The Case of the Displaced Detective: The Arrival: Displaced Detective, #1

By Stephanie Osborn

The Case of the Displaced Detective: The Arrival is a SF mystery in which brilliant hyperspatial physicist, Dr. Skye Chadwick, discovers there are alternate realities, often populated by those we consider only literary characters. Her pet research, Project: Tesseract, hidden deep under Schriever AFB, finds Continuum 114, where Sherlock Holmes was to have died along with Moriarty at the Reichenbach Falls. In a Knee-jerk reaction, Skye rescues Holmes, who inadvertently flies through the wormhole to our universe, while his enemy plunges to his death. Unable to go back without causing devastating continuum collapse, Holmes must stay in our world and adapt. Meanwhile, the Schriever AFB Dept of Security discovers a spy ring working to dig out the details of - and possibly sabotage - Project: Tesseract. Can Chadwick help Holmes come up to speed in modern investigative techniques in time to stop the spies? Will Holmes be able to thrive in our modern world? Is Chadwick now Holmes' new "Watson" - or more? And what happens next?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Enigma House Press
• Release date: May 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393093954

Book preview

Prologue—Objects, Subjects, and Beginnings

A tall, dark figure, clad in formal Victorian eveningwear, strode briskly down the shadowed street, casually swinging his silver-embellished walking stick. No carriages had passed in the last half-hour, and only one hansom cab had wandered by ten minutes before, its horse’s hollow hoofbeats echoing between the buildings. The gas street-lamps were long since lit, but between them were patches of deep darkness, patches entirely too broad for comfort in these circumstances. Beneath the brim of his silk top hat, eagle-sharp grey eyes darted about, studying the shadows, alert and aware. For well this man knew that danger lurked in the gloom this night, danger peculiar to him alone; and he was alone. So very alone.

But not for long. He was headed to a specific destination. To the one man he knew he could trust, the one man who would stand at his side regardless of danger—for had he not done so, many times before? Was not this the reason for the deep, if largely unspoken, bond of friendship between them?

His friend would help. There was no doubt in his mind on that point.

Already today two attempts had been made upon his life, and well did this man need help.

Not far now, the words breathed past thin, pale lips. Almost ther—

The words died on said lips.

A hulking, brutish shadow materialised from the alleyway in front of him.

The elegant man in the top hat ducked just in time to avoid the lead-weighted bludgeon that swung through the space his head had occupied fractions of a second before. Instead, the silk hat took the brunt of the blow, flying across the sidewalk and into a puddle in the gutter, its side crushed.

Flinging up his cane and grasping each end in his hands, the gentleman dropped into an Oriental horse stance, and prepared to do battle.

’Ere, now, the other figure said, in a coarse growl. Hit’s th’ end o’ you, it is. Me superior won’t be ‘arvin’ it, an’ Oi means t’ see ‘e don’t ‘arve ta.

You can try, the gentleman replied, calm. But better men than you have tried, and here I stand.

A guttural, angry sound emerged from the assailant, and the cudgel swung again, this time with enough force to crush bone. Deft, the gentleman caught it with the center of his cane, but to his chagrin the walking-stick, his weapon of choice in many a similar street altercation, chose that moment to give up the ghost. It snapped in two, splintering and cracking. He snarled his own irritation, and flung the pieces aside when he realised there was not enough left to use as a decent weapon.

Then he began to flit and weave as the other man smirked and lunged at him, swinging the club repeatedly, as hard as he could. It was a dance of death, and one wrong move by the gentleman would have serious, possibly fatal, consequences.

But the man in the evening dress was not without weapons; no, his best weapons were permanently attached to his person. The alert grey eyes watched, looking for some opening; and when he saw his chance, he struck like lightning.

A fist shot out at the loutish face, catching the hit man squarely in the mouth just as he realised his danger and started to shout for help. All that came out was a grunt, however, and the assassin fell to the pavement as if pole-axed, with both lips split.

The gentleman hissed in pain, grabbing his fist with his other hand for a moment to let the worst of the discomfort pass before examining the damage.

By Jove, he has sharp teeth for such a troglodyte, he murmured, peeling off the ruined black kid glove to expose the bloody knuckles beneath.

Completely through the leather and into the flesh. I shall have to have this disinfected, for certain. No time for that now. Go, man! He turned swiftly to resume his journey.

A crack resounded from the brownstone close at hand, and the man felt a spray of stone chips strike the side of his face. He flinched, and a sharp curse left his lips. He took to his heels and rounded the corner of the street, then disappeared into shadow.

Not ten feet away from the gentleman, though invisible to him, an elegant blonde woman in a white lab coat stood between tall, electronic towers. Behind her, concentric rows of computer consoles were manned by two dozen scientists, engineers, and technicians. Surrounding all of them was a huge, domed room carved from solid pink granite.

The woman stood for long minutes, silent, watching.

Finally one of the technicians broke the electronic silence.

So, Doc, whaddaya think?

What do you think, Jim? How were the readings? The woman turned toward him.

I’ve got bang-on, Dr. Chadwick, Jim noted, glancing down at his own console, brown eyes darting about as he surveyed his readouts. But I can’t say for everybody else.

Rock steady at Timelines, someone else called.

Sequencing looks good… another said.

Software’s running nominally.

Hardware’s humming right along…

On it went, from console to console. Finally the woman nodded.

Perfect, she purred in deep satisfaction. "We’ve got our subject. Page Dr.

Hughes and have her come down."

On it, Doc, Jim grinned, reaching for the phone.

1

Water Falls Through Wormholes

Are you sure, Skye? Dr. Caitlin Hughes, the Project Director, a roly-poly redheaded woman, murmured to the attractive woman at her side.

I’m sure, Cait. Dr. Skye Chadwick, a tall, athletic, well-proportioned blonde in her late thirties, and Project: Tesseract’s chief scientist, tucked an escaped strand of long spun gold behind one ear; the rest remained in the thick French braid that draped down her neck. We’ve dinked all the way around it for several months now. We’ve got the alternate continuum thoroughly mapped out, and we know what we’re doing. All systems are fully operational and running like the proverbial top. It’s time to go in and observe firsthand. We’ll watch the actual event, then send in an exploration team. She turned and met her friend’s bright green eyes. Don’t worry. Washington will be more than satisfied.

Oh, I’m not worried about that, the project manager waved away the reassurances. I just don’t want you or any of the team getting hurt if something goes wrong.

Nothing will go wrong, Dr. Chadwick said, almost in a whisper, but with confidence. Dr. Hughes took one look at the blue eyes, glancing between the clipboard full of notes and the information on the monitors, and realized Skye was concentrating on the preparations. Caitlin waited for a few moments, allowing Skye to follow through on the prep work before speaking again.

"I can’t believe you actually found an alternate timeline like this one.

It’s…well, it’s fascinating. The similarities, and the differences…"

Yeah, Dr. Chadwick chuckled. "You know, the parallel universe concept has been around a long time, and it looks like we’ve finally managed to prove it.

I’ll be glad to get this done and the sanitized paper written and published on the matter. It’ll blow the community wide open, not to mention the whole field of research."

Watch out how you write it. If you’re not careful, your colleagues will think you’ve gone off the deep end and believe that TV show is real. Dr. Hughes laughed.

Oh, you mean the time gate thing they film up in Canada? Dr. Chadwick grinned mischievously. Whose idea was that, anyway? It’s made for one of the best covers for a classified project I’ve ever seen.

Nobody you’d know, Caitlin smirked. Friend of mine in the Pentagon came up with it. He’s a real smart-ass. Fun guy, but full of it.

You don’t mean Mike Waters, do you? Skye snorted, a decidedly amused, if unladylike, sound.

The very one. I didn’t know you knew him.

Hell, yeah. Met him when I was in Washington two years ago for that conference. I don’t think I told you, but he made a play for me. We even dated once or twice, but it didn’t work out. I never could figure out how he wound up in D.C. instead of L.A., though.

He said it was more of a challenge. Dr. Hughes shrugged, then paused.

This is going to be really interesting, Skye. I mean, aside from the proof of concept, you’re going to get to watch one of your heroes. In action, no less.

Dr. Chadwick nodded, the expression on her face depicting decidedly mixed emotions.

Yeah. I can’t believe he’s real. But you know, there was this science fiction author…he theorized that our literature is reality elsewhere, and vice versa. Lemme think…who the hell was it…? Somebody famous…Oh! Robert Heinlein! You know, his ‘World as Myth’ concept. And an Argentine writer named Jorge Luis Borges first introduced the concept, sorta, even before quantum mechanics did. So I guess it makes sense after a fashion.

Dr. Hughes listened, understanding the notion; but she knew Chadwick better than to be easily diverted, and she scrutinized her friend, then pursued the issue. This is hurting you.

He’s going to die—for real—and I get to watch it. I mean, in this continuum, there isn’t a happy ending after the Falls. Wouldn’t it hurt you, if he was your hero? Dr. Chadwick shrugged.

Yeah. Yeah, I guess it would, Caitlin sighed, sobering. Why are you doing this particular timeline, then?

Because the team voted, for one, and for two, it’s the only one we’ve found where the incident isn’t…spied on. The…compatriot, henchman, whatever you want to call him…got rounded up, in this particular scenario. There’s only the two men, and we’ll be the sole witnesses to what really happened. When it’s…over, we’ll send observers in, take a good look, record some data, and pull out. We’ll be the only beings in the multiverse with an actual record of what happened. Skye shrugged, trying to appear indifferent.

Oh, Caitlin said, subdued.

Dr. Chadwick, Dr. Hughes, it’s ready, Jim the technician called from across the large underground room.

That’s our cue, Dr. Chadwick noted, managing to approximate a cheerful smile, addressing the room at large. Everyone please stand behind the yellow line until the doors open. No food, drink, flash photography, or video cameras are permitted. Once aboard the ride, please keep your hands and arms inside the vehicle at all times until we come to a full and complete stop. Otherwise, they’re apt to end up in another universe somewhere without ya, and wouldn’t that fry your noggin?

Outright laughter ran around the room, and Dr. Chadwick added, Checklist out! She raised the clipboard she had held absently in one hand for the last several minutes while she talked, scanning over it.

Checklist… the nearest experiment controller parroted.

Checklist out, the next nearest vouched.

Checklist here… and so on, around the room.

Go/no-go call, Dr. Chadwick announced. Processing?

Go.

Software?

Go.

Timelines?

Go.

Sequencing?

Go…

Ten minutes later, all was in readiness. Caitlin and Skye exchanged silent, eloquent looks. Caitlin became Project Manager Dr. Hughes, who nodded authoritatively. Dr. Chadwick accepted the unspoken permission to proceed.

Sequencing, bring us to observation mode, the chief scientist ordered.

Going to observation mode, the Sequencing position noted.

Dr. Chadwick checked off a block on her clipboard.

The room in which they stood was underground, deep beneath Schriever Air Force Base outside Colorado Springs, Colorado. The Chamber, as it was called, was the most secure facility in the United States, even more secure than Cheyenne Mountain, some miles to the west, newer, and far more advanced technologically. The underground facility was composed of a single large central chamber and eight smaller support rooms clustered around the main room, all carved of solid granite. Skye, Caitlin, and their companions occupied the central chamber, while support teams manned the equipment in each of the secondary rooms. Outside the complex, high-speed elevators and a network of corridors terminating in security airlocks covertly connected them to the rest of the base.

The center of the huge rock-hewn room stood empty. The controller consoles huddled close around the periphery, but eight large columns, monoliths of titanium steel and circuits, surrounded the empty center. Upon Dr. Chadwick’s order, a hum began, moving sequentially around the room from column to column as the system powered up. A carbon dioxide laser beam shot out, interlacing the monoliths in the classic hypercube design, exchanging data, forging them into one coherent unit. In the volume of space contained within the high-tech Stonehenge, vague, three-dimensional, ghostlike images flitted.

Locus, Dr. Chadwick called to the appropriately-labeled console, dial in to Switzerland. Meiringen. The Falls.

The images translated in a dizzying kaleidoscope, then settled on an almost holographic image of a tall, multi-tiered waterfall high in the Swiss Alps.

Timelines, shift to Continuum 114… Dr. Chadwick checked off a block on her clipboard. No change was seen, save that the hologram flickered momentarily.

Continuum 114, the Timelines position called. Date?

Year 1891 of the Current Era, month five, day four, Dr. Chadwick answered. Another check.

Multicolored flashes darted through the hologram for several minutes, then settled.

Time? came the request.

13:30 Greenwich Mean Time.

Copy, 13:30 Greenwich, Timelines answered.

The falling water sped up to a ridiculous rate, then suddenly slowed to a complete stop. After a moment, it resumed a normal flow. Abruptly two men could be seen on a ledge near the top of the falls. One—tall, thin, dark-haired, grey-eyed, handsome in an austere, hawk-like sort of way—sat quietly on a rock only yards from the pinnacle of the path, clad in Victorian-style tweed traveling clothes. A sturdy hiking staff rested against the side of the rock on which he sat, and he calmly scribbled something on a notepad. The other man was older: Balding, stoop-shouldered, almost reptilian in movement and appearance, clad in black, waiting patiently along the downward path, and in a subtle, almost menacing way, blocking it. Before them, the falls leapt down in tiers for over six hundred and fifty feet. To one side, a gleaming, wet rock wall; on the other, a sheer drop.

Track subjects. Initiate recording. Begin silent protocol, Dr. Chadwick ordered in an absent voice, her eyes fixed on the image in the center of the room.

Sequencing, focus, please.

Suddenly the images in the center of the room became more than images.

They solidified.

Skye and Caitlin tiptoed forward until they stood right outside the ring of monoliths, looking between two of the columns at the active tableau. Skye tensed, face drawn. Caitlin divided her attention between the events unfolding within the monoliths, and the pale, strained expression on her friend’s face.

The tweed-clad man studied his handiwork for a moment, then nodded to himself. He stood and removed the pages from the notepad, then placed them on the stone, weighting them down with a handsome silver cigarette case produced from a pocket. He studied the positioning, then adjusted case and papers. A small shift in the location of the hiking stick seemed to suit him at last, convincing him it would now draw attention to the objects resting on the dark grey stone. Then, with a grim, set jaw, he turned to his companion.

Well, he murmured, shall we complete this unsavoury little business?

We shall, his older, black-clad companion agreed coldly.

The pair turned and walked to the very end of the path, wet with spray from the falls. Tweed Suit, pale but calm, turned and faced Black Coat. With a fierce, angry growl, Black Coat launched himself at Tweed Suit, a murderous gleam in his eye. Tweed Suit dropped into a martial arts crouch and closed with his opponent, but despite Tweed Suit’s greater strength and skill, Black Coat’s fury gave him a strength that was equal to his opponent. The pair grappled, teetering on the very rim of the precipice.

Skye’s respiration was rapid, and every muscle in her body was rigid. Caitlin briefly noticed this before the fight in the center of the room drew her complete attention.

Dear God, the gaping, horrified project manager breathed, barely audible even to herself, as she finally, truly grasped she was about to witness the deaths of two men.

At that very instant, Tweed Suit’s foot slipped. Desperate leather-clad toes fought for purchase, and the younger of the two men managed to twist around, away from the precipitous drop. Simultaneously he pyramided his fingers and thrust both arms up between the hands grasping him homicidally by the throat, then forced them outward, swift and powerful. The chokehold broke. A tweed knee caught Black Coat hard in the groin, and not accidentally.

Black Coat staggered back with a gasping cry of pain. His foot slipped on the wet stone and he lunged backward, arms flailing. One frantic, flapping hand caught Tweed’s coat lapel. When that makeshift anchor was realized, the other hand followed. Tweed Suit gasped as he was jerked forward. He instantly reached to break Black Coat’s grip while leaning back as hard as he could in a desperate attempt to counterbalance Black Coat’s weight and avoid being pulled over the edge. The deep-sunken, dark eyes of Black Coat blazed in malevolent, Pyrrhic triumph at Tweed as he deliberately threw his weight backward in an attempt to pull them both over the ledge. Tweed Suit saw Black Coat’s intent, and his fingers slipped under his lapel, fighting with all his strength to free himself of the death grip and its human anchor-weight as his feet slid inexorably toward oblivion.

Skye watched in horror as the scenario unfolded. For a split-instant, the scientist found herself caught up into the drama, an integral part of it. And it was in that split-instant that she reacted on instinct.

HOLMES! she shouted, lunging forward before anyone could even think of stopping her, directly between the two nearest monoliths.

Tweed Suit’s head shot around in surprised recognition at the name, wide grey eyes fixing in shock on the strangely-clad woman in the lab coat and blue jeans who had just materialized from a solid rock cliff face. Mere fractions of a second later, his opponent, too, responded, muttering, Strings? as he struggled to reinforce his grip on Tweed Suit.

Without hesitation, still carried forward by the momentum of her lunge, the tall blonde took two swift steps through the bracken and shrubs along the rock face. In the same motion, she brought the edge of her clipboard down across Black Coat’s wrists with a loud crack, deliberately striking the pressure points as she did so. Black Coat’s grasp instantly loosed, and the two men fairly shot apart, one propelled by gravity, the other by the opposing force of his counterbalance.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes, his world’s first consulting-detective, staggered backward into the cliff face…and disappeared.

Dr. Skye Chadwick watched in horror as Professor James Moriarty, his world’s first Western crime lord, plunged over the precipice of the Reichenbach Falls with a dreadful cry, bouncing twice off rock spurs on the way down.

Oh, dear God, Chadwick whispered, before turning and sprinting for the cliff.

She, too, vanished.

As soon as she emerged into the Chamber, Chadwick spun, looking back for her own footprints, scrutinizing the ledge. There were none, due to the fact she had, fortunately, trod only on the wet stone of the ledge itself, and not in the black mud of the path. The bracken along the rock wall was bedraggled and torn, it was true; but that could as easily have been from the fight as her passage. She took a quick, deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.

Priority terminate! she exclaimed.

Emergency? Timelines queried.

Negative! Priority only, Skye said firmly. Repeat, priority only.

Roger, priority only…

In seconds Project: Tesseract was smoothly powered down.

She simply stood there, silent, gazing vacantly into the empty center of the room, in shock. No sound was heard for long moments, as the scientists, technicians, and government workers stared at her; at the strange, anachronistic man picking himself up from the floor near her; and at each other.

Dear God, what have I done? she murmured aloud. Chadwick put her hand over her eyes, badly shaken. Holmes moved forward, laying a light, comforting hand on her shoulder.

Saved my life, he responded quietly. And for that, I thank you.

You’re welcome. But I…I’m a scientist. I…wasn’t supposed to… Chadwick stammered.

You were to observe only, and you intervened instead. Holmes’ eyebrow rose, as he comprehended what she couldn’t bring herself to say.

Yes.

You couldn’t help it, Skye. Dr. Hughes came up behind her, putting a hand on her other shoulder. You aren’t ‘just’ a scientist. You’re a—well, you were—a police officer, a detective even, and that side of you is just as strong. ‘To protect and serve,’ and all that. Besides, you…‘know’ him. You couldn’t let him die.

I killed a man, Cait, Skye protested in a low tone. He died. I saw his brains splatter all over the rocks. Oh, Lord, help… she added fervently, as her stomach lurched at the memory. She turned toward the door.

Where are you going? Hughes asked, sharper than she intended, as Holmes and the others watched.

To my office upstairs, Chadwick replied, her voice uneven. When you’re ready to send the military police to arrest me, I’ll be there, waiting…or if not, maybe in the ladies’ room, tossing my breakfast.

Military police? Why should I do that? Hughes protested.

I violated the protocol and I killed a man.

Hughes marched herself over to stand before Chadwick. The two women were almost of a height, but Chadwick still had a couple of inches over Hughes, who stared up into the intense blue gaze.

You know as well as I do the protocol isn’t formally established yet except for Morris’ orders. As for the other, you saved a good man and let a crime lord die. Hughes stabbed a finger toward Holmes.

Skye rounded on Caitlin and snapped.

Do I look like a jury?! Are you a judge? What right did I have to so much as move? They weren’t even from our continuum! She put her hands over her face in despair. What have I done? I can’t believe what I just did. Call Security to get Holmes into a neutral secure area. I’ll be in my office.

Holmes heard the reference to continuum and looked puzzled.

At the risk of being considered impolite…might I enquire as to precisely what is going on, and where—or, perhaps more to the point, WHEN—I am? he wondered laconically. It is patently obvious that this equipment is far more advanced than anything in my brother’s accounting office…

Oh, dear God in heaven, Skye groaned from behind her hands. Cait…

No, Dr. Hughes responded firmly. You’re chief scientist. You can explain it best.

All right. Give me about five minutes…maybe ten…to get myself under control, then bring him in. I’ll explain, then we can get the General to tell us what to do. Chadwick sighed, defeated.

Precisely ten minutes later, Caitlin entered Skye’s office with Sherlock Holmes. Skye glanced over her shoulder and nodded briefly, noting Holmes was now wearing the C-badge of an escorted visitor clipped to the lapel of his tweed jacket; Caitlin had evidently been very busy.

Skye had divested herself of her lab coat, which now hung on a hook behind the office door. Her back was to the door, as she studied a series of equations on the chalkboard behind the desk.

Skye, Caitlin said in frustration, WHEN are you going to move into the next century and get a whiteboard? And that clipboard of yours…

Skye shot her a lopsided, wry grin. It didn’t reach her eyes.

After what just happened downstairs, allow me my eccentricities, Cait. I use what I prefer. Besides, an electronic pad can’t be used as a weapon, she pointed out ruefully.

Whatever. Here, Mr. Holmes, Caitlin offered, showing Holmes to a chair in front of Skye’s desk. I’ll be back with the General soon. Meanwhile, this is Dr. Skye Chadwick, our chief scientist. You’ve met, obviously, but not been introduced.

Thank you, Dr. Hughes, Holmes nodded courteously, taking the indicated seat. I am looking forward to fully understanding what is occurring. Other than the fact that we are well over a century in my future—if it is MY future; in America, in an underground government facility of some sort near the Colorado Rocky Mountains, specifically Pikes Peak, so I assume the nearest city of any import to be Colorado Springs…I am afraid I have little grasp of your project.

Wha…how…? Caitlin’s jaw dropped.

An expectant Holmes sat and watched Skye but did not answer.

Skye shot Caitlin a rueful, amused, and completely knowing grin before returning her attention to the chalkboard. After a moment, she elaborated.

The Timelines console display gave him our date; my reference to an alternate continuum the notion that this might not be ‘his’ future. Regional dialects told him he’s in the States; a blend of military uniforms and civilian wear said he’s on a government installation, and the pink granite walls ‘downstairs’ could only be from the Pikes Peak formation.

Excellent, Holmes muttered, satisfied.

Um, yes, well, Caitlin murmured, bemused, I’ll be back shortly. Skye, do you or Mr. Holmes want anything?

No, I made a fresh pot of coffee, Skye gestured to the table in the corner of the office, where a full drip coffeemaker sat, then shook her head, turning and taking a seat behind her desk. On second thought, bring that box of shortbread with you. We can nibble; it’s time for Mr. Holmes’ tea. At least his stomach probably thinks so.

Thank you, yes, that is most thoughtful, Holmes murmured politely.

Okay, Caitlin agreed. And she was gone.

Holmes and Chadwick sat silently for a long moment, she studying the equations while he studied her.

I see you did not become ill, he observed quietly.

No, she admitted. I sure thought about it, though. She leaned back in her desk chair. But I’ve worked enough traffic accidents to be used to that sort of thing. The…gore…isn’t what bothers me.

Yes. The first time to deal death is…difficult. But I would say you did not deal death so much as…permit life. The true death-dealer is the one who died, in the end. Holmes nodded understanding. He leaned forward, grey eyes piercing, seeking to reassure. All you did was break his hold, to prevent his dragging me over the precipice. It is not as if you pushed him over it. He and I rather managed that on our own, I should think. And for me, it was self-defence.

Skye put down her chalk and turned thoughtfully to face him. After a few moments, she nodded.

Yeah, I guess so. She took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair, calming somewhat. Holmes gave her a few moments to relax before speaking again.

Now, would you kindly tell me how your apparatus operates, and how it is you came to be observing me? And how I might get back? My friend Watson will be looking for me, I’ve no doubt.

Explaining how the tesseract works would take a lot longer than a few minutes, Mr. Holmes— Skye’s face twisted in another rueful grin, and she more or less successfully hid the pain that flashed through her eyes at his last question.

Just ‘Holmes’ will do.

Skye blinked at this unexpected, and magnanimous, invitation. Oh. Okay. Call me Skye, I suppose…

Skye. As in Isle of Skye? Holmes nodded.

Yes, she confirmed. I’m of English and Scots descent. She flipped her long blonde braid with a faint attempt at humor. It shows.

"I suspected. Not only from your features, however. Your family has retained the barest hint of the brogue through the generations. Please, continue.

You were speaking of this tesseract. That is the object which I…fell through, for want of a better expression?" He gave a half-smile.

Yes, Skye chuckled. I’ve spent the better part of my fifteen-year career figuring out how the tesseract works. I’ve had to develop some of the physics to do it. It’s closer to twenty years I’ve been working on it, all told; I started when I was in school. As to how we come to be observing you in particular…Have you ever heard the theory of parallel universes, Holmes?

I cannot say I have.

Skye stood, catching her chalk and drawing a line around her equations to avoid overwriting them. Holmes watched with obvious interest as she dropped into a comfortable teaching mode.

Our universe—at least the parts we can perceive—consist of at least four dimensions, she began, sketching a four-dimensional grid on the board. X, Y, Z, and T.

Length, width, height, and time.

Precisely. Skye smiled. Technically, it’s called Minkowski space. Now, some fifteen years after your little skirmish with Moriarty at the Falls, a man named Albert Einstein published a paper about his ‘Special Theory of Relativity.’ It showed, among other things, how there is an equivalence between matter and energy, how each can be converted into the other.

Holmes considered this for a moment, then nodded. Perhaps akin to freezing and melting?

Exactly! Skye’s smile broadened. Watson’s assessment of your scientific knowledge was inadequate.

A wise man does not always admit to everything he knows. And sometimes an overly-credulous friend can be a source of mild amusement, he added, grey eyes twinkling. Eventually he learned differently, of course. But he never went back and corrected his original statements. Watson fully comprehended the fact that occasionally it is useful for one’s adversaries to underestimate one’s abilities. Holmes chuckled. Skye giggled appreciation, then continued.

"Some ten years later, Einstein developed his ‘General Theory of Relativity.’

In it, he postulated that spacetime, Skye tapped her drawing with her chalk, is actually like a fabric, analogous to a thin rubber sheet stretched taut, and the force of gravity is produced by the bending of the sheet where a massive object is placed."

Very well. Continue. Holmes pondered.

We also have the electric and magnetic forces. Some three decades before…um, before you, uh, came here, she offered him an awkward smile,

"James Clerk Maxwell succeeded in showing how those two forces could be

‘unified.’ This concept, and electromagnetism in general, was being studied intensely throughout your timeframe."

True. I recall reading about some very odd experiments in the last ten years or so. I was beginning to hear some strange things regarding a man named…mmm, Tesla, I believe it was…

"Nikola Tesla. Right. Gradually the various scientists were realizing that these, and some other newly discovered, atomic forces of nature were related.

They began ‘unifying’ these forces, finding mathematical expressions that worked for all of the fundamental forces. They found in order to do this unification, they needed more than four dimensions."

How many more? Holmes queried, curious.

Well, we still don’t have the whole theory worked out yet, even after all this time, Skye admitted. Gravity has been proving elusive. But the evidence indicates we need at least ten or eleven, and possibly twenty-six or even more. I’ve seen some theories that call for forty or better, but speaking as a professional, I’m not so sure about those. Anyway, the basic structures making up this multi-dimensional puzzle are known as strings and membranes, or just ‘branes.’ The overall n-dimensional space is called the ‘bulk.’

Great Scot, Holmes murmured, anticipating the explanation of parallel universes. So if we, as humans, only perceive four dimensions, but there could be three, six, ten times that many…or more… He let his eyes become distant in thought before he met her gaze again. How many of these parallel universes are there?

I honestly don’t know, Skye murmured, and he saw the wonder and awe in her eyes as she spoke. But I know the one I yanked you from was the one hundred fourteenth we’ve found so far. We’re nearing one hundred fifty, each one having at least some small differentiation, something distinguishing it from every other one. So far, we’ve only observed—a lot. Today was the first day we were actually able to…interact.

Suddenly she blushed. Observing this, his eyebrow rose.

As to how we came to be observing you, well, I’m something of a fan—a devotee—of yours, she confessed, and he recognized the reason for her blush in her embarrassment over the confession. You see, here in my spacetime continuum, this ‘parallel universe,’ you didn’t exist as a flesh and blood person, but rather as a fiction, one of the great literary characters of all time. In actuality, I’ve discovered you exist across several continuums—as do I, I might add—with variations here and there, some small, some large. I thought it would be fun to watch you, to see if you really were the way you were described in the books. And my team, by unanimous vote, agreed.

Ah, was all Holmes remarked. But a faint twitch quirked the corner of his mouth. Skye read it accurately. He’s wondering if he really is the way Watson described him. Her own eyebrow rose.

Better, she answered succinctly, and silent laughter shook Holmes’ tall wiry frame for a moment.

It is good to know that my infinite variety does not wane, even across many universes, he finally managed. So I take it this tesseract of yours has found a way to span the dimensions.

Something like that.

Then it will not, perhaps, be too difficult to send me back home, he nodded complacently, settling back in his chair with satisfaction.

Technically, no, Skye admitted. But there’s still a problem.

What problem? Holmes’ eagle eyes fixated on her, penetrating. His complacency vanished.

Holmes…I don’t know how to say this… Skye sat back down in her chair, distressed.

Just say it.

In your spacetime, you were supposed to die at the Falls. Skye met his eyes.

Oh, he said blankly. Then, with more understanding, and far more subdued, Oh. Sober grey eyes met troubled blue eyes. Then please allow me to outline the options, he suggested quietly.

Skye nodded.

I go back and live, he ticked off a long finger, and damage the parallelism, possibly irreversibly.

Skye nodded again, biting her lip.

This will cause…? he broke off, waiting for her to answer.

She shrugged, then shook her head and grimaced. He understood. She does not know. But it would not be good.

Or, Holmes added heavily, ticking off a second finger, I go back…and die.

Yes, Skye whispered.

Or, a deep voice boomed from the door, he stays here, and lives.

Holmes and Chadwick both turned, staring at the door.

Caitlin Hughes stood in the doorway, a large tin of shortbread in one hand, and two extra coffee mugs in the other. Beside her stood Brigadier General William F. Morris.

Morris studied Holmes and Chadwick for long moments, using every skill he had ever learned in officer training to hide the turmoil raging inside his head. To say the general’s mind was blown would be putting it mildly.

Damn, it worked. Hell’s bells, the tesseract actually worked! I know Hughes said it did, but shit. To see the man sitting there, in the flesh—it boggles the wits. A real, honest-to-God 19th-century man, stepped straight from that time to this. Look at those clothes he’s wearing. And to hear Hughes tell it, this is no less than Sherlock Holmes himself.

General Morris was a big soldier of a man, and resembled the commercial cat that shared his name not a little: Blond hair with a hint of red on a broad head, a