The Death and Life of Sherlock Holmes

By Grace Best-Page

~ Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Holmes' Hiatus but Conan Doyle Died Before You Could Ask ~
Jackie Bowman, a modern-day American woman, mysteriously time travels to 1891, where she meets Sherlock Holmes at the point of his untimely "death" at the Reichenbach Falls. Disguised as Jack, she and the great detective partner for the next three years travelling, braving dangers, sharing adventures, and facing Holmes' ultimate challenge: boredom. They depend on each other, they like each other, they get on each other's nerves.
With humor, drama, and poignancy, The Death and Life of Sherlock Holmes fills in the details of Holmes' three-year hiatus and continues beyond his return to Baker St. Discover what made him the man he is, get to know the Baker Street Irregulars, and find the answer to that perennial question: Was he gay? No, sorry about that; rather, did he actually exist?
Whether you're a fan of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle looking to expand your Sherlockian horizons, someone meeting Holmes for the first time, or you're simply looking for a good read, this light-hearted adventure will both illuminate and entertain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grace Best-Page
• Release date: Feb 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301604517

Grace Best-Page

I believe in the saying, "Not all who wander are lost." Born in Seattle, I moved with my family many times before we settled in Indianapolis, and after graduating from Wheaton College near Chicago with a teaching degree in physical education, I continued my peripatetic lifestyle. First came five years in the Black Forest of Germany as a dorm assistant in a Canadian boarding school, followed by working as a learning disabilities therapist in Indpls. Working as a nanny in NYC came next, succeeded by two winters in St. Thomas, USVI. Then began a stretch in retail and restaurant work in Indpls., Gatlinburg, TN, and Littleton, NH, and finally, my musician husband, James Page, and I discovered Buena Vista in 2007, where we enjoy the mountain views and friendly people. Over the years, I have traveled extensively, including visiting Japan, Lebanon, and much of the US and Europe. Here in Buena Vista, I worked at the Ark-Valley Humane Society before becoming a free-lance pet and house sitter. Always interested in volunteer work and intellectual stimulation, I volunteer with the Boys and Girls Club, work as a stringer for the local paper, serve as the vice-president of my home owner's association, and have published a novel, "The Death and Life of Sherlock Holmes", under the pen name Grace Best-Page. Additionally, I'm the vice-president of my sister's business BEST Products, Inc., maker of the Original FidoRido Pet Car Seat. My goodness, that all sounds rather formal and bland, so to spice it up, I have also worked in the art department of an independent film, found the body of a murder victim, once received a personal and handwritten reply from Dr. Oliver Sacks, helped move 38 cats and 7 dogs to FL, stood at the foot of Mt. Fuji without actually seeing it, and speak fluent Klingon. Only one of those things isn't true. Hint-it's the last one. One last thing for the curious – we have no children, except for the four-legged kind (one dog and one cat).

Book preview

Chapter One

~ Beginnings ~

In which Jackie meets two important people

Do these hang on the wall? I regarded the well-dressed woman who had just posed the question and then looked at what she was referring to. It was a dozen plaques—hanging on the wall.

No, ma'am, I thought, we're levitating them there. Don't break my concentration. But, being the consummate professional that I am, I merely replied, Yes, ma'am, they do.

I don't know what it is about people on vacation, but for most of the ones who flocked here to Gatlinburg, Tennessee, on the doorstep of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, and found their way into the nature gift shop where I worked, it must be part of the leaving home ritual:

Thermostat—check

Doors locked—check

Brain turned off—check

Like the guy who at 6:30 asked me what time we closed. When I said, Nine, he replied, At night? I paused a beat. Close at nine in the morning? I suppose we could be open for only an hour a day, but I don't think we'd make much money. On the other hand, we'd be closed right now, so I could go home. I was tempted to answer, No, in the morning. We open for one hour a day, so plan accordingly, but instead merely nodded my head with a tired smile.

I decided to straighten around the register before heading back on the floor.

Do you work here? a young man asked.

I certainly hope so, or I'm going to be in trouble with somebody.

Yes, I do, I replied.

How much is this? he wanted to know.

I flipped the CD over and read the price from the sticker on the back.

Eighteen ninety-five? Okay, thanks.

Actually, I should be grateful for the memorable ones, the ones that render one of the humorous signs we sell perfectly true: Don't talk about yourself. We'll do that after you leave. Without them, my job would be even more boring than it was already, especially now that New Year's had just passed and we were entering the slow winter months. Still, there would be enough people drifting in for skiing, special events, and the Winterfest lights to keep us going during the off-season. The day shift was even short a person after that one guy had to be let go for stealing.

I got to work a tad early the next day, something I almost never let happen, and got to chatting with Anne in the back who was packing a box for shipping. She said a new guy had just started.

Oh, yeah? Do you think he'll work out? He's not another teenager or twenty-something, is he? It had been a revolving door with them over the summer.

No, he's older than that. He's a musician in one of the shows and wants a second job to get him through the winter. I think he'll do fine. He picked up the computer easily enough.

Good, it's nice to have a strong person around who can lift.

Anne groaned at the joke, and I left her to her bubble-wrapping.

The new guy was practicing ringing, discounting, and voiding sales when I got up to the register.

That's a good sign, I thought.

He was of medium height and build, had brown hair and, as I later made a point of checking out, brown eyes. I guessed him to be in his early forties, which was about a decade ahead of me. He looked up as I approached.

Hi! I'm Jackie. You must be the new guy.

That would be me. I'm Alan.

Nice to meet you.

Well, that remains to be seen, he said with a smile.

I couldn't help but smile in reply.

You're not from around here, are you? he asked.

Nope. I'm a transplant. Indiana was just too flat. You sound like a transplant, too.

Flatlander from Kansas, guilty as charged. Been here ten years now. He paused. Wow! Hardly seems like that long.

Time flies when you're having fun? I suggested.

Something like that, he replied.

I nodded. I knew exactly what he meant. Time just goes. You get into a routine, or more like a rut, and your life just slips away. That's what was happening to me. If life is going to be tedious, at least let it be tedious in a beautiful place had become my motto.

What's your last name?

That's quick. I didn't learn Anne's last name until I'd known her a month.

I'm fast, what can I say? So, is it a state secret?

Depends on which state, and it's Bowman. For some reason this information caused a funny look on his face. Something wrong with that? I queried.

No, no, nothing wrong. But he just kept looking at me. Jackie Bowman, working in Gatlinburg, moved down from Indiana. Hmm. I like your story.

Well, it's the only one I have. If you prefer, I can make up another one.

Nah, that one's fine.

He walked off to straighten some shirts. There was definitely something odd about this guy. Something likable, too.

When he came back, he surprised me by picking up the conversation. Your name's just familiar somehow, that's all.

Of course it is. I'm a world-famous supermodel. I only work here on my time off to keep me humble.

Yeah, that must be it, he agreed with a twinkle in his eye. And you don't wear makeup because you're under cover. Don't worry, the natural look suits you, he assured me.

I used to wear it, but then decided the expense and effort just weren't worth it. It's quite freeing not messing with it.

My thoughts exactly—I gave it up years ago.

"So, what's your last name? Rickman?"

No, he said, as if he'd heard that one a million times before. Westbrook, actually.

Sorry, doesn't mean anything to me, I said with a shrug.

Oh, good, then my cover as a spy isn't blown.

Not yet, anyway.

We then went about our business, but when it was time for his shift to end and he headed for the back door, I called after him, See you tomorrow, if the CIA hasn't picked you up yet, that is.

He turned. And I'll see you, if you're not in the Bahamas for a photo shoot.

Yeah, Alan was going to be a good coworker. He didn't babble, he didn't hover, he was learning where boxes and prices were before he needed them, and he had a good sense of humor.

The next day, we had a chance to talk some more while unpacking shirts at the register.

What else exciting happened last night? he asked.

"Not much. After work, I watched a little BBC America, then The Hound of the Baskervilles on PBS. Not a very good version, but better than anything else that was on."

Sherlock Holmes, huh? You a fan?

The question came out oddly, as if he had forced it.

Oh, I don't know. No more a fan of him than I am a Trekkie, I guess, which means I've seen them all, but don't own any memorabilia.

And what brought you to this tourist Mecca?

I briefly explained about having wanted to build rental cabins with a trust fund I'd received three years earlier, but it hadn't worked out. Something about a lesson in how not to do things and putting carts before horses.

But at least I got my own house out of it free and clear. Live and learn.

Well, that's something. I rent, but had a lot of trouble getting a place when I first arrived. Seems landlords are prejudiced against musicians.

What do you play?

Keyboards.

What's the problem with that?

People seem to think that all musicians are druggies and drunks and have loud parties every night.

Oh, so they don't? I teased.

Only every other night.

A few days and many chats later, Alan asked if I wanted to join him for a trip to Knoxville.

Nothing exciting, just some errands.

Sounds okay, I found myself saying.

By the time we parted that afternoon, we'd swapped phone numbers. It was fun getting to know him; I hadn't had a friend to hang with for a while. Our trip to Knoxville came and went, and before we knew it, we were phoning daily and enjoying our days off in each other's company.

Sometime in late February, Alan stood checking out the CDs and books on my shelves as I prepared to wow him with my expert cooking of food from a box.

Eclectic, he commented, "and we have a few in common—The Dilbert Future and all the Sherlock Holmes. You've read all these, I assume."

Yes, and some more than once.

I think you'd get along with him.

Who?

Sherlock Holmes.

What? Why?

You're intellectual, you're open to new things, you live quietly.

Oh, yeah, he lived very quietly.

No, I mean, when he wasn't on a case.

It's been a while since I've read the stories.

He was a homebody.

And I am?

Aren't you?

I guess. I'm not exactly a social butterfly.

I think you could say Holmes was the same way. By the way, do you like to travel?

Again with the unexpected questions. Uh-huh, but I haven't been able to do nearly as much as I'd like. Call me a homebody with wanderlust.I laughed slightly. Is that an oxymoron?

He didn't answer, but instead stated, And you like classical music.

"Not just classical."

Maybe not, but at least.

You're very strange, you know that?

He chuckled lightly this time. So I've been told. I think it's in my genes.

Levi's or Lee's?

Hilarious. By the way, I love what you've done with the place. He gestured to quite a bit of wood damage around the bottom of the walls.

Ah, that. I was debating whether or not to mention it, but decided to hope you wouldn't notice. I used to have a pet rabbit. I couldn't bear to keep her in her cage all the time, and thought I was being vigilant when she was running around, but it's amazing how fast she was with the chomping. You know, I used to have definite ideas about interior design and home décor until that critter came along, but I suppose after awhile it just became unimportant to me. What were another few chew marks? They make the house look lived in.

I know what you mean. My brothers and I were always chewing on the baseboards.

Something more for me to ignore, I said with a grin.

Anyhoo, you want to listen to guys from the band sing karaoke? It's something to do, anyway.

Hmmm. Yeah, something, not to mention completely different. I suppose, as long as you promise I won't have to sing.

Fat chance, but I'll see what I can do.

A week later, there I sat watching Alan trying to get out of going up on stage.

Come on, Alan. You can't be the only one not making a fool of himself, the bassist cajoled.

Yeah, piped up the fiddler, I'll give ya a dollar if you do.

I came to the rescue. And I'll give you two dollars if you don't.

Now how can I refuse easy money like that?

I noticed that he and I were just about the only two not over-indulging with drink, and I wondered why such a fun, cute, responsible guy wasn't with someone. I took the plunge to find out.

So, Alan, you might have warned me about there being all couples here. Were you afraid I wouldn't come?

Well, that along with the karaoke. I thought it too much of a double whammy to throw at you all at once, so only mentioned the worst bit.

And the other?

As far as I know, we're just hanging out. I did introduce you as a friend, not as my girlfriend. Is that okay?

Yeah, it is. But what about you? Here you are, basically at a party, and you're not with a significant other. Why is that? If you don't mind my asking.

Witness protection program. That is, I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. And, by the way, I could ask the same of you. It's not like you're ugly.

I raised my eyebrows at him.

I mean, what with your bright blue eyes, decent teeth, blond hair. And you're slim. I'd describe you as cute even.

My stars. What a ringing endorsement. How could any girl resist? But in all honesty, I have looked in a mirror, and I'd have to agree with your assessment. I'm pretty average, though maybe I'm a little tall. I think 5' 6 is taller than normal, isn't it? Anyway, the dimmer the lighting, the cuter I am, so I should be doing pretty well right about now."

Well, are you going to answer my question? Alan hadn't forgotten, and I obliged.

Let's just say there have been two significant others in the past, but they didn't work out. They were both fairly amicable breakups, I might add. No chain saw dividing the goods or juicy material for a reality show. Pretty boring, actually, if you don't count the week of crying myself to sleep. Your turn.

My story's a little better than that. I was married for five years; it seems like a hundred years ago now. No kids, no strings, a few girlfriends since, but no one for the past two years. There, curiosity satisfied? Lucky for you you're not a cat—it might have done you in.

Oh, I think I'm pretty tough. You'll have to tell a better tale than that to do me in.

Somewhere toward the end of March and the beginning of April, I began to think that maybe I'd like there to be more to this relationship than just friendship. On the other hand, was I ready to risk such a good friendship if things went sour? After all, Alan was obviously in no hurry, having shown no interest other than simple friendship, and if I was honest with myself, I wasn't either. Both of us having been burned more than once, I guessed we were a little wary. Yeah, I'd give it more time.

One morning that spring, I woke up to a particularly beautiful day. To celebrate, I put on my favorite Looney Tunes T-shirt and best jeans. It was nice to not have to layer anymore. After breakfast, I settled in to watch the mystery I'd recorded the night before. For all the billions of mysteries I'd read and watched, you'd think I'd finally solve one or two! At least I'd gotten pretty good at figuring out who didn't do it.

Work promised to be a typical day. Personally, I'd rather hike than shop, but, hey, without the shoppers, I wouldn't have a job. I brushed by the huge display of stuffed animals. Ah! Something soft and fuzzy!

And how are you? I picked several off the floor, nestling them carefully in their places while cooing, There you are back with your friends. There's a better view from up here, too. You're so cute.

I finished by patting a few on the head, then turned to see a man holding a stuffed gazelle in one hand and a marked-down T-shirt in the other and staring at me with a wry look.

Um, he grinned, do you work here?

Yes, and sometimes it drives me to this. It's cheaper than drink. I smiled, determined not to be embarrassed.

I understand. In my office I only have paper clips to talk to.

We both laughed, and I helped him with his purchase.

A while later, I turned to Alan. Now that it's slow, I need to run up the street to get my niece's birthday present so I can mail it tomorrow. It'll be my fifteen-minute break.

Sure, that's what you say now, but I'm not going to cover for you when you don't come back.

That's why you're my friend, I retorted, as I grabbed my fanny pack from under the counter and quickly headed for the back before the store filled up with customers again.

I clipped the pack around my waist and banged out the rear door. Immediately I stopped. The parking area wasn't there. Neither were the backs of the neighboring stores nor the path through to the little shopping district I was heading for. Nothing was there but—trees. Trees?! And big, old pine trees at that. I looked back. The door and store were still there, but the store was standing all by itself in a meadow on the edge of a wood. The woods went up a hill in one direction and the meadow down toward a valley in the other. Everything was spectacularly green. Across the valley was another hill, with meadow part way up and then more woods above. There didn't seem to be anyone around. Hills, trees, grassy slopes, spring flowers, blue sky, warm sun—that was all. A spring day in the Alps, I'd say, except that I was supposed to be in Tennessee, in the Smoky Mountains, in Gatlinburg, in a parking lot. I looked back through the glass in the door. There were the boxes strewn around, the dolly, the bubble wrap, the time clock, the jacket I'd brought against the chill of the evening.

Should I go back in? To what? The boredom of my life? There's not much more I can't stand than being bored, I said out loud. If I went back in just to tell Alan, would all this still be here? Shouldn't I at least grab my jacket? My cell phone was in it. I looked back at the trees and the meadow. The sunshine felt good on my face and arms. Not a fiber of my being would allow me not to investigate. After all, does Alice not go down holes? Does Captain Kirk not explore strange new worlds? It was decided. I wouldn't even risk stepping back inside for the jacket or phone. If that was a mistake, then so be it. Now only the direction remained for me to choose. Further up and further in, I quoted from C.S. Lewis. So up the hill and into the trees I went.

I stopped a little way past the tree line to look back. I was a little surprised, but also relieved, to see that the store was still there. It looked forlorn and out of place, disconnected from its proper attachments of pavement, sidewalk, and adjacent buildings. I wondered what Alan could see from the inside. I took a few more steps away, then paused, not turning around. Maybe I should go back and just circle the building, look inside the front windows? No! The answer screamed inside my head. No! Whatever you do, Jackie, don't chance getting sucked back into that place and life, away from whatever adventure this is. Fear gripped me, but not of what was happening, but of reaching the end of my life and having nothing to look back on but the ordinariness of what it had been so far. I would not let that happen! I turned to say goodbye to the lone remnant of my prior existence, but now nothing remained but grass and flowers. The building had disappeared, and with it, possibly my only way home. I felt a lump in my throat and my breathing stopped for a moment, but I collected myself and emphatically said to the air, That settles that then, and hurried into the forest.

Excitement gripped me. I was exhilarated by a sense of adventure and breathed deeply of the pine scent. I didn't care how this had come about—I was only glad that it had. As the climb continued, I was grateful for the shade of the trees. The longer I walked, the lighter my heart became. I felt like a kid playing hooky. The main sensation I now had was a peaceful sense of freedom. I listened to the birds, touched pine bark and needles. I suspected there'd be plenty of time to panic over trivialities like food and water later. Why spoil a perfectly wonderful walk now?

Suddenly, something else caught my notice. I walked on, listening hard. Finally, I could identify it as rushing water. As I followed the sound, it grew louder, and I could make out a break in the trees. Coming out into the clear, I stood enchanted. A high waterfall cascaded down into a chasm, vapor rising from the roiling pool below. The cliff walls rose smooth and straight from the bottom of the abyss to the top, but cutting across the side of the cliff opposite me was a narrow path leading to a sizable patch of ground from which one could look up to the top of the falls and follow the plunge of the water. I remained there for a few moments, drinking it all in. Jackie, you're definitely not in Kansas anymore.

Then a movement arrested my attention. Across the way and a little above the path, a man was climbing down from a small ledge in the middle of what I had thought to be a sheer rock face. What in the world is he doing? was my first reaction, but I quickly followed it with, He's not even wearing climbing gear—he's in street clothes! No, he's in old-fashioned street clothes. Something seemed vaguely familiar about all this, but I was too intrigued by what I saw to give it much thought.

What was that? A boulder crashed down the cliff side, narrowly missing the descending figure. The idea that I recognized all this thrust itself into my consciousness again. Zing! Another boulder went hurtling over the man's head down into the depths. I looked across to see what was causing the falling rocks. A person was leaning over the edge. I could barely believe my eyes when he lifted a large stone and heaved it down the side. His intentions were clear when this stone, too, barely avoided sending the man to his death.

Then I knew. I remembered what this scene was. It was the Reichenbach Falls episode out of the Sherlock Holmes stories I'd read and watched. That had to be Holmes himself after his fight with Professor Moriarty at the path's edge, and that had to be Colonel Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's henchman, trying to finish Holmes off. But of course that was impossible. How could they be here? Then again, how could I be here? Was their presence any more improbable than my own?

Moran peered over the precipice at Holmes, then disappeared; I assumed he was searching for another rock. I had to do something—but what? Did I even have to do anything? No time to second guess or debate the temporal prime directive philosophies of Kirk and Picard. A scheme formed in my mind that would hopefully work and hopefully not disrupt the space-time continuum—like it wasn't disrupted already—like I knew what I was talking about.

First I had to cross the river so Moran could hear me. The water rushed with frightening speed over the falls, but farther up the river there may be a way. Frantically, I scrambled along. There couldn't be a way—this isn't the movies! But to my surprise and relief, there it was—a fallen tree lying across the river. If I shimmied along it, I could grab the end branch and swing myself down and just reach the other side. I gulped, then scrambled onto the trunk. The roar of the falls and the sight of the rapidly moving water made my head swim for a moment. One slip and this adventure would turn into a disaster. No! I wouldn't think like that. Time was of the essence. With the help of adrenaline from my excited state, I made each move as I thought of it, leaving no time to become paralyzed with fear. I reached the end branch, dropped down and took off running.

I ran to what I judged to be within Moran's earshot. From behind a tree, I yelled at the top of my lungs, Father, Uncle Robert, the falls are over here! Then I carefully peeked around my tree. Colonel Moran was desperately trying to spot the interlopers. He didn't see me, but quickly disappeared anyway, vanishing into the forest.

I hurried over to the edge and saw Holmes scrambling back down to the path. Ouch! That had to be painful. As he neared the path, practically free falling, I rushed along the edge to try to reach him. When I got close, I could see Holmes heading away into the woods. How could I get his attention and how could I make him stop—a man who is running for his life? Suddenly I felt real fear, the fear of being on my own out here, in this time and place, with no resources and no friends. What had I done!?

Sanctuary, Mr. Holmes! I screamed.

He whirled around like he'd been shot.

Sanctuary, Mr. Holmes! I shouted again.

He still moved away, backing slowly, even as he looked at me.Then he stopped dead in his tracks. I came closer. He made a feint as if to continue running, but stopped again. I came nearer. He was staring hard, but not at my face. His gaze was riveted on the fanny pack hanging in front of me. After what seemed like forever, but was probably 30 seconds, he dragged his eyes up to my face. He looked at it, though not as someone looking at another person. He had the appearance of my 70-year-old aunt studying a piece of modern art and not quite getting it. Then his eyes traveled down to my T-shirt—the one with the Looney Tunes characters embroidered on the front, then down to my blue jeans, to my shoulder-length straight blond hair, then back down to my white sneakers, then up again to my face, and down, and up, and then he just stood there, looking quizzical, his eyes narrow. I hazarded to speak first, not really knowing what to say. The words just spilled out.

You're safe, Mr. Holmes. You have three years. Colonel Moran is gone. No one's chasing you.

He looked at me uncomprehendingly. I knew I had spoken quickly, but had he really not understood? I waited.

At last he spoke. From when are you?

That was a question I didn't expect. After a moment's hesitation, I answered, 2007.

His expression barely changed, but I could see the gears spinning in his head.

How did you get here? he asked, surprisingly calm.

I don't know. I stepped outside the store where I work, and the parking lot wasn't there. There were all these trees. When I turned around, the building was still there, but nothing else around it. I could have gone back inside, but -,

I paused. How do I explain why I didn't? Should I even try?

I could have gone back inside, I said again, but I didn't want to.

I said this evenly and deliberately, looking into his eyes to see if my words had any effect, but Holmes was inscrutable.

Anyway, I walked a bit; I looked back once and it was still there, but when I looked again it was gone. So I kept walking. I happened upon the waterfall and recognized the scene from the book.

Again I stopped. His expression didn't change.

When I saw that you were leaving, I ran to catch you before you got away and I was left here, well, alone.

At the word 'alone,' his expression softened, and for the first time he looked at me like I was an actual human being.

You say I am in no danger. You will pardon me if I choose not to take your word for it. Keep up if you can.

He then turned on his heel and strode quickly away. I followed, feeling a bit like a lost puppy that had just been found by the side of the road. But what a rescuer—Sherlock Holmes!

Wow! Sherlock Holmes! Unbelievable! This whole things is impossible! My mind was going a mile a minute. How could this be? Well, I won't be able to figure it out right now, if I ever do. Right now I need to concentrate on keeping up with Sherlock Holmes! And keep up was what I definitely needed to do. Even though I was in fairly decent shape having hiked quite a lot, it wasn't long before I was lagging. He never showed any sign of tiring. Sooner than you'd expect, I went from thinking How great is this! to Geez! It's not fair! He never exercises! After a while I just looked at my feet, concentrating on simply putting one foot in front of the other. Now and again I glanced up to see if he was still in sight. He must have checked on me, too, but I never saw him do it. Finally, after what seemed hours, I couldn't stand it any longer. Nature was not only calling, she was screaming at me.

Mr. Holmes! I called out more sharply than I intended.

He turned around and waited for me to catch up.

What? His piercing gaze withered the tongue in my mouth.

It had been growing dark for some time now, but even so his expression was clear enough. I had faced down angry bosses and irate customers, but now I'd been struck dumb. Good glory, but you're intimidating!

Ahhhh—.

What?

I—I need to—that is, I, uh, well—what I mean is, um—I need to commune with nature.

Excuse me?

I was obviously irritating him. I'd better just blurt it out.

You know, go off behind a tree for a moment.

Oh.

He didn't say anything else, which I took as consent.

Okay. I'll be right back.

I went off behind the biggest tree I could find. My business done, I hurried back, trying to shake off my embarrassment by reminding myself that nature calls to all of us; well, to most of us. I wasn't so sure about him. But when I got to where I'd left him, he was nowhere to be seen. He wouldn't leave me, would he? Oh, no. There he was, just emerging from behind a large pine himself. I unsuccessfully suppressed a grin. If he saw it, he ignored it. Well, what do you know? We have established that he is indeed human after all.

We walked on. After first leaving the falls, we had traveled straight across the hills, then after a while headed sometimes up and sometimes down. Eventually, though, Holmes led me predominantly downhill. Now, as we emerged from the woods, pastureland opened before us. There were hay fields and a small lake off to the left, but I had no time to enjoy the view. The moon had risen, giving sufficient light, and I thought we might rest for the night, but no, Holmes kept going. He keeps going and going and going. I pressed on doggedly. If we came to a road, we avoided it. If there was a house, we turned away from it. By now I was starving. If it hadn't been for a couple of streams we'd passed at which I'd quenched my thirst, I would never have made it this far. Even Holmes had refreshed himself at one of them. Now, thankfully, he had slackened his pace and I was able to walk more comfortably. The temperature had dropped, but the constant movement kept me warm enough. I saw a village ahead, though I had the uneasy feeling that we were not going to enjoy its comforts. Sure enough, Holmes stopped on the outskirts at a stand of trees near a stream.

Wait here, he instructed.

He walked away and soon disappeared among the buildings. It must have been extremely late, but a few scattered lights were still visible.

I sat down against an evergreen. It sure felt good to be off my feet. I closed my eyes and must have dozed off, as I was soon startled by a noise. It was Holmes, and he had food. Well, okay, he had two stale rolls, but still it was something. I almost inhaled mine; he savored his. We both drank from the stream, and then he settled down for what I hoped was the rest of the night; that is, he stretched a bit, sat down, straightened out his long legs, crossed his arms, and leaned up against a tree, looking very relaxed and comfortable despite his cuts and bruises from his trip down the cliff face. I sat there in the dark with this strange, silent companion and thought about how glad I was to be on this adventure, even though I was filthy, exhausted, ravenous—and now growing cold. I thought ruefully of the jacket I'd left behind. Had I learned nothing from watching TV?!

My thoughts shifted to my fearless leader and wondered why he just sat there. Why doesn't he say anything? Why doesn't he ask me anything? If he believes I'm from the future, or even if he doesn't, he has to be curious. This is so odd. Maybe he's just trying to figure out what his next step will be. The world thinks he's dead, so that opens up a lot of opportunities, but closes a lot of doors as well. And then of course, he's stuck with a female, of all genders, so he has to figure out what to do with me. I'm quite at his mercy. I must try very hard to not get on his nerves. So far, I've called him Mr. Holmes. Now that he's dead, he'll have to have another name. Hmm. Another name. I wondered if he was asleep yet. No, in the moonlight I could just make him out blinking and staring off into the night.

I plucked up the courage to say, Mr. Holmes?

Uhnn, came his response.

I've been thinking.

Pause.

Yes?

About what I should call you.

Yes?

His voice carried a note of suspicion as to what I may be going to say next.

Well, I mean Sherlock Holmes is dead, so I can't call you that. You need an alias, and I was thinking of something along the lines of 'Jeremy Rathbone' or 'Basil Brett.'

Miss Bowman, you may call me anything you wish, but right now I would be much obliged if you would not call me at all.

With that he pulled a cloth cap out of his jacket pocket, put it over his face, and fell instantly to sleep.

Must be nice, I thought.

Chapter Two

~ Together ~

In which Holmes makes a decision

I knew I'd never be able to sleep. I've never found sitting in the middle of the woods on hard ground up against a knobby tree to be my optimal position for repose. I sat there huddled, hugging my knees, trying to stay warm. The ground was slightly damp and the chill was seeping into my bones. I looked around, wide awake. It was darker than before, the moon now hidden behind clouds. It was very dark—spooky dark. The trees started to look like—now, Jackie. Don't go there. Get a grip. They're just trees. But the sounds, the noises! Animals, Jackie. Animals you've read about—Ratty, Mole, and Badger over there. And over here it's Pooh, Piglet, and Rabbit lost in the woods, and Tigger coming to find them. Keep a hold of yourself. You're getting sleepy—very, very sleepy. Is it possible to hypnotize yourself? Probably not. I looked over at Holmes—sleeping like a baby, not moving a muscle. He looked positively dead. All I could think about was the cold, the lateness of the hour, my empty stomach, and my exhausted muscles. Maybe if I curl up in the fetal position. No, that's not helping. I sat up again. Still Holmes never moved. Maybe if I sat closer to him I could hear him breathing and he wouldn't look so dead. No, it's colder over here without the tree against my back. I moved again. No, it's too late! I can't get that warmth back. Well, if I curl up and put my back to his leg—just barely—maybe he'll be a windbreak or something, even though the cold is seeping up through the ground. Rats!

I moved over a bit more and pressed my back against his leg. Aaah! One warm streak down my spine. Well, maybe I will survive the night after all. That would show him I'm a force to be reckoned with! But what if he wakes up and sees me here or feels me against him? What would he think? Most likely he'd think the reasonable thing – that I'm freezing to death and desperate times call for desperate measures. Anyway, what's he going to do, glare at me?

I decided to stay put and chance the consequences. I lay there shivering, the cold and my discomfort turning ecstasy into enmity. Huh! Some gentleman he is, with his long-sleeved shirt and his jacket and hat and me in short sleeves. Always treating a woman like a lady, my eye! I'll never get to sleep. I'm cold, I'm hungry, I'm exhausted, and I'm miserable. I will never get to sleep!

Several hours later I awoke. The sun wasn't up yet, but there was light. I got up on one elbow and looked around at Holmes. He was in exactly the same position as before, leg still against my back, hat still over his face, but his jacket was now draped over me. Actually, it was tucked quite carefully around me. I smiled. Felt kind of warm and fuzzy towards him. I put my head back down and silently recanted my curses of the night before.

A moment later his leg moved. I wondered if he'd been awake long. As we both stood up, he replaced his hat onto his head, brushed himself off, then stretched – a big, unselfconscious stretch.