A/N: Sheesh. Looks like a girl can't take a break anymore – you know some people only update every week... ;)

Well, since everybody's being good I guess we can get cracking.

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Holmes and I ran as quickly as our legs would carry us through the golden wheat fields of Winkie Country. Behind us, the ominous cloud of small clockwork monkeys filled the sky and gave chase with a frenzy of ticks. This ticking was not altogether or particularly rhythmic, and it gave the impression of an enormous swarm of bees or locusts. It was a terrifying sensation.

Every now and then, one of the monkeys would make a swooping dive and target either myself or Holmes. We were only saved from being hit by our ability to recognize the menacing sound of one drawing nearer. Then it was a quick jump – either onto our stomachs or into the stalks of wheat – causing the monkey's calculated trajectory to be incorrect, resulting in a small fiery explosion.

It was unfortunate that Holmes and I had not the time to examine our surroundings any closer, for Winkie Country was proving to be a fascinating region. The further in one traveled, the closer to nightfall one got. When I turned to look over my shoulder at the flock of flying monkeys, I could see that the sun burned as bright as ever in the direction of the Emerald City. Daytime was not a chronological matter in Oz, it was geographical.

"Watson! Look!" Holmes called over the drone of mechanical wings. He was pointing to a stone tower of the Gothic style. Behind it, a handful of stars twinkled in an inky midnight sky, and the windows of the structure glowed with an eerie and unnatural purple light. It was an immediate relief to be aware of our destination, even if it was something so macabre in appearance.

I meant to comment, but was rudely distracted as one of the monkeys exploded to my left. Instead of responding, I kept running.

The frequency with which the monkeys chose to destroy themselves proved handy, as it thinned their ranks and made the chase less pressing as we neared the great stone structure. Though, it was a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire, for the sinister tower grew only more sinister as we drew closer.

The ground changed from the soft dirt paths of the now-gone wheat fields to a hard and smooth stone. It slammed against my feet and I hasted along it, Holmes somewhere behind me.

"Alright?" I called over my shoulder to make certain he was keeping up.

"Who on earth is alright when exploding marmosets are chasing them? It's inhuman to be alright in this situation!"

I took that as a yes.

"How are you?" He called forward after another explosion.

"You know, I think we should all start recommending brisk sprints to the recently poisoned. Does wonders for the heart rate!"

This too was meant as a yes, though the sarcasm was genuine. My constitution had not yet returned to the point where fleeing for my life was advisable. (Though I could think of no particular time where 'flee for you life' is the sort of advice one would want to hear.)

We came to the large wooden doors of the tower, and slipped inside as hastily as we could. It took the both of us to shut the heavy door behind us, and we could hear thunderous booms as the last of the flying monkeys collided with the door.

Though a distinct wave of relief washed over us, it was interrupted by a brief glance of our new environs. Dark and strange, the light emanating from purple glass windows was actually emanating from the windows. That is to say, there was a hollowed out section between two panels of glass which housed incandescent lamps – therefore, the windows themselves were the only source of light.

Holmes immediately made his way over to examine the technology.

"I could live a thousand years in this horrible fairy-land, Watson, and never cease to marvel at the sheer genius it contains. I wonder what manner of battery this is running on…" He mused, and began to explore the possibility of unfastening one of the glass rectangles.

I began to observe the rest of the tower's large foyer; a peppermint swirl of black and dark purple on the floor, large cobwebs placed in the corners, a wrought iron staircase that wrapped around a tall black column. It all held the necessary atmosphere of the frightening or darkly supernatural – though it also held the impression that it was the most manufactured location we had yet passed through.

"Where do you imagine we will find this person? Or the keys to the Emerald City?" I asked Holmes, who was still trying to get a better look at the light bulbs.

"Probably upstairs." He noted, taking his attention away from the window.

"Are you nervous?" I asked him because I was nervous.

"Curious, mostly," Holmes said, as we began to make our slow and echoing walk along the massive empty space of the room, "I feel as though I am on the very edge of understanding. Mere footsteps from my conclusion; the information that will fill these footsteps is intriguing. What will this person be? What will they offer? Another small puzzle to fit into our labyrinth of mystery."

As we made our way up the stairs, they creaked enormously. We made our way along the narrow halls that lead into the second level, until we found several locked doors and another staircase.

Up and up we went, drawn ever and always forward by the promise of conclusion.

When finally we reached the top level, my chest was pounding with anticipation, delight and fear. There were so many possibilities behind the open door – so many answers, so many resolutions.

Unfortunately, neither Holmes nor I was expecting to find what actually lay behind that door.

Another dead Witch.