Chapter Sixteen

On Confrontations

I was half-heartedly translating my shorthand notes from the margin of "Expectations" when Holmes tapped on the door once and entered unceremoniously. At some point during the afternoon, he had made the transition to cab driver, judging from the heavy coat he tossed on the hat rack by the door.

"You have the information, I see." Holmes said picking up the book and glancing at the flyleaf. It was an effort not to chuckle at the look of astonishment when he realized that it was no ordinary shorthand. I had found the ordinary styles of shorthand inadequate and developed my own system, incorporating nearly ten languages as well as symbols mathematical and chemical.

"How many languages are here?" He asked.

"Seven or eight. It depends on what I was recording. By the way, what was I recording?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't know how you are accustomed to doing things, Mister Holmes, but I do not follow blindly where I am led. I spent half my afternoon in that park, watching that man do absolutely nothing and I think that the very least you could do is offer me a brief explanation as to why."

"He is an informant." Holmes replied absently, closely examining my notes and comparing them with the half-complete longhand translation. "Not one of mine. Someone else's."

"Whose?" I prompted, but Holmes appeared not to hear.

"Where did you learn this?"

"I made it up. Whose informant?"

"Very ingenious." He said. I sighed and gave it up.

"Thank you. Languages seem to be the only useful skill I have now."

"How many do you speak?"

"Fluently? Besides English, I speak Hebrew, Arabic, German, Italian and French. I can get along in Spanish, Greek and Latin; though there's hardly any call for the last two outside of Oxford."

"Useful, nonetheless." Holmes said, half to himself. Inside, I could have jumped for joy. The notion had been successfully planted in his mind without any mention of Mycroft or his dealings with the Home Office. "Where did you learn all those languages?"

"I travel quite a bit, and I have a good ear." I shrugged. Holmes' expression abruptly shifted into something that was carefully neutral. Blast. Perhaps I had been a bit too casual.

"Where have your travels taken you?" Holmes asked, nonchalant. Damn. He had caught on. Ah well, it couldn't hurt to try the direct approach.

"Europe, mostly. Working for Mycroft tends to take one to all sorts of out of the way corners of the world."

I sat back to watch the reaction my bombshell set off. Holmes froze in the act of handing my notes back to me. I met his piercing grey eyes without flinching; but without many years of verbal sparring behind me, I would have wilted like a daisy in the sun.

"Who are you?" He said in a low, dangerous voice. "How do you know Mycroft?"

"Mary Russell. I study at Oxford." I reminded him wearily. "I've met your brother. Or I will, thirty years from now."

It didn't take long for Holmes to reach the logical conclusion.

"Which means, assuming that I am still on speaking terms with my dear brother, that you have met me?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't think to mention this when we first met?"

"It would have been…awkward." I finished lamely. "What would you have thought if some strange female suddenly appeared, claiming to be… an acquaintance that you hadn't met yet?"

"I would have thought her mad." Holmes admitted, relaxing a bit. He placed the book and notes on the table and walked over to the window. I waited, and when nothing more seemed to be forthcoming, I returned to my longhand. I had finished copying the notes and was carefully erasing the pencil marks from "Expectations" when Holmes spoke again.

"I suppose it would be useless to ask you about future events. Or past events from your perspective."

"Yes." I sighed, leaning back in my chair. "I've no idea how this time travel thing is supposed to work. I could change history for the better, or I could accidentally destroy everything. Or perhaps no matter what I do, the future is set."

I chuckled bitterly.

"What?"

"I have a practical laboratory for testing the nature of causality and free will, and I'm too afraid of causing a disaster to do anything."

Holmes didn't reply. Really, there wasn't anything to say.

"Would you like to meet Mycroft? Again, I mean." Holmes asked, after a while. "Perhaps he can arrange something suitable for your talents."

"Perhaps. I don't want to give up on a way to return to my time just yet." I cast a glance at the wall between my suite and Jensen's. "He may be impossible to work with, but he is still my best hope for getting home. Our best hope." I amended.

"Do let me know if you change your mind." Holmes said, snatching up his coat and the notes in a sudden swirl of activity. "The Irregulars will know where to find me."

"I'll give Jensen another week." I said. And as the door closed, I heard Holmes murmur, though I was quite sure he didn't mean for me to hear;

"Reduced to finding employment for lost young ladies."

I could have shoved those patronizing words down his throat, but for the smile on his face when he said it.

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Wow, I should berate you people more often about leaving reviews. It gets results. )

And if the only complaint that I get is there isn't enough to a chapter, then I think I'm doing all right. I would promise more soon, but I would undoubtedly have to break my word. I'm such a terrible tease.

Questions? Comments? Criticisms? Complaints? Review!

.•´¨•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨•.