AN: Very few exact dates are given in The War of the Worlds, so I made up whatever sounded reasonable and fit the guidelines in the book – descriptions of the weather, sunrise and sunset times, etc. If dates don't match up exactly, I'm only following Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's example and being masterful with the facts. :)

A STUDY IN SURVIVAL

Chapter 1: In London

July 23, 1901 Friday

The newsboy's cry stopped Dr. Watson in his tracks. Pausing his walk back to the Baker Street flat, he hurriedly bought an evening paper from the shrill-voiced lad announcing headlines.

"Holmes!" he cried, climbing the stairs fast as his bad leg would allow. "Holmes, have you seen the papers tonight?"

Holmes turned from his test tubes to see Watson burst into the sitting room. "What news item has so invigorated you, Watson, as to bring about a sudden burst of energy and interrupt my work on this blood sample?"

"Haven't you seen this, Holmes?" Watson shoved the rustling sheets into his friend's hands.

Large black letters stared Holmes in the face.

A MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM MARS Remarkable Story From Woking

"Ah, I see, Watson. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. Are you expecting the Martians to drop in for tea? If so, I should direct my activities to preparing Mrs. Hudson for their arrival, rather than giving my blood the opportunity to clot." Holmes handed the newspaper back to a dumbfounded Watson and calmly returned to his work.

"Holmes, aren't you interested in the slightest?" protested Watson.

"I would be, if I had not sent for the early editions while you were out," replied Holmes, waving a hand at a new stack of papers in the corner. "It's just as well you bought your own copy, Watson. This may be an event to keep record of."

Slightly disgruntled, Dr. Watson settled in the basket chair to study the front-page article. It stated that early in the morning, a falling star was seen rushing over Winchester eastward, leaving a greenish streak behind it that glowed for some seconds. Mr. William Denning, a recognized authority on meteorites, stated that the height of its first appearance was some ninety or one hundred miles above the Earth's surface. An Ottershaw astronomer named Ogilvy, who had observed its descent, found the meteorite on the common between Horsell, Ottershaw, and Woking.

To Ogilvy's surprise, the meteorite was not natural at all, but a manufactured, hollow cylinder of an unknown metal. One end of the cylinder began unscrewing very slowly. Ogilvy returned to the village and informed Henderson, a London journalist, of the find. Henderson, upon seeing the cylinder for himself, telegraphed the news to London.

Many people speculated on the objects that may be discovered inside. The cylinder was not believed to contain any living creatures or men, due to the intense heat to which it was subjected on its entry into the earth's atmosphere. It was possible, however, that models or manuscripts were to be found once the cylinder opened completely.

"What do you make of it, Watson?"

Watson looked up in mild surprise. Holmes still sat bent over the deal-topped table, but a small mirror was placed so that Watson could easily be watched.

"I don't know what to make of it, Holmes. It really does seem that the intense heat would have killed anything alive. It is a pity. We might have learned a good deal from the Martians, since they are advanced enough to send missiles through the vast spaces between our planet and theirs."

"We shall see, my dear fellow, we shall see. Perhaps manuscripts, if the contents prove to be such, will have an equally beneficial change in store for mankind. Oh, blast."

"Holmes, what have you done?" coughed Watson. "I had hoped experiments with blood would not produce fumes suitable for use as a – a weapon!"

"Help me open the windows like a good fellow. That's better. It would seem," Holmes explained with a slightly guilty air, "I inadvertently neglected to change the labeling on a bottle refilled with a substance differing from the original contents. A brief lapse of memory caused me to believe the labeling was correct when in truth, it was faulty."

"Oh, Holmes," sighed Watson.

July 24, 1901 Saturday

The newspapermen filled their morning editions with lengthy special articles on the planet Mars, life in the planets, and such things, as well as a brief and vaguely worded report of an attack made by the Martians late Friday afternoon. Alarmed by the approach of a crowd, the story went, the Martians had killed a number of people with a quick-firing gun. "Formidable as they seem to be, the Martians have not moved from the pit into which their cylinder has fallen, and, indeed, seem incapable of doing so. Probably this is due to the relative strength of earth's gravitational energy," it concluded.

Sherlock Holmes spent the day in his dressing gown, smoking on and off and demanding the newest papers as soon as they were available, but he was disappointed at how little they contained. Despite big headlines, they had nothing to tell beyond the mobilization of artillery and troops to Horsell Common and the burning of the pine forests between Woking and Weybridge.

At eight o'clock Saturday night, the St. James Gazette released and extra-special edition announcing the interruption of telegraphic communication from the area, thought to be the result of burning pine trees falling across the lines.

There was a strong thunderstorm that night, but it did not bother Holmes. He was awake anyway.

July 25, 1901

Sunday morning

"About seven o'clock last night the Martians came out of the cylinder, and, moving about under an armour of metallic shields, have completely wrecked Woking station with the adjacent houses, and massacred an entire battalion of the Cardigan Regiment. No details are known. Maxims have been absolutely useless against their armour; the field guns have been disabled by them. Flying hussars have been galloping into Chertsey. The Martians appear to be moving slowly towards Chertsey or Windsor. Great anxiety prevails in West Surrey, and earthworks are being thrown up to check the advance Londonward."

Sherlock Holmes put the Sunday Sun on top of a growing stack of equally vague articles about the Martians' attack on Woking.

"Good morning, Holmes," Watson said brightly, coming into the sitting room. "I trust you have already breakfasted," he added, sounding doubtful as he noticed the state of the floor around Holmes's chair.

"Hmmm? Go ahead and eat, Watson. Don't wait for me."

"Holmes," said Watson sternly, "You know you must eat. To judge by the number of tobacco ends scattered about, you've been up all night."

"I suppose so," Holmes replied listlessly, moving to the breakfast table. "Watson, it would ease my mind considerably if you left London just for the present."

"What?"

"Take Mrs. Hudson with you. I want you both to go to the north – Yorkshire, perhaps."

"Yorkshire? Holmes, what is this all about?"

"The Continent would be better, but go nearly anywhere, so long as you are far from London."

Watson set down his fork. "Holmes, I am not taking Mrs. Hudson anywhere unless you explain why."

Holmes pushed his plate away after taking only a few bites. "The Martians are advancing on London. I want you and our good landlady out of harm's way before the flood of evacuation begins."

"Martians?" chuckled Dr. Watson. "The last I heard, they could hardly move about in their pit, something to do with our earth's greater gravitational attraction. What is to fear from them?"

"They left their pit last night, Watson, wreaked havoc in Woking, wiped out a battalion of soldiers, and are traveling in the direction of London. I am certain it is but a matter of time before the six millions of people who make this city their home realize the danger and form a panicked mob. It would be senseless to wait before finding a safer locality to call home."

"Do you plan to leave?"

"No," Holmes said quietly.

"Good heavens, Holmes, if the danger is so pressing, why are you waiting for panicked, fleeing mobs and Martian invaders?"

"I must confess to a rather morbid curiosity about imminent events."

"Holmes, I will not allow you to place yourself in harm's way because of curiosity!" insisted Watson. "If I must leave today, so must you."

"I am not leaving," Holmes said in a tone that left no questions. He stood abruptly and went to the window, standing with his back to the room.

"Then I am staying. Don't try to argue me out of it, Holmes, I can be every bit as stubborn as you."

Holmes's lips twitched into a brief smile. "I am aware of that," he said dryly, and turned away from the window, letting the curtains drop back into place. "I thought you would want to stay. Mrs. Hudson must leave at once, though, before the trains stop running."

"She can't travel to the Continent on her own," objected Dr. Watson.

The entrance of the landlady in question stopped Holmes's response. She shook her head at his nearly untouched plate.

"Mr. Holmes, it's a wonder to me how you manage to survive. If you don't eat more, you'll be blowing away with the next good wind coming through town."

"My dear Mrs. Hudson, I need you to do something for me," Holmes said smoothly.

"If it has anything to do with your last 'project', I will not," Mrs. Hudson warned.

"No, no, no, Mrs. Hudson, this has nothing at all to do with frog larvae," Holmes assured her. "I merely wish you and Billy to leave London for a week or two."

"Leave London? Mr. Holmes, if you expect me to drop everything and gallivant around England, I simply won't. How would you and Dr. Watson manage—"

"My dear Mrs. Hudson, allow me to explain." In a few words, Holmes summed up the situation.

"What will you and the doctor do?" asked Mrs. Hudson, concerned.

"Have no fear, Mrs. Hudson. We shall take every precaution, won't we, Holmes?" nudged Watson.

"Oh yes, of course. As I was saying, perhaps your sister in Norfolk will accommodate you. Billy would certainly enjoy a visit to his aunt. I can make arrangements for you to leave in a few hours."

"So soon?"

"It is necessary, Mrs. Hudson."

"Very well, Mr. Holmes. I'll be packing soon as breakfast is cleaned up."

When Mrs. Hudson left, taking with her a tray of used dishes, Dr. Watson turned to Holmes.

"What happened to the Continent?" he asked, quiet amusement smiling in his eyes.

"Persuading our good landlady to visit her sister in Norfolk is one matter. Convincing her it is necessary to leave England is altogether different." Holmes shook off the grey-brown dressing gown he wore and reached for his coat and hat. "I have several matters to arrange and may be gone some time. Keep an eye on the papers as they come in and summarize for me when I return. If you have the time, Watson, nip downstairs and take stock of food and water supplies. Make sure Billy goes off with his mother. I want them both out of London before five o'clock."

AN: The Canon doesn't say much about Billy or Mrs. Hudson, so I decided to make the best-loved landlady of all time the mother of the "young but very wise and tactful page" ("The Mazarin Stone"). I also invented a sister in Norfolk for the good woman. *Shrug* I like little speculations of this sort in pastiches. In addition, as you can see, Watson's old war wound is in his leg for this story.

Newspaper articles in this story are generally copied or paraphrased from The War of the Worlds.

Please review!