"How could you? How could you take me back there without some form of warning, expecting me to... to be nice to that... that... He embraced you, for God's sake! Did you know that he would? I should think that you hoped that he would! How could you?"

Lestrade follows me from Machina Temporibus Peregrinandis and into the sitting room of 221B Baker Street sullenly. "Are you done shrieking? I'm not gonna talk to you until you calm down."

"'Calm down'!" I snarl back at her. "I have just been made to watch my fiancée be unfaithful and you expect me to be calm! Are you insane?"

"I wasn't unfaithful, for zed's sake! Zed! He was just being friendly. I'm sorry, I forgot that he used to greet fans like that, but there was no need for you to turn into a green-eyed monster. What d'you think he must've thought? Zed! No wonder he used to say he wouldn't cross the road to meet you - you were zedding horrible to the poor guy!"

I had been pacing before the fire and then to the window and back, but I now stop in my stride and whirl to face her.

"You care more about him and his feelings than you do mine!"

"'Course I don't!" she shouts back at me. "I love you. You should know that."

"What the deuce have I walked into?" Watson's voice demands to know, from the door. "John warned me that you appear to be having some form of lovers' quarrel, but I never would have believed him. What has happened?"

I run my hands through my hair and then point an accusing finger at my so-called wife-to-be, before removing myself to our bathroom, situated adjacent to Watson's room. I have to shut myself away! I shall take a bath. "Ask her!"

Behind me, I hear Lestrade begin to cry. In all honesty, I feel quite near to the brink myself, but I feel that I have a right.

The bathwater - with additional bubbles - is soothing and warm. With a sigh, I permit it to relax me, washing away the tension that has been building within me - perhaps it will untie the horrid knots that are within my stomach.

For how long I have been bathing I know not, but the water is beginning to cool when I hear the vestibule and front doors slam. There follows a tap at the bathroom door.

"Holmes?" Watson calls, with another light tap to the door. "Might I come in?"

As a doctor, he has been forced to see me in varying degrees of undress - in our own era rather the more frequently than this - but, even with the bubbles concealing most of me, I would rather not permit him to enter, for there is rather more than my body that might be exposed to him at this moment.

"The door is locked, but I shall not be long. Ten minutes?"

I hear him sigh in exasperation. "I shall have a fire lit in the sitting room; come straight down - I would not want for you to catch cold."

What would it matter if I did?

"Please, Holmes, we need to talk."

I agree to come straight down to the sitting room, not that I have much choice - I forgot to bring a change of clothing with me, when I came upstairs.

Ten minutes later, true to my word, I return to the sitting room, swathed in bath towels and shivering slightly. Hastily, I take to my chair beside the lit hearth.

My Boswell adds a couple of rugs to the towels and stokes up the fire. "Are you warm enough?" he asks of me. "Would you like some brandy, or perhaps a hot toddy?"

I nod and ask for a brandy, remembering to thank him. It is not my Watson that has upset me and I want to at least try not to take anything out on him, however spiteful I might currently feel like being.

He hands me a glass and then takes to his seat, opposite mine. "Now, I have heard Lestrade's side of the story, but if you have taught me anything at all, it is that there are always two sides to every tale. What happened, Holmes? I want to understand."

What will he think? Is he likely to side with Beth and her new friend? I hastily swallow the brandy in a single gulp and ask for another.

"You don't drink."

"I need it, Watson!"

He shakes his head. "You most certainly do not need it - just as you never had a need for cocaine or morphine. Enough nonsense - this is childish."

"Please, I feel ill. Another brandy - please."

He shakes his head. "Drowning yourself with brandy is hardly going to help. You feel unwell because your nerves have been upset - you need to talk it through. I promise to reserve judgement."

With a groan, I lean forward and rub at my forehead, above the bridge of my nose. I was not lying when I told him that I feel ill - my stomach is churning and my head aches.

"Take your time, Holmes."

I nod and take a deep, steadying breath. "Very well. Beth took me to meet an actor that played my part for television, once..."

Watson listens in silence while I tell all, as if I were describing the particulars of a case.

"I can understand your reasons for being upset," says he at last. "But you must realise that attitudes have not changed with the dawn of the 22nd Century - they have changed gradually, over time. Besides which, how was Mr. Brett supposed to know that you and Lestrade are engaged, at a glance, let alone who you are - I should think that he took you both to be... what is the term? Fans! He most likely took you to be fans and simply greeted you as such."

"That is what Lestrade claims."

My friend snorts. "Really, Holmes! I know her better than this! She loves you - nobody else. Besides, from what she has told me about the poor chap whom you have both judged and treated appallingly..."

Whose side is he on?

He wags a finger at me. "It is no good, looking at me like that - you were quite unjust and, surely, you must see that it is so. Poor Beth - and Mr. Brett..."

"Pah!" I snort. "'Poor Mr. Brett', indeed!"

"Yes, poor Mr. Brett," the fellow repeats firmly. "I understand that he succumbed to a broken heart, after spending ten years heavily grieving for his wife - not the sort of thing that one would expect from the sort of a gentleman that you took him to be."

I close my mouth, realising only now that I have been gaping at the fellow. "Oh. Beth failed to mention that. I did ask her what became of him..."

Watson shakes his head. "The point is that you should trust her. Do you honestly think that she would have gone within a hundred miles of the gentleman, if he was the sort to... to... seduce young ladies?"

I cannot meet his gaze. "No. I suppose not."

"I should think not. Now, I suggest that you get dressed, call poor Lestrade and apologise and then return to... wherever and... and whenever it was that you visited Mr. Brett and apologise to him, as well - unless," he continues, with raised finger, when I attempt to protest, "you should like for him to take you to be completely unstable. I very much doubt that you would be pleased, if he were to play your part as a jealous, possessive madman."

"You are quite right, Watson, of course. There is, however, one problem - it was Lestrade who entered the details, not me. All that I know is that we went to a part of Manchester."

He points a finger towards the door of my bedroom. "One thing at a time. First of all, get into your clothes."

Dress, grovel and then grovel again! I am Sherlock Holmes - I do not grovel!