Chapter Four: My Best Friend Gives Me a Reality Check
Becky got to her feet and followed me into the room Sherlock Holmes was occupying.
"What's up?" I asked, anxious to get back to the sitting room.
"Listen," Becky said in a conspiring tone. "You can't help with this investigation."
"And why not?" I asked hotly.
"Because we have a problem of our own."
"What problem?"
"Duh!" She said gently tapping my forehead. "Don't you realize we have to figure out a way to get back home?"
I closed my eyes, realizing that she was right. "But Becky, this is an opportunity of a lifetime! How many people can say they helped Sherlock Holmes solve a case?"
"Plenty of people, like those in asylums," Becky said hotly. "I mean Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson are after all fictional characters. We don't even know if these two people are legit."
"Trust me," I said quietly, "they're who they say they are."
"And how the hell do you know that?"
I was silent for several minutes. How was I supposed to explain the feeling I got when I first laid eyes on the great detective? It seemed as though he could look through me and read my inner most thoughts, a feeling that only the great detective could give you.
"Look, you're gonna think I lost it…"
"I already know you lost it. That's why we're friends, remember?"
I smiled at her comment. It is a philosophy of mine that the only person who can insult you and not put you down is your best friend. Here was a definite following of the rule. "Mr. Holmes is a genius and if we help him in this investigation, I guarantee he'll help us get home."
Becky rolled her blue eyes. "You guarantee he'll help you. All right Einstein, for argument's sake, let's just say that I buy this whole time travel thing and the fact that we met two fictional characters. If he is the so-called 'great detective' and we are seriously in the eighteenth century…"
"Nineteenth century," I corrected.
"What ever! If we're in the nineteenth century, how is he going to be able to help us get back to the twenty-first century, a time he's never even heard of? Do you have an answer for that?"
In reality, her argument was a sound one. I had no idea how Sherlock Holmes was suppose to help us return home and I was seriously doubting the possibility of ever returning home. However, I didn't need Becky to know my own confusion and doubts. "Trust me, he'll find a way," I said with more confidence than I felt. "I know he will." I can safely admit that I spoke the words more to convince myself then to convince my best friend.
"Mac," she said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"I'm scared. I mean what if we never get home?"
I was frightened of that too, but I didn't want my friend to know my fear. I was always the stronger of the two in our friendship and it was a role I was accustomed to playing. Becky too understood that I was stronger and I knew if I admitted I was as scared as she was, panic would ensue. "Then I guess Holmes and Watson will have to put up with us," I said, making my voice seem light. My dad always told me the best way to combat fear was with humor and I prayed that his advice would prove correct.
"Asshole," she said, wiping away the tears that were filling her eyes.
"Hey, we'll get out of here. Our school play is in two weeks and since I'm the lead, I have no choice but to show up. Don't worry about it; everything will turn out all right. Just have faith."
She smiled weakly and quickly hugged me. I returned the embrace and then pushed away.
"Come on Beck, we don't want to keep those two Victorian gentlemen waiting," I said opening the bedroom door.
Becky rolled her eyes and followed me out of the bedroom.
