Despite my insistence on going to hospital, Sailor Mercury was firm that we should all return to Baker Street. A medical facility would be full of weak, potential victims of the daimon should it return, so with Holmes and I covering our young friends battle dresses with our overcoats and dressjackets, we bundled ourselves into a dogcart and made our way back home. Holmes immediately made his bedroom available for Sailor Mercury's recovery. After he hastily assisted me with dressing her wounds, he bound my bloodied hand in a bandage.

Exhausted, the three remaining Sailor Guardians joined Holmes and I in the sitting room. Holmes sat wearily by the fire, and I at the dining table. Miss Moon and Mars lay back on the sofa. Only the new Sailor Guardian remained standing, her arms crossed in a restrained manner. She looked at Holmes with a haughty, yet curious air.

"You are Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the detective?" she asked.

Holmes gazed keenly at the green haired lady. "And you are Sailor Neptune, blessed by the planet of the sea king, with the ability to control the oceanic elements."

As before, Miss Moon looked Holmes. This time however, she gave a defeated sigh.

"Okay, okay, Mr. Holmes," she said morosely. "How did you figure that out?"

Holmes said nothing, but eyed me briefly. I gave a sad, patient smile.

"Salt water, Miss Moon. Salt water." I said quietly.

Miss Moon gave a small sound of comprehension and shrugged. We all sat by the fire, trying to understand our experience. I found my mind utterly frozen and all I wanted to do was wake up from this nightmare. Holmes broke into my thoughts.

"And yet, I wonder," he said.

The lady Neptune cocked her head slightly. "Yes?"

Holmes looked at the far wall and answered sadly. "Will the sea king forgive me for allowing harm to come to one of his own?"

All of us instantly knew who Holmes was talking about, and we stared in surprise. Miss Moon sat up with alarm.

"No, no," she said with sudden emotion. "It's not your fault, Mr. Holmes!"

Holmes' face hardened at this, and his eyes went distant in a moment of intense introspection. His hands clenched the arms of his chair as he shook himself awake.

"Fool!" he spat. "Fool, fool, fool!"

"What didI do?" Miss Moon asked, hurt and incredulous.

"What? Oh, no no, Miss Moon, I was talking about myself, not you!" Holmes' voice strained to get this point across.

"Oh." Miss Moon relaxed into uneasy silence.

Holmes continued. "I am no stranger when it comes to perils in my work. My knowledge of criminal fraternity, combined with my experience, has lead me to anticipate every possible action a villain would take to disarm or defeat me."

"That takes great courage," Miss Mars remarked.

Holmes didn't look her way. "Yes, however, it is stupidity rather than courage to refuse to see danger when it is close upon you. And the girl was right there.."

"Holmes, one moment," I interrupted. "I can't agree with that. You were prepared to acknowledge the possibility of danger, while I was in denial until it was too late." I sighed sadly. "I'm more to blame than you."

"We both bear equal blame," Holmes stated.

Miss Moon rose from the sofa, her face agitated. "But I just said it wasn't-"

"Sailor Moon!" Miss Mars clasped her friends hand, leading her back to her seat. I feared the girl would cry again as she collapsed back on the sofa, but all she did was shut her eyes, exhausted. Holmes gazed at the ceiling and addressed me.

"Watson, this case!" he moaned. "How can nearly twenty years as a consulting detective come to this?"

I leaned forward. "How's that, old man?"

"You know my methods. Analysis and deduction are my special province. Scientific facts woven in a proper method to reveal the truth. I make it a point to never have any prejudices, following docilely wherever fact may lead me. Slowly, with painstaking patience, the fog lifts, and the light of truth is revealed as to suspect, motive, and opportunity. My axiom of eliminating the impossible, showing the improbable remaining facts, to come to the truth, is my foundation. It is that which has brought me here. And yet…"

Holmes paused in his monologue and rubbed his forehead. I wondered where this uncomfortable diatribe was leading. I glanced back at the Guardians in the room, who stared at my friend with either concern, impatience, or unreadable silence.

"And yet," he concluded quietly," it seems I cannot use even that basic principle in this instance. Possibly not ever again."

Miss Moon and Mars glanced at each other in dismay, then at Holmes.

"Why not?" Miss Mars inquired at last.

Holmes raised his eyes and glowered at her. "Because the very definition of impossible has been destroyed! Ah!"

He gave something between a sob and groan, turning away with a air of man in mourning. This emotional outburst wasn't just a display of anger, but far more. Holmes had called reason and emotion opposing forces, like grit in a sensitive, finely tuned instrument. But our experience that night created more than grit in gears or dirt on his lens. This time, the lens was dangerously close to cracking. Fearing he might suffer nervous collapse, I started to rise from my chair, but the pain from my injury made me wince.

"Holmes, you-ouch!"

Instantly, Miss Moon sprang again from the sofa and approached Holmes, while Lady Neptune moved briskly to the side board for the brandy bottle. She poured two glasses, and I graciously accepted mine.

"Thank you," I croaked, sipping it quickly. Lady Neptune merely nodded, handed Holmes his own glass, then sat down where Miss Moon once was.

I looked back at Holmes as I nursed my drink.

I had never before seen him look so listless and lost. Miss Moon reached out, but Holmes quickly pulled his hand away as if the girl's very fingertips were poison. Miss Moon continued to gaze at him with all the worry of a mother to her child. Finally, Holmes sat back and waved her away, shaking his head in reassurance.

"I'm alright," he muttered. He drank his brandy in silence along with me. Holmes appeared to calm down with the quiet, and he turned firmly to the blond Guardian, who still stooped over him. He waved his hand again towards the hearthrug, and Miss Moon knelt down in attention before the fire.

"Miss Moon, " Holmes said softly, "I need you to listen very carefully. I will not repeat myself. Do you understand?"

The girl nodded. We all leaned forward in attention, and I prayed Holmes would grant us some kind of order within this chaotic, worrisome setting. He breathed in slowly and continued.

"Monsters and witches? No, such things do not happen in criminal practice in England. And beings who can control the very elements of the earth while mortals such as I stand helpless and bitter is inexcusable."

Holmes stared with firm eyes at Miss Moon, who shrank back slightly as if being scolded. Nevertheless, she sat as Holmes went on.

"This is not a matter for Scotland Yard," said he. "No law in England or the world can bring such creatures to justice. This is beyond the law. This is beyond humanity. And it is certainly beyond me."

Holmes expression softened, and he spoke apologetically. "But not you," he concluded.

Miss Moon furrowed her brows, and turned to her friends. Lady Neptune said nothing, and Miss Mars shook her head.

"What are you trying to tell us, Mr. Holmes?"

Miss Moon gazed back at him expectantly. "Are you saying…. you trust us?"

Holmes lowered his eyes, then curled his lips in a slight smile.

"Yes."

I believe Holmes would have handed Miss Moon the crown jewels of the realm, and she couldn't have been happier at his words. It seemed that faith and comradeship composed this girl's very blood, for her face flushed and shone with a bright, joyful smile. She practically crawled over to the foot of Holmes's chair like a child, but Holmes deftly pointed to the sofa. She chuckled at this silent command and rose.

I nodded with pride. "Well said, Holmes," I remarked as Miss Moon reseated herself. "I think it's time we pull our resources on this. We work together."

I gave Miss Moon a wink, and she nearly clapped her hands with delight.

"Thank you!" she gushed.

"Quite so," Holmes appeared irked at this sentimentalism, but I knew he shared my opinion. "Besides, I am loathe to let any more blood be spilled over this business."

As Holmes observed the faces and movement of his guests, his eyes fell upon the green haired girl as she rose and stood opposite him in front of the fireplace.

"Lady Neptune," said Holmes, "I understand why I didn't recognize that part of the city where the beast first attacked us, we were like mice placed a maze outside of London, is that not so? Ah, yes, you nod; thank you for confirming my theory. Now," Holmes continued, turning to face the lady, "that a mutual trust has been garnered, will you satisfy me upon one point?"

Lady Neptune faced Holmes with a similar far-flung look. "Yes?"

"How did you find us?"

Miss Moon gasped. "Oh yes!" she exclaimed. "I've been wondering that too! How did you find us, Mi-"

"Shush!" Miss Mars hissed in her friend's direction, and Miss Moon covered her mouth with a gloved hand. Both Holmes and I stared. Was Miss Moon about to break some Guardian protocol? We turned back towards the lady.

"Mr. Holmes," Neptune said at last, "your clients often require discretion when consulting you, correct?"

Holmes shrugged in the affirmative. "Well?"

"That is my answer."

Holmes narrowed his eyes. "So you won't tell me?"

Lady Neptune's icy exterior remained unchanged. "It is a Guardian's secret."

An almost disgusting taste of mistrust soured the air in the room, and Holmes barely contained his grunt of disappointment.

"Sailor Mars!" he suddenly shouted.

The girl in question bolted upright. "What? What now?!"

Holmes returned to a calm demeanor, deeply causing annoyance in all. He folded his hands in a business-like manner.

"As your namesake is the God of War, what do you suggest? Is there a stratagem that can help us in this battle?"

Miss Mars relaxed and shook her head apologetically. "I'm afraid when it comes to plans and strategies, Sailor Mercury has the brains for that. You'll have to talk to her."

I put my glass down loudly on the dining table. "Talking to Mercury is out of the question. She needs to rest."

Miss Moon's face fell, and Mars touched her shoulder in sisterly concern. "Okay, fine. For now then," Mars stated, "I think the best plan for all of us is to get some sleep."

Miss Moon groaned. "I don't know if I can sleep tonight," she lamented.

"Nor I," I admitted. "Not after what I've witnessed."

The horror and grief of that evening flared up in our memories, and Holmes turned back towards the fire. I could tell our guests agitation and worry mirrored his own, despite my friend's face remaining as stony as ever. His fingers drummed upon the chair's armrest, his eyes tightly shut as even his ordered brain was threatened with chaotic tristesse. Lady Neptune looked casually about the room, and her deep blue eyes stopped suddenly. She pointed to Holmes' Stradivarius violin on the mantelpiece.

"Mr, Holmes, may I?" she inquired.

I looked on, concerned. Holmes hated the idea of anyone touching his possessions, lest of all strangers in our sitting room. But Holmes merely waved his hand in silent acquiescence. Lady Neptune quickly removed her gloves, took up the violin carefully and placed it under her chin. She assumed the posture of a learned professional, and her eyes glazed as she placed the bow on the strings. And then she began to play.

I felt a confused, yet sweet sensation of surprise as the gentle notes floated in our ears. Lady Neptune clearly possessed great musical skill. Sometimes the music was melancholic, other times joyful. The melody ranged from slow to quick as if in a narrative style, and I found myself pondering about the character of our young friends.

First, there was Sailor Mars, with an Irish temper and a Parisian's passion. Her hurt pride was a petty feeling, but I saw her face pull back, she relaxing and listening. A dangerous girl when the flames flared up in her heart, I concluded, yet vital like fire for our survival.

Then, there was Sailor Mercury. Gentle souled, yet filled with unexpected power and complexity, like nature itself. I recalled her tiny, pathetic figure as I dressed her wounds earlier and fitted one of Holmes' nightshirts over her head. A sudden, sad note was played on Holmes' violin, and my heart tightened with the vision of the blue-haired child sleeping. I frowned, and shifted in my seat to look back at the musician.

Sailor Neptune. What to make of her? Her face was that of a lady, no question. Such a noble, mature bearing for one so young, yet a cold vastness like the ocean in her form. As she continued her recital, I saw her body sway back and forth like the sea waves. I glanced about the room and my eyes finally fell on the final Guardian.

How to describe the deep, warm feeling as I looked at Sailor Moon's face! Her blue eyes were wide, looking at nothing as the music inspired her imagination. She started and looked back at me, smiling like a child at play. I couldn't help but smile back, my shoulders silently shaking in amusement. I saw both innocence and a fierce maturity in Miss Moon's face, a fathomless mystery not unlike the moon.

Ah, yes! The moon! My mind freely flowed to the many long nights Holmes and I spent waiting for evil to rear its head. I remembered seeing the moon, full and bright on several of those occasions, and it filled me with a familiar comfort, like a mother's eye gazing at her restless children.

I looked over at Holmes. He was laid back in his old chair, with a dreamy, languid expression. His chest rose and fell as he allowed the music to sweep over him. In the case I penned as "The Red-Headed League," Sherlock Holmes himself spoke of "violin-land, where all is sweetness, delicacy, and harmony." It was clear both Holmes and the Lady Neptune were in that world now, with all troubles melting away.

I marveled at my friends dual nature. Holmes was cold and tense only a few minutes ago, but now his expression was that of the most perfect happiness. His closed eyes fluttered with the violin's tone, his lips parted in short intakes of breath at the music's crescendo. He was at peace now, and as the music ended in a high, sibilant note, Holmes let out a long, pleasured sigh. Sailor Neptune lowered the violin, and as she laid it reverently at Holmes' feet, the detective's long white fingers softly brushed the lady's hair.

"Encore," he murmured, giving her the briefest of smiles.

Lady Neptune nodded and stood again. I could see the other Guardians relax completely, and I gingerly rose from my chair.

"Good night, my dears," said I, giving a slight bow of thanks. I left the sitting room with Holmes still in his wicker chair, the music of his violin wafting up the stairs as I walked to my bedroom. I heard slight murmurs from below as I blew out my candle and went to sleep. I must have been tired to the bone, for the next thing I heard was a sharp rat-a-tat at my door.

"Who is it? Holmes?" My voice was thick with sleep, and Holmes entered. His clothes were slightly rumpled and unchanged from the night before. It was clear he had slept fitfully in the same chair I saw him in last.

"Watson, might I borrow a clean collar and your wash basin this morning?" he asked casually.

"Yes, of course," I said, rising slowly. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Some," Holmes answered curtly. "Despite the lovely concert of last night, I still found myself restless," he continued as he worked on his toilet and shave. "No traces of that daimon creature to analyze leaves me with nothing to work with at this stage, and there is no crime to speak of…"

"Except for attempted murder," I grunted, as I struggled with my shirt buttons. Working on them with an injured hand proved irksome. Holmes noticed this, turned around, and buttoned my shirt and waistcoast himself.

"And bodily assault," he finished, patting my smarting hand.

"Thank you," said I. Holmes smiled slightly and peered into my bedroom mirror. Slicking back his hair in satisfaction, he peered back at me.

"One other thing, my dear doctor," he said. "Where do you keep your writing pens?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The pens you use to write up, rather luridly, the cases we embark on."

"Inside my desk downstairs; you know that full well," I grumbled. "Why do you ask?"

"Then what is this I found on your dressing table?"

Holmes threw his hand outwards, and I caught it. It did indeed appear to be a pen, but like nothing I had ever seen or used before. It was made of faceted glass, but it appeared to be empty. There was no well for ink deposits and the nib was extremely shiny.

"Where did this come from?"

Holmes raised his brow. "You've never seen it before? Curious. Note the material, Watson. A very curious composite."

He took the pen from me and held it up to the lamplight. Then he rolled back his shirtcuff, and surprisingly, it left a distinct mark as he made a note.

"Very strange," Holmes remarked. "The pen is of a clear material, yet I see no ink within. As I try to remove the nib, it stays put-ah!"

"What is it, Holmes?"

"Look at the floor, Watson."

I did so, and there appeared to be a light reflection at our feet. Holmes moved his hand back and forth, so did the light move.

"Sunlight streaming through the pen's body." I concluded.

"I don't believe so, Watson," Holmes replied. "Pure sunlight from the window is indeed, showing on the floor, making the brown wood lighter, with a yellow hue."

"Yes, of course," I said impatiently. "As does the pen's refraction, so…"

"Perhaps it's because I have an eye for detail that you lack, Watson," Holmes began.

"Due to your lack of sleep?"

"Don't be pedantic. Look closer! Compare the colour of the sunlight on the floor with the light refraction from the pen. Is there a difference?"

I knelt to the floor and observed the two light spills. "One does appear brighter than the other," I remarked.

"Does that suggest nothing to you?"

"The pure sunlight from the window is weaker."

"There's more, Watson! The pen's body is faceted, remember! See here!" Holmes turned and took a drinking glass from my dressed table. Placing it on the floor, I could see the sunlight streaming through it, with a slight rainbow appearing at the glass's base. Holmes knelt beside me.

"The glass is faceted, so is the pen," Holmes stated. "And yet, the light does not break apart into the colour spectrum as it goes through the pen. Instead, the sunlight becomes stronger, brighter, and even warmer." He touched the floor where the bright light streamed. "Yes, I am correct."

"But Holmes," said I "sunlight is supposed to refract and disperse into the colour spectrum when in contact with refracted glass or water. It's a proven scientific phenomenon. This isn't possible."

"It is impossible as you have stated it,"Holmes answered. "Therefor you, in some respects, must have stated it wrong."

I sighed. "Well then?"

"The only conclusion I can draw," Holmes said slowly, "is that this pen is made not of glass, nor any other crystalline element known to me. Mind you, my knowledge of geology is limited."

"Then what? What is this pen composed of?"

We both sat in thoughtful silence, then I snapped my fingers in inspiration. "There's something for you to work with!" I cried. "How came the pen into my possession? What is it made of? Perhaps a chemical analysis…"

Holmes shook his head. "My dear Watson, I would love nothing more than to pour over everything scientific journal ever printed to find the answers to those questions. But there is a dangerous creature lurking within London, and I have no intention of having that witch Mimete decide on a second target. Time is too vital to lose! We must get the answer quickly."

Holmes and I stood, and I gazed at him blankly. "Then what shall we do?"

"I suggest," Holmes replied, "that we consult the oracle."

"Interview the Guardians? Very well," said I. "Where shall we start?"

Holmes paused in thought. "Miss Moon and Mars are temperamental and emotional, typical of their sex, and therefore are bound to be biased. Lady Neptune is secretive, and apt to lie by omission, which leaves-"

"Holmes!"

"Which leaves," Holmes finished with some asperity,"the one in the sick room."

"You mean the girl recuperating in your bed," I reminded him.

"Quite so," said Holmes, nettled. "Come along then!"

"Wait," I firmly took Holmes by the arm. "I understand the necessity, but Holmes, please, be gentle with Miss Mercury. She is hurt."

Holmes gave me an imperious look. "She is a Sailor Guardian," he said coldly. "And is therefore, much stronger than she looks."