When Lestrade answers her telephone - videophone - I can clearly see that she has been in tears and I feel truly dreadful, knowing that this is my doing - my fault. How can I begin?

"Beth. My dear, dear Beth. I know not... I want to apologise."

She sniffs. "I bet you do."

"I am terribly sorry - truly. I do not believe that I have ever been so very sorry."

"And now you expect me to say it's OK, just forget about it."

I close my eyes tightly and feel a tear of my own attempt to make its escape. "No. I do not expect you to forgive me."

"So... what? You expect me to just walk away?"

"You would have every right to do so."

She snorts impatiently. "Sherlock, love ain't easy. Zed, you don't make it any easier, but walking away won't make life any better - for either of us. Zed! How many times have I got to tell you I love you? Don't you get it? I can't turn round 'n' walk away any more than you can."

I release the breath that I had not been aware of holding, rather shakily.

"You can't keep on going nuts every time someone smiles at me, OK? You have to learn to calm down - this isn't the Victorian era any more and you have to get used to that."

I nod and again begin to apologise.

"Never mind being sorry, Sherlock. I just want you to promise to try to learn 'n' understand the culture differences. OK? At least try not to be so zedding possessive."

"I shall try."

"Thanks. Now, I think we owe someone an apology."

Must I? "I think I should at the very least explain to the gentleman."

"I shall explain," Watson announces. "I can do so gently - something that has never been one of your strengths, Holmes."

In light of my most recent behaviour, I do not suppose that I can possibly argue with that remark. "Very well."

We are just making arrangements when John comes up from the kitchen, to announce that he has made a pot of tea and was wondering whether we would like some lunch. What is the time? After dashing backwards and forwards through time, I have quite lost track.

"I'll come back over, we'll eat and then we'll get the zed back to Manchester," Lestrade decides. "Zed! No wonder I'm hungry - it's nearly two o'clock. If I was working, I'd have come off lunch nearly an hour ago."

I am not feeling hungry at all, but I shall make an effort. In all honesty, I am rather too busy trying to decide upon the words to say to Mr. Brett, when we next meet, for I truly was quite horrid to the chap - in light of the information that Watson has presented me with, unforgivably so.

My Boswell touches my arm lightly, offering me a smile of encouragement when I meet his gaze.

"We shall put it right together," says he, as if the mess that I have made is somehow as much his responsibility as it is mine.

I can only respond with a grateful smile and barely perceptible nod of thanks, for I know not how best to respond to such acts of kindness.

Lunch on my part is all but ignored. I spend most of the time staring into the middle distance, biting my nails or sitting with my eyes closed. Try as they might, neither John nor Watson can persuade me to partake of very much and, eventually, John takes away my plate and gives the scraps to Briar.

"At least the dog is appreciative," the compudroid sniffs as our setter eagerly wags his tail and holds up a paw as a plea for more.

"Forgive me, John; I have no appetite."

He snorts and shrugs his shoulders. "Well, if you wish to starve yourself, there is little that I can do about it."

"Really, John!" my Watson scolds. "There is no need for that - Holmes will eat when everything has been put right."

With that, he promptly pushes aside his empty plate and dabs at his mouth.

"I'm ready, if you guys are," Lestrade announces, also standing.

I stand slowly, feeling less self-assured than I ever have before. Going to call upon a stranger, in order to apologise, leaves me even more nervous than the prospect of being forced to face a deadly serpent.

Beth takes my hand and squeezes it. "You OK?"

Not in the least, but I smile and nod.

"It'll be OK," she promises me.

Watson now touches my shoulder. Are my nerves as plain to see as all that? Well, there is no time for doubts or nerves now - it is time to be on our way.

Unsurprisingly, Mr. Brett and his colleague (Mr. Burke) are not pleased to see us. As a matter of interest, it is the friend that would appear to be the most upset - just as Watson would be, had I been wronged.

My Boswell takes Brett by the arm and the two walk away, their heads close together, as they hold what would appear to be a conspiratorial chat.

With our friends gone, Burke approaches me with a steel glare in his eyes. It would appear that he should like to give me two pennyworth of his thoughts on the matter of my insulting his friend.

"My dear Mr. Burke," I begin with my most charming of smiles. "As you see, I have returned to apologise..."

He is not having any of it. "Give me one good reason not to have you forcibly removed from the set," he growls. "How dare you come back!"

I spread my hands before me. "But how else could I apologise?"

"You've done enough."

"I realise that I have done wrong; I am sorry."

"So you left apologising to your friend," he retorts.

I stare back at him, finding myself to be quite at a loss. "Watson felt that he should explain a few things, before I say my piece - apologies have never been a strength of mine."

"After the way that you behaved earlier, I don't know why he'd want anything to do with you," says he. "To think some of our critics say that Jeremy plays you far too brusque and rude! Why, they should meet you, before judging the actors."

"I was upset," I attempt to defend myself. "When he embraced my fiancée, I became..."

He nods. "Jealous."

"I was going to say 'protective'."

He gives a snort of sarcastic laughter. "Yes, I daresay you would."

"Truly, Burke, I did not mean any slight - I did not mean any harm at all."

He shrugs. "It isn't me that you need to apologise to."

"Balderdash!" I snap back at him. "I know well enough how easily one can be hurt on the behalf of a friend; my apology is owed to you both."

He considers my words and then nods. "In that case, I'll forgive you as long as Jeremy does."

Fortunately, Mr. Brett proves to be of a forgiving nature. He listens to my apology in silence and then smiles and pats my arm, insisting that it is of no consequence. His friend offers me a smile in turn, though I suspect that he is still not particularly pleased with me.

"I find it difficult to comprehend that you're here," he confesses, after a moment or two of silence. "I find it the hardest to picture you outside of the Victorian era - away from the gaslight, fog... horses..."

Watson nods. "It took us a time to come to terms with it, if I am honest."

"We could show you," I propose, with my usual spontaneity. "If it might help you to understand - we could first show you the 22nd Century and then go back to the 19th Century."

"Sherlock..."

I silence Beth with a dismissive wave of the hand. "What do you think, Mr. Brett?"

He looks doubtful. "I have researched the 19th Century... it seems to me that it was a horrible time."

"Nonsense!" I explode.

Watson touches my arm and leans in, close to my ear. "Rose-tinted spectacles, Holmes - you of all people should know all about those and be careful."

"Pah! Nothing of the sort! It was a time of industry - of morality, integrity, as well as ingenuity. It was a time of..."

"Injustice, widespread poverty and horrible illnesses," says Brett, quietly. If he is hoping that I will not have heard him, he is to be disappointed.

I pierce the gentleman with a glare. "It was not as bad as all that. Come - I shall show you. If you come as you are, we might even have some fun - do you enjoy little jokes?"

It would appear that he does, for he brightens instantly and turns to his colleague. "We could... vanish for a little while - if I've warned Granada that they should look after us once, I've told them a hundred times! Yes - let's give them a scare! It might teach them a lesson."

"You won't be missed," Lestrade warns them. "We'll have to drop you back at the moment we left with you, or else things can go wrong."

Burke looks decidedly unsure. "What sort of things?"

"Nothing will go wrong," I insist impatiently. "We shall return you to the correct moment. Now, do come along - this is the opportunity of a lifetime, gentlemen!"

Brett would appear to be considering it - perhaps he is an adventurous sort. "We shan't stay for long, David."

I spread my hands wide. "I assure you that no harm can come to you - we shall look after you - and anything that could happen will be undone the very moment you return to your own time. It shall be as if you had never left, I promise you."

"Come along, David," Brett all but begs his friend. "If we don't like it, we'll come home. What can go wrong? Besides, once we come back, we'll show our friends here the sets. Why should Holmes have all the fun?"

What can I possibly learn or gain from that? Well, I shall agree never the less, if it will sway them.