Our next destination was Lang Stationery. It was a brutal, spartan-looking concrete building with little to distinguish it save from a large sign on the building with the company's name. Jasmine led Holmes and I inside, and at the front desk, there was a woman who appeared to have been a veteran of this company, judging by her short, wavy brown hair that was starting to go gray and the few wrinkles that had accompanied it.

"Can I help you three?" asked the woman.

Jasmine displayed her shield to the woman. "Detective Jasmine L'Esperance, NYPD. My associates and I wanna speak to Robert Lang."

"Hold on, I'll call him." The woman grabbed a telephone handset and dialed a number. "Mr. Lang, there's a detective from the NYPD here to see you." She hung up. "He'll be seeing you now."

"Thank you."

Jasmine led Holmes and I to another elevator, past a double door with a sign affixed to it that said "EMPLOYEES ONLY". This elevator went up to a second floor, which contained some sort of office decorated with red carpeting. An array of cube-shaped enclosures dominated the room, and large windows gave an unprecedented view of the outside world. Holmes and I followed Jasmine past these and to a door with a small placard next to it that said "ROBERT LANG, CEO". She then knocked on it.

"Come in," said a man's voice from within.

Jasmine opened the door, and Holmes and I followed her in. Sitting at a wooden desk was Robert Lang, a middle-aged, clean-shaven, black-haired gentlemen who – like the woman at the front desk – had an appreciable amount of gray hairs and wrinkles. He wore a white shirt, a dark gray suit, a red cravat and black shoes. His office was decorated with various photographs and certificates.

"Robert Lang, I presume?" said Holmes.

"Yes. Who are you?"

"I am Sherlock Holmes, England's greatest consulting detective. This is my partner, Dr. John Watson, and my new associate, Detective Jasmine L'Esperance of the NYPD."

"I've heard of you, Holmes…but I thought you were a myth! What brings you here?"

"We would like to ask you a few questions, if that's permissible."

"Go ahead."

"First of all, were you engaged in courtship with a woman named Melba Goodson?"

"I was. Why?"

"She was found dead last evening, murdered."

"No, that's…that's terrible!"

"Indeed it was. Have you any idea who did it?"

"No, but I…I wish I did! Melba was my everything…or at least I thought she was…"

"What do you mean?"

Lang stood up from his chair.

"Between you and me, Holmes, I had reason to believe that she was having an affair."

"An affair? With whom?"

"A rival of mine, a guy by the name of Bradley Vaughn, owner of a company called Vaughn Paper Products."

"And what reason did you have to suspect that she was carrying on an affair?"

"I came to her penthouse one time and she was talking with a guy named Bradley. I didn't know exactly what she was talking about, but the way she was talking, I could tell there was something dishonest going on."

"So you did have a key to her penthouse, then," said Jasmine.

Lang nodded. "I did. Why?"

"And so you murdered her out of jealousy?" said Holmes.

Lang put his hands on Holmes' shoulders. "Look, Holmes, I didn't murder my girlfriend! Sure, I may have been angry about it, but I'm not one to commit something as cruel as murder!"

"Then what do you do when you are angry?"

"I had some Scotch on the rocks to calm my nerves. I'm not an alcoholic by any means, but I find that drinking in moderation helps clear my head."

"I see. Thank you for your time, Mr. Lang. Have a nice day."

"You too, Holmes. It was a pleasure meeting you."

Jasmine, Holmes and I exited Lang's office.

"What say you, Holmes?" I asked.

"Lang is lying. I know he is our culprit. His pupils dilated when he denied murdering Goodson, and the way his hand twitched also suggested dishonesty, in addition to the way his voice wavered when he denied the crime."

"So why don't we go and arrest the bastard?" asked Jasmine.

"Before we do anything so rash, I should like to have a word with Mr. Bradley Vaughn. His testimony will tell me everything I need."

Jasmine shrugged. "If ya say so."

Jasmine drove Holmes and I to the offices of Vaughn Paper Products, which required us to cross a bridge into what I presumed was a different part of New York City. This building was less spartan than Lang Stationery, being mostly covered in glass. The inside seemed cleaner and more modern, too, with the walls being painted in brighter colors than we had ever witnessed at Lang Stationery. The offices, however, were still populated by those same cube-shaped enclosures as found at Lang Stationery's offices. Furthermore, the office of Bradley Vaughn was enclosed by glass rather than the opaque walls of Robert Lang's office. Vaughn was about the same age as Lang, perhaps younger, with neatly-combed sandy blond hair, and he was wearing a plaid suit jacket, albeit the shirt lacked a cravat.

"Who are you three?" asked Vaughn.

"Bradley Vaughn, I am Sherlock Holmes. This is my partner Dr. John Watson, and my new associate Detective Jasmine L'Esperance of the NYPD."

Vaughn quickly got up from his seat. "THE Sherlock Holmes!? I used to read Arthur Conan Doyle's books about you when I was a kid! I didn't think you were a real person!"

"Real, yes, but sadly out of my element at the moment."

"Still, it's nice to meet you!"

Vaughn eagerly shook hands with Holmes.

"So, are you here because of a case?" asked Vaughn.

"A wealthy socialite named Melba Goodson was murdered, and I'd like to ask you a few questions about it."

"I read about that in The New York Times. A tragedy, it was."

"A rival of yours named Robert Lang seems to implicate you in this tragedy. He said that you were having an affair with Goodson. Is this true?"

"First of all, I never knew her personally, and second of all, I'm already happily married, and I would never dream of cheating on my wife."

"Then Lang has lied to us."

"Yeah, Robert Lang and I have been rivals for years. He's tried every dirty trick in the book to try to shut me down. I wouldn't touch him with a 39 -foot pole."

"I doubt you would have the physical prowess to wield a pole of such length, though I certainly understand your sentiment."

"Well, thank you, Holmes. Any more questions?"

"No further questions. Have a nice day, Mr. Vaughn."

"You too."

Jasmine, Holmes and I exited the office.

"Vaughn was telling the truth," said Holmes. "While he did seem overenthused by my presence, I can say with the highest of certainty that he was not carrying on an affair with Melba Goodson."

"Then let's arrest the bastard," said Jasmine.

We headed back to Lang Stationery, but misfortune struck when Jasmine asked about Lang:

"Is Robert Lang still here?"

"He went out to lunch at Sardi's."

"Thanks, that's all we need to know."

Holmes and I made haste as Jasmine ran to her car. Once we were inside, she drove away at a high rate of speed and put the red teardrop-shaped light on the roof of the car as she activated the siren, which produced a loud yelping noise of the like that I had never heard before. She then called in to Central Dispatch:

"18-Squad-5 to Central."

"18-Squad-5 K."

"Central, we are on our way to 234 West 44th Street. Advise all units in the vicinity."

"10-4. All units in the 14 Precinct, 18-Squad-5 requires a 10-13Z at 234 West 44th Street. Suspect is a white male, age 54, with black hair and brown eyes, wanted for first-degree murder. Consider suspect armed and extremely dangerous."

As Jasmine drove down the streets of New York City, other vehicles cleared her path as best as they could. Presumably, the siren and lights were for alerting other vehicles of an oncoming police car.

In little time at all, we made it to Sardi's. We all drew our pistols, Jasmine drawing a revolver that dwarfed even Holmes' Model 19, no doubt the ".44" that she was referring to. Inside, Sardi's was a fancy restaurant, its walls decorated with caricatures of people, presumably famous people. We saw Lang dining at a table near the left wall, accompanied by another gentleman. Unfortunately, he too saw us, for he quickly dropped his utensils and drew a revolver, attempting to fire at us. Fortunately, none of us were hit, but the loud report of the pistol caused the other patrons to scream and make a hasty retreat for the door. While bewildered by the oncoming crowd, I nevertheless used this to my advantage, seeking cover behind an overturned table. It appeared that Holmes and Jasmine had utilized the same tactic.

"Robert Lang, this is the NYPD!" said Jasmine. "You're under arrest for first-degree murder! Throw down your weapon and come out with your hands up! You got ten seconds!"

Rather than using those ten seconds to comply with Jasmine's order, Lang attempted to shoot me next. I took aim as well as I could and fired, the 1911's recoil being more severe than the revolver I had wielded in London, but nevertheless controllable. In that instant, I recognized a loud report from my right, no doubt Holmes' .357 Magnum, louder than any pistol I had heard fired. However, even this was dwarfed by the report of Jasmine's .44, which to me sounded like a miniature cannon. I could hardly ascertain which one of us had shot him, but the fact remained that he lurched backwards, dropped his revolver and fell to the ground, most presumably deceased. With Lang no more, Holmes, Jasmine and I headed towards him, keeping our pistols drawn. When Holmes knelt down next to Lang's corpse, he discovered a small slip of paper.

"What does it say?" I asked.

Holmes read it aloud:

"You may have solved your first case,

But I am Alpha and Omega,

In a fortnight and five,

Be at Alfred's Bodega."

"What the hell's that all about?" asked Jasmine.

"No doubt it is a challenge, a direction to the next piece of the puzzle," replied Holmes.

"What puzzle?"

"A mysterious being named Lord Belzub challenged Watson and I to solve his riddle by the stroke of midnight on January 1, 1980. If we fail, then we shall be trapped in your timeline until our expiry."

Jasmine crossed her arms. "That sounds like a load of Grade A bull if I ever heard it, but if it means I don't have to deal with your dumb asses anymore, then I'll help ya solve this riddle. What's the riddle, anyways?"

"'I am him, and he is me.'"

Jasmine shook her head. "I don't get it. Still, even if you two are ignorant misogynists, you're real crack detectives, so I guess ya could be useful to the Department."

"And you have been most useful to us, Jasmine," I said.

Jasmine pointed her index finger at me. "You I actually sorta don't hate. Sherlock, on the other hand…"

And thus, having been the chronicler of my companion Holmes' most unusual mystery yet, there is one thing I can say for certain: if he can solve even one case in New York City in the 1970s, then I have faith that us two will not only be able to survive and adapt to our new environment and era, but that we will solve Belzub's riddle.

Criticism is gold. Negativity and nitpicking are pyrite.