"Watson, I am truly intrigued!" Holmes called over the huff and puff of the automaton. I found it a highly unusual time for him to begin any sort of in-depth discussion, but such was the way of my friend. Sherlock Holmes was never one to let life slow him down.
"You'll have to speak up! The Tin Man is so blasted loud!" I called back, purposefully excluding the information regarding the loud ringing in my head.
"I said that I am intrigued! This is a problem quite unlike anything we have experienced before, and it fascinates me so!" Holmes seemed almost joyous. He was always one to revel in the intricacies of motive and the small details of any case, particularly when they fit in such a manner as to each be a thread in the larger web. I could tell at once that it was this style of puzzle that he believed us to be faced with now.
"It's not surprising that you feel this way! Rare are the days that we find ourselves in a fairy kingdom, traveling with your doppelganger scarecrow in a wheelbarrow-come-rickshaw being pulled by a metal man who runs on steam!" I chuckled.
"Sorry, Watson, I couldn't hear a word after 'rare'! What did you say?"
"Never mind!"
"Have you noticed," he continued on, completely oblivious to the difficulties of having a conversation under these circumstances, "that each tiny obstruction, each stop on our journey to the Emerald City has been a marked and clear moral quandary?"
"I'm not sure I follow!" I admitted.
"The first instance we faced ourselves with, for example! A dead body casually flung in an utterly terrible hiding place! Then a young woman with clear mental deficiencies, giving us advice on how to proceed! Our reactions to these things become crucial in the unfolding of the events around us! Not only are we called upon to examine the situations that have passed – each detail already present to our observations should we know where to look – but we must also strive to understand the role that you and I are playing! Actors on the stage, never merely the audience for whom the plot unfolds!" Holmes elaborated.
"But, you and I have been entwined in the goings-on of many cases! Why, mentioning solely the events surrounding Irene Adler! At once you made yourself part of the action…" I added, noting that the scenery was changing from the dense woods into something more of an orchard. The trees were quite lovely, many in sweetly floral bloom and a few even bearing fruit.
"Oh, indeed! It was not my intention to suggest that we had never been personally involved before! Merely that, in this particular set of circumstances, choice seems to be one of the thematic obsessions of whoever is behind all of this!"
Here the conversation was interrupted by a sudden jolt as the Tin Man broke down completely. It had been its habit thus far to inform us of any pending difficulties within his mechanisms, and so it was quite surprising when it simply ceased to work. The unexpected nature of the stop had caused the both us of to suddenly lurch forward, grabbing the sides of the wheelbarrow for support. The scarecrow was thrown almost completely from the vehicle.
"What's wrong? Has he given up?" I enquired dizzily, for the unpleasant joggle had caused my already aggrieved head to spin.
"I am entirely confounded. Perhaps he is out of steam." Holmes shrugged, sitting the scarecrow back upright and placing the deerstalker back on its head. There was a vague and quiet narcissism that lurked in him at times. It would have not surprised me in least if he had suddenly announced that upon our leaving Oz, I was to vacate our rooms at Baker Street so that the scarecrow might use my bed.
"The mystery of the Tin Man will not go unsolved!" Holmes once more rolled his sleeves to his elbows and began examining the automaton.
"The game is afoot!" I cheered in good-natured sarcasm, and began to somewhat greedily consider the fruit on the trees.
"As I was saying about choices, though, Watson…"
"Oh yes! Do go on, Holmes."
"Considering that the motive of the scenarios laid out for us seems to revolve around our own decisions, it is extremely ironic that it was in no way our choice to be here. Don't you agree?"
"Are you so certain that it revolves so tidily around our own choices? Perhaps we're only being made to think we have decided things when Ozma – or whoever turns out to be behind this – has made the decisions for us." I offered my own suggestion, gazing hungrily at the shiny, red apples that hung off of the branches of the nearest trees.
"I disagree with you there, Watson." Holmes shook his head as he approached me, and looked at my expression with some amusement.
He followed my line of sight to the apples and smiled.
"Oh! I thought perhaps Miss Glinda had returned!" He jibed.
"Do you suppose they're edible? I wouldn't dare have tried those horrid sweets, but I must say – the apples tempt me."
"I suppose it's the nature of apples to tempt. The opinion of my intellect is to avoid the fruit completely. The opinion of my stomach is to eat all of the fruit. I suggest listening to my brain." Holmes concluded, though he could take his eyes away from the trees no more than I.
"Perhaps we should find a compromise between these two aspects of your psyche. Perhaps the best course of action would be to merely remove a single apple and examine it – with some scrutiny." It is imperative to realize that many hours had passed since we had arrived in Oz, and many hours before that since we had last eaten.
"I suppose it is well within the expectations of our actions to thoroughly consider the apples. They may contain some imperative clue regarding the murderer of the Witch, or our reason for being here!" We were clearly reaching for excuses.
Tentatively, I stepped forward as though I was Jason reaching for the Golden Fleece. Just as I was taking the step that would allow me to reach up and pick one of the juicy treats from its bough, I felt a tug beneath the weight of my shoe. It was a line of some nearly invisible material, the sole duty of which was to trigger a most unusual alarm system.
The fruit which appeared ripe began to be catapulted from the trees in the direction of the road. It became immediately apparent that it was not actual produce of any variety, for it shattered upon contact with ground. The apples were all made of glass.
We shouted varying curses as the orbs shattered around us, one very nearly coming into direct contact with my head. Holmes lifted the Tin Man's hands from the handles of the wheelbarrow as I continued to dodge the barrage.
"What are you doing!" I exclaimed, as a particularly lethal looking banana whizzed by.
"Come on!" Holmes called over the crashes of breaking glass. We each took a handle of the wheelbarrow and gave ourselves a running start. We pushed the trolley to a peek velocity until we were at the edge of the orchard, where the Saffron Path began a straight downhill direction into a beautiful red field of flowers. Once we had gained enough momentum, we leapt into our places within the wide wooden bucket and began a speedy descent away from the vicious trees.
"Now that's a new take on bitter fruit!" I laughed, as we rocketed along the vibrant path into the gardens.
"This is exactly the reason that we should always, always listen to my brain. It's never wrong!" Holmes's voice was far away, as if I had suddenly been submerged in a warm sea. All sights and sounds had the distortion of water.
I saw at once the blur of red that coloured the far-stretching blanket of poppies, though I could make out no single bloom.
The pain in my leg subsided all at once, in the manner of a patient given a narcotic to achieve analgesia.
My eyelids grew heavy, and an inky blackness overtook the distant rainbow.
"Watson! Watson!" Holmes was shouting as his voice faded into a deep and rich silence.
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A/N: I fight writer's block, I fight power-outages and computer troubles, I heartily battle the curse of shyness – but I really think this cold is going to kill me!
Anyway, I like the trees that throw apples in The Wizard of Oz and decided to mix them in. Even if it's in the wrong spot. ;)