiot and I still couldn't look him in the eye.

"Yes I do. Didn't you have something to do?" his voice was gentle, and I still heard that humor. He really was a nut. But he was right; I needed to get in the shower.

"Yep. You get the shower when Richard gets back. When I get out, I will work on dinner." It sounded like a plan that would work. One always needed a plan to get by my mother.

I shut the bathroom door behind myself and leaned against it. This would be an interesting time. After knowing the guy for a grand total of eight or nine waking hours, I felt something for him. I didn't know what, at the time, only that this could not be good. Oh well, Pip and Frank would find a way to get him home soon anyway. So it didn't really matter, right?

I took my hair down from the knot I had it in to sleep and shook it out. My hair was very long, reaching my waist in dark brown, bone straight locks. My hair was my favorite thing about myself, but all my friends were trying to get me to cut it. I shook my head, at myself this time, and got in the shower. I had two hours before my mother would arrive and the fun would start.

Richard had come through with cloths for Holmes while I was in the shower. I came out with my wet mop of hair down my back (getting the back of my shirt wet) just as he was leaving. Holmes looked up at me over the pile of new clothing. "Your turn. Pull the handle up to make the shower work." He nodded silently and went into the steamy bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

I went into the kitchen to see what I could do for a short notice dinner. I had vegetarian lasagna that I immediately threw in the oven. Okay. Main course a go. I had the stuff for a tossed salad, so that would be first…now for dessert…hmmm. What could I make in an hour and a half with one egg and no sugar? A phone call to Pip and a bakery, that's what!

After I was assured that a cheese cake was on the way, I set to my hair. It was the one thing that my mother didn't put down every time she saw me, so I usually went to great lengths to make it look nice. I twisted the mass into a thick rope at the nape of my neck, then twisted it around itself until it was a lumpy bun. I then pulled out the lumpy bun into the perfect figure eight that it always made, and stuck the blue-tipped wooden hair sticks into the mass. Presentable. I smiled at myself in the mirror and went about applying the necessary makeup: a touch of eyeliner (blue, to match both my eyes and the shirt) and a bit of tinted lip-gloss. I turned to go and check on dinner and shrieked. Holmes was standing in the doorway to my room, watching me put my face on.

"My God, what are you doing? Trying to give me a heart attack?!" I looked daggers at my house guest.

"I apologize; I did not mean to startle you, I was mearly wondering if you would assist me with this…" he trailed off, holding up a black silk tie. Richard had done well with the clothing, and the outfit fit him well, as Holmes and my brother were nearly the same size. Black pants crisp from the starch, and a dark red button-down shirt. The black tie would tie the whole thing together very nicely, if you will forgive the pun.

I turned his collar up and slid the length of silk around his neck, tying the knot quickly. I set his collar back to rights and smoothed the front of his shirt before I remembered that this wasn't my brother I was helping get ready for the annual police ball, but Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and time traveler extrordenare. I gulped, frozen yet again by the intensity of his gaze. All I had read about the world's first and most famous consulting detective lead me to believe that he was cold and completely emotionless. From what I had seen, and admittedly it was not much, he was anything but cold. In fact, the intensity of the heat that was coming off of him was beginning to burn me. I wanted to step away, wanted to step closer and…there my thoughts ended, because I didn't know what would happen if I let him under my guard, and I sensed that he was thinking the same thoughts. Apparently, he'd come to some conclusion, because he looked away then, and I could move again.

I got out of that room as fast as I could, trying my best to still my beating heart. I should just get him an apartment of his own, that's what I really should do, but I couldn't. I didn't want him to be gone. I was a mess, leaning against the fridge with my hands over my face, trying to think.

"Miss James?" his voice was hesitant, as if he thought I would bite his face off, or something.

I straightened, taking a deep breath. "Yeah? And please, call my by my name. This 'Miss James' nonsense is driving me crazy."

"As you wish, Elizabeth. I wanted to apologize again for startling you…I did not mean for…I am sorry. I am usually more collected than this. I- do you need any help?" he seemed very flustered. I felt bad, then. He had probably never been in this situation before. Women in his time weren't as pushy as I was and it must have been throwing him off kilter.

"It's okay. No, I'm good in here. If you would just watch the door for Pip, that would be a great help. She's bringing over cheese cake for dessert." At the mention of cake, a light jumped into his eyes and I laughed. "Have a sweet tooth, Mr. Holmes?" I asked, poking him in the side. He blushed, nodded, and went back into the living room. Which still needed to be stripped of linens. "Uum, could you just throw the sheets and stuff in my room for me please?" I yelled into the living room. I received no answer, but heard him taking apart the makeshift bed. I went into the room just as he was putting the cushions back on the couch. Holmes was adapting to this life rather well.

Pip arrived then, with the cake, but had to run, promising a longer visit tomorrow. My mother followed close on her heals and my evening of hell began.