Chapter Two

"So you are a police officer? I hope you are not as insufferable as Lestrade." Needless to say, that was Holmes.

I ignored the latter sentence and answered the detective. "Yes. I am also a police artist, but that is more of a hobby. Why are you asking if you already know the answer?" We were in my car, driving to my house. I had decided to let them stay in my guest bedroom for the time being. I knew Holmes would not take well to having to reside in a woman's home, but there was no alternative. They also would need aliases… I would also need to get them some modern clothes, and bring them up to speed on modern culture… I shook my head. I would deal with that when the time came.

I rode slowly, being careful of the rain. I had never seen the Dallas area so empty. I looked at my gas meter, and cursed. Holmes raised his eyebrows but said nothing. I was certainly not going to alter my behavior just to make the Victorian men feel more at ease. "My tank's almost out; I'll need to stop and get gas," I said as way of explanation. Seeing their confused looks, I added, "Cars run on gas, rather like… well, I guess like a steamboat uses steam."

I stopped at the nearest gas station, and started to fill the tank. I had the distinct feeling of foreboding, like a chill that went through my spine. I had just begun to close the door when I heard the distinct but unmistakable report of a gun.

Holmes and Watson were out of the car and on their feet in an instant; Holmes' eyes flashing at the thought of a case, and Watson pulled out his service revolver with a single movement that had been practiced to perfection on the battlefield, and later, accompanying Holmes. "The shot came from over there!" I shouted over the pounding rain and sporadic thunder. Holmes and I were running over there, Watson at our heels covering the rear. I saw a man fleeing for a moment, illuminated by a flash of lightning, and started to run after him when I saw the injured man lying on the ground.

"No! Spencer!" I gasped as I recognized the battered body as that of my colleague. Spencer Wade was lying face down on the pavement, his wispy blond hair starting to turn red as the blood pooled from his back, soaking his uniform. I started to run toward him, pleading to the Lord that he was still alive, that we had not been too late… He had to be alive, he just had to…

Watson rushed to him and knelt beside him, feeling for a pulse.

"Well?" I asked, not bothering to hide the tremor in my voice. Spencer was so amiable, so good natured, it broke my heart to think of my fellow officer as dead. Had it been just that morning that he was teasing me about my nose always being in a book?

The doctor looked me squarely in the eyes. "He's alive. But only just."

A/N: I just love cliffhangers… Unfortunately, I now have writers' block, so feel free to offer suggestions. I may or may not use them, but hopefully they will get the gears turning again. Reviews may also help (hint, hint) And sorry it is so short, the next chapter will be longer, i promise!