chapter six
the empty house

The actual trip through the portal was far less dramatic than I had expected from watching modern science fiction movies. There was no swirling blackness or sense of movement, but only a momentary blinding flash and a very slight shock, as if from a bit of static electricity. The eerie blue light had disappeared, and I saw not the streets and passers-by of London that I had expected, but only a dank, absolute blackness. Of course, I thought. Like a fool, I had imagined that the portal would span space as well as time, and that we would arrive straight at Baker Street. But we were still under the foundations of Columbia University, as it was in 1895. My heart sank a little as I realized how long it would take us, in this day and age, to get to London. Of course, there was no one else in the world I would rather take a trip with, but I knew how miserable Holmes could become when not in the thick of the action, and the thought of a months-long Atlantic journey, under Victorian sanitation standards and in the company of a moody, depressed, cocaine-using Holmes was enough to daunt even the most devoted of fans. But my thoughts snapped back to the present (or the past, technically) when I heard Jeanette's voice calling in a panicked tone, "Who's there?"
"It's me, Shirley," I cried reassuringly, wishing there was even a chink of light in the Victorian basement. "And you'll never guess who's with me!" I added, trying to put a cheerful note in my voice.
"I don't know, Sherlock Holmes?" asked Jeanette a bit sarcastically.
"Yes, actually," said that detective, striking a match to light a stub of candle. "I know this will sound quite fantastic to you, Miss Jeanette, but I must ask you to believe the little-known fact that I really did, or do, exist, and that I am here to help you. Now let us be out of this damp cellar air, for I have heard it is bad for one's constitution."
"But what just happened to us?" cried Jeanette. "Where are we?"
"We are in the cellar of Columbia University in the year 1895. If you'll follow me we shall soon be in Baker Street."
"So, how long will the journey take, Mr. Holmes?" I asked as we followed the bit of flickering light down a long, dark passageway.
"I approximate it at 37 seconds," he replied, opening a small door to reveal the strangest-looking device I had ever seen. It was about the size of a small car, but perfectly spherical and covered with some type of metal plating. There was a small hatch near the top and little feet which extended out from the sides to support it, rather like a lunar module. "This is the second time machine in existence," said Sherlock Holmes, gesturing grandly. "The first, of course, we have just encountered. But, unlike that worthy instrument, this one has the power to transcend space as well as time. It is the one technological advantage of my century over yours, ladies. But I fear that, once this business is cleared up, both machines will have to quit time altogether. The benefits of such things are incalculable, of course, but so are the dangers, and inter-dimensional travel is far too powerful a thing to leave lying about for long in any cellar. Climb aboard, please." As he spoke, Holmes had entered the machine nimbly through the hatch and carefully pushed several switches and levers. Without another word Jeanette and I followed him in.
"Could this possibly get any more bizarre?" I wondered as we were zoomed across the Atlantic by Sherlock Holmes. Like before, there was no sense of motion, only a slight creaking noise. Even during such a short journey, my mind was bursting with a thousand questions, but Holmes had slipped into a characteristic silence, and sat with his eyes slightly closed and his fingers pressed together. Not a word was spoken until we had apparently reached our destination, and Holmes flung the hatch open, announcing triumphantly, "37 seconds on the dot! May I welcome you both to London."
"Where are we?" I asked, stepping out. "It's still so dark."
"This place is called Camden House," said Holmes. "It is uninhabited, and directly faces my own lodgings. I thought it would be a useful place to store this machine, for the moment at least."
I realized that we must be in the famous empty house that Holmes used to keep watch over his own apartments when he returned to London after surviving the Reichenbach falls. I bit my tongue to keep from giving a cry of recognition. It had suddenly occurred to me that Holmes might not have learned about Reichenbach yet.
"It is but a swift and silent journey to 221B," said Holmes. "And thankfully, it is now midnight in London and we will be less noticable. However--" He looked at Jeanette and me with a furrowed brow, and I remembered that we were still wearing our 21st-century jackets and jeans. How embarrassing! I knew we probably looked scandalous to Mr. Holmes. But before I could say a word, he had whisked three long capes out of a compartment in the time machine. "It is well that I had these with me," he said. "I did not know everything I was getting into when I embarked on this adventure, but I thought a basic disguise of some sort might come in handy. I will get the pair of you more suitable clothing as soon as possible." Quickly the three of us wrapped ourselves in the capes, and crept through the maze of back alleys and hidden passageways until we found ourselves in a silent midnight Baker Street.
Holmes let himself in as quietly as a cat, and led the two of us up to his sitting room. After calling up a very sleepy-looking young Billy and sending the page boy off with a message, he excused himself to his bedchamber to change.
Jeanette and I sat in a sort of stunned silence, gazing around the room which I had seen a thousand times in my imagination. It looked rather different from pictures of the modern-day Sherlock Holmes museum in London, but every detail was scrupulously canonical--the Persian slipper full of tobacco, the letters fixed to the mantlepiece with a jack-knife, even the patriotic "VR" shot into the wall. I thought that if this was some sort of elaborate hoax, it was a very well-constructed one. But when Holmes re-emerged five minutes later, pipe in hand, sans red goatee, and wearing not a cape and deerstalker, but, as any decent historian would expect, a very dapper Victorian suit and cravat, all doubt vanished from my mind. It took all my strength not to jump up and start capering about the room with glee, but I did not think Holmes would look very kindly on such behavior. So I merely sat politely, with my hands folded and my ankles crossed decently, as Holmes lit his pipe, settled back lazily in his chair, and commenced the following narrative...