Once again, I do not own Sherlock Holmes or Dr. John Watson. The credit all goes to the brilliant Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Oh, and something I forgot to mention in the first chapter: this fanfiction takes place roughly in between the Hound of the Baskervilles and The Valley of Fear.

Thomas Gregory seemed to be gazing at the intricacy of the elaborate wooden handle of my umbrella, at the time Holmes and I entered the parlor. He spun around once he heard our footsteps.

I took the liberty to make introductions directly.

"Holmes, this is Thomas Gregory. He is in need of your services promptly and has asked to speak with you."

Holmes nodded in acknowledgement as he studied our visitor, from head to toe.

I spoke once more.

"Mr. Gregory, allow me to introduce Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Mr. Gregory held out a small, frail hand to Holmes but was rejected, because my companion was far too busy scrutinizing the young man before him.

"I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Holmes." Our visitor responded politely.

Holmes' head suddenly rose up from observing the mud on Mr. Gregory's shoes as he replied,

"No. You are not pleased to meet me, I am sorry to say. You are cross because I did not shake your hand and you think that I am a rude, distasteful, mannerless man that cannot aid you in any way."

The detective knew that he was correct in his assumption by the blushing face and downcast look of our young visitor.

Holmes cleared his throat.

"Well, now that we have that out of our way, we can proceed to business."

He abruptly glanced over at me as if realizing for the first time that I was standing next to him, and then his eyes flitted back to Mr. Gregory.

"My apologies, Mr. Gregory, for I have failed to introduce my colleague and most beloved friend, Dr. John Watson. You may say whatever you have the need to say as comfortably before Dr. Watson, as around myself. Is that understood?"

The young man nodded vigorously in reply.

"Good." Holmes replied. "Now let us make our way to the sitting room, shall we?"

He nodded as a signal to me to lead both men to the appointed room and Holmes securely shut the door behind us.

The detective directly sat in the armchair nearest to the fireplace, the very armchair that I had roused him from earlier, while I pulled up a wooden chair from a table a few feet away, and Mr. Gregory chose the small double seated sofa, facing Holmes and myself.

"Now," Holmes said, leaning back in his seat, crossing his legs, and lighting his pipe, "Let us begin. Mr. Gregory, why are you in need of my services?"

Thomas Gregory became very wide-eyed and pale.

"I am here, sir, for the same reason many others consult you. My brother and I are in danger of our lives."

Holmes inhaled from his pipe and blew out a wisp of hazy smoke.

"Ah." He smiled, making him appear very comical. "Those types of cases are always the most exhilarating. There is always a deadline with life threatening circumstances and I always work exceedingly stronger with a deadline. The adrenaline urges me forward at a speed much quicker than in a non- life threatening situation. Tell me everything from the very beginning, Mr. Gregory. Do not leave out even the most seemingly unimportant details. Your life may depend upon it."