The Case of the Displaced Detective

by Stephanie Osborn

  “What he said,” Chadwick said. “We’ll do it, Holmes. Um, MR. Holmes. You do what you need to do, and we’ll notify you if anything suspicious arises.”

  “Ryker is on approach,” Holmes observed.

  “Excellent,” Sherlock breathed. “Skye, are you all right with this plan?”

  “Yeah, I think so. The naproxen helps, and I feel better than I did, but you’re right, I don’t feel at all up to going out hunting bad guys. I just wanna get these numbers run. And maybe take a nap when I’m finished. And having these guys,” she jerked her thumb in the direction of their counterparts’ voices, “around will keep me from being, or feeling, alone. It’ll work.”

  “Very well. Do you sit back down and work on your calculations, while Ryker and I seek out these blackguards.”

  “Do not worry, Other Me,” Holmes promised. “Chadwick and I shall keep a close watch, in addition to aiding your wife. If necessary, we can perform a lock-out with the tesseract, in the which case no miscreant shall be able to reach her, although it may give away the presence of the tesseract, which is admittedly not desirable; nevertheless. And we shall also endeavour to defocus swiftly if we feel a tremor coming upon us, and refocus as soon as may be.”

  “Capital,” Sherlock replied, as a knock sounded upon the front door. He deposited a swift peck on Skye’s good cheek, then headed for the door, grabbing coat and hat en route. “And my dear, I shall see YOU as soon as may be.”

  Then he was gone.

  * * *

  Outside, Ryker handed Sherlock the new weapon, and the sleuth tucked it into the concealed carry holster in his jeans, then shot a pointed look at the operative.

  “The word is still unknown,” Ryker informed him in response to that look.

  “There are only two real options,” Sherlock observed. “They are either headed out of the country, or they are headed back to the farm.”

  “True. We’ve got the borders on lockdown and an All Ports Warning issued on the two. I’ll be notified immediately they’re sighted, if they’re trying to get out.”

  “Then let us to the McFarlane farm, and see what may be seen. But perhaps we should take both automobiles, in case we should need to split up.”

  “Okay. But should we leave the Boss alone?” Ryker wondered worriedly.

  “She is not alone,” Sherlock noted sanguinely. “She has the first pistol, and you know how well she handles those. Also, the Other Me and the other her are here, and keeping a close eye out.”

  “We are, indeed,” Holmes’ voice sounded softly. “Both inside and outside. All is well.”

  Ryker jumped slightly. “Hell’s bells,” he muttered, annoyed he had startled. “I canNOT get used to that. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a ventriloquist, Holmes.”

  “I am,” both Holmeses said simultaneously, with amusement.

  “Let’s go.” Ryker rolled his eyes.

  They went.

  * * *

  One Holmes, one Chadwick-Holmes, and one Chadwick pushed hard to get the last scientific work completed to repair the tesseract. Aside from the obvious guard factor, and in despite of the instability danger, Skye was glad to have the wormhole including the entire house; it was quite convenient. It meant she could easily slip into the kitchen for a drink, or a snack, without needing to stop work or break off a brainstorming conversation. It also made her feel more secure, as she realized her compatriots could, if needed, “isolate the subject”—namely, her—and no one from outside could reach her.

  So well did matters go that, in about an hour and a half, their work was complete. The details of what both Skyes mischievously referred to as “the brane drain” were thoroughly specified; the degree of variance from its rest energy was determined; and the method for fine tuning the string beam developed. Even the way they intended to boost the brane had been thoroughly sketched out.

  “By golly, I think that’s got it,” Skye said, elated.

  “Thank God,” Chadwick murmured fervently.

  Holmes, who had been watching the instrumentation for some weeks, and was now becoming adept at predicting instability waves, announced, “It may be wise to reduce the size of focus, ladies. I do not like the readings I am seeing.”

  “Okay, yeah,” Chadwick agreed after a moment. “I see what you’re seeing. Take it down to just inside the room walls, and have your hands on the controls, ready to defocus. Sorry, Sis.”

  “No problem,” Skye shrugged. “Better that than a big mess. And I’m armed now.”

  “What you said,” Chadwick averred. “Let’s double check the numbers, then we can go start work, and you can have a real break.”

  “Okay,” Skye agreed. “We start off with the Berkenstein entropy of the string beam…”

  * * *

  Ryker and Holmes drove straight for the McFarlane farm, where they searched all the buildings, then moved through the fields. Ryker used his ciphered radio to check in with his men guarding the cave; they had seen nothing.

  When every inch of the farm had been covered, Ryker shook his head.

  “Maybe our APW will pick ‘em up,” he hoped. “I’m going back to local HQ and see if anything’s come in.”

  “Very well. I believe I,” Holmes decided, “shall pop by the Carvers and warn them to be on the lookout, then return to Gibson House.”

  “Stay in touch,” Ryker said, and the two men parted.

  * * *

  Holmes popped by the Carver’s dog breeding farm and informed them of the fugitives who might be in the vicinity. He dissembled only mildly in his explanation, noting that they falsely believed old Nazi gold to be hidden in the cave, and the men were more than willing to kidnap, injure, or kill to get it.

  “And as you are adjacent to poor Mr. McFarlane’s estate, it may be they will attempt hiding somewhere upon your property,” Sherlock explained. “It is unlikely, given your most excellent dogs, who would, no doubt, raise a disturbance; but still, it is possible. Under no circumstances should you confront them, if you suspect them to be here. They are extremely dangerous, and will not hesitate to kill. Contact myself or my wife at once, then leave immediately if at all possible, and we will see that appropriate authorities are brought in to apprehend them.”

  “Gracious,” Mrs. Carver murmured, paling. “The good Lord help us.”

  “Stay calm, Mrs. Carver,” Sherlock soothed. “I think you are in little danger. Not only do you have the protection of your dogs, but also the fact your property is well frequented will serve as a deterrent. The men are far more likely to take refuge in the empty buildings of McFarlane’s property. These, therefore, are being closely, if clandestinely, scrutinised. Nevertheless, I thought you deserved a warning, as a precaution. In any case, I’m sure the notable young Brendan and his littermates will put up a hue and cry, should anything untoward occur. I am seriously considering discussing the matter with my wife, and then purchasing the pup, when all this is over.”

  “Aw,” Carver and his wife exchanged odd looks. “I sure wisht I’d’a known that afore now, Mr. Holmes. Y’ see, Brendan, him’s already been sold. Bought an’ paid. I only got t’ finish th’ little feller’s trainin’, an’ then he’ll be sent off to ‘is new owner.”

  “Blast,” Sherlock said bitterly. “I should have acted sooner.” He sighed. “Well, I shall definitely keep you in mind for the future, Mr. Carver. Your pups are excellent, and in my line of work, one may well come in handy.”

  “We’ll be sure to keep an eye out f’r ya f’r another un like Brendan,” Mrs. Carver agreed.

  “Very well. Contact me should you see anything suspicious,” Sherlock reminded, and departed for Gibson House.

  * * *

  “Guys?” Skye queried.

  “Yeah, Sis?” Chadwick replied absently, studying her notations.

  “Would you mind defocusing so I can…er, run down the hall for a minute?” Skye requested. “Only…don’t go away. Stick around and keep an eye out, if you don’t mind.”
>
  “You have but to wish it, milady,” Holmes answered cheerfully and with more than a hint of humor. He defocused the tesseract, then watched as Skye exited the room. “She drinks as much coffee and tea as you do, Chadwick,” he teased his companion gently.

  “Yeah, too much,” Chadwick admitted with a wry grimace, “but hey, it’s caffeine. It keeps us going when the going gets tough. And long.”

  “True,” Holmes agreed.

  “Hey, where’d she leave the notebook?”

  “Mm…” Holmes scanned the room inside the core of the tesseract with his sharp grey eyes. “Over there, on the corner of the desk.”

  “I need to take a quick look at something in it. ‘Cause I’m not sure I copied it right. It won’t take a second. Do you suppose we can readjust the focus and I can snag a peek…?”

  “It should be simple enough, and will make use of the time Dr. Chadwick-Holmes is…ahem, relieving herself.”

  “Okay, let’s do it,” Chadwick grinned.

  Swiftly the pair adjusted the centroid of the wormhole terminus, centering it upon the notebook on the desk, then focused in. Chadwick rose and moved to stand near one of the monoliths, craning her neck to look at the scribbles of her counterpart.

  “Okay, good,” she noted. “That’s what I thou—”

  A rumble began, swiftly increasing in intensity, as the entire Chamber began to shake violently about them.

  “Chadwick!” Holmes shouted, alarmed, as the scientist lurched all too close to the edge of the tesseract. “I cannot control the locus, or the field of view! Grab for the monolith!”

  Instead, Chadwick spun and dove for the back wall of the Chamber, yelling, “HOLMES! EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN!”

  “Shutting down—NOW!” Holmes cried.

  A blast wave erupted from the terminating wormhole, as the quake shook the entire continuum.

  * * *

  Sherlock was returning to Gibson House from the sortie with Ryker, leaving the MI5 agent and his team to see to the McFarlane farm, just as the tremor hit. He didn’t feel it until he stepped from the car, then abruptly realized the very ground beneath his feet was shaking, and it was growing stronger by the second. Within four to five seconds, the earthquake was too strong to stand upright, and he lunged away from the automobile parked in the drive, trying to get away from the potential danger it caused, as it shifted, lurched, and bounced about with the ground motion. Grasping a nearby tree trunk to stabilize himself momentarily, he flung himself into a clearing in the yard, away from anything that might fall upon him, then sprawled upon the ground to wait out the shock.

  * * *

  When the temblor subsided, Sherlock scrambled for the front door of the cottage, sprinting for the library, where Skye had her desk and computer. An earthquake in this region of England could only mean one thing: The tesseract had been active when a gravity wave had come through it—a large one. A very large one, Sherlock decided with deep concern, fully grasping that it should not have been felt outside the tesseract core. Possibly THE large one.

  He ran into the library of the cottage, where he found several overturned chairs, a few dozen books scattered helter-skelter across the floor, and the computer’s flat screen upended again, but fortunately undamaged. He also found only half of the rickety old rocking chair, which had long since migrated from the sitting room, and a corner missing from a bookcase. Both were clean edged, as if the other part had simply been sliced away.

  What he did not find was his wife.

  “Skye?” he called urgently. “Skye, my dear? Where are you?”

  There was no answer.

  “SKYE!” he shouted into the depths of the cottage, at the top of his lungs. “SKYE HOLMES! ANSWER ME! WHERE ARE YOU??”

  He got no reply.

  He paused, and the grey eyes darkened, narrowing in pain.

  “Skye?” he whispered, and the word was almost a plea, as agony shot through his being like a lance.

  She is gone, some part of his mind whispered in despair. The straight shoulders slumped; the proud head bowed. It is over, that same part decided. Not only my life, but perhaps all that is. It is only a matter of time now. A matter of waiting for the end.

  Sherlock turned and staggered blindly out of the room, aimlessly headed down the hall.

  A light hand laid itself on his arm, and he spun instinctively, dropping into a slight crouch.

  * * *

  “Sherlock? Are you all right?” Skye asked worriedly, peering up at him. “You’re white to the lips…”

  Grey eyes blinked disbelievingly at her bruised face, as the despondent mind behind them struggled to comprehend.

  “Skye?” he whispered, stunned. “Skye, is it you? Are you…here?”

  “Yes, Sherlock, I’m here,” she confirmed, understanding exactly what had happened to her husband and what was wrong. Concern etched itself into her face. “I was, erm, in the bathroom when the instability wave came through.” She steered him through the adjacent door into the sitting room and eased him into a seated position on the sofa. “Chadwick and Holmes defocused the tesseract temporarily so I could take a little break. I guess they focused back in for some reason, so I felt the wave come through, and hunkered down on the bathroom floor until it was over. I suppose after that, they decided to shut down the tesseract rather than risk anything bad happening while waiting for me to come back; I heard the ‘pop’ it makes when it shuts down, but it was really loud, so I’m thinking they did an emergency deactivation. Then I heard you shouting, but the entire bathroom shelf rack, complete with all the towels and bath sheets and tissues and bottles and stuff, fell over on me during the quake, and I had to dig out before I could get to you. I tried yelling, but between being buried in terrycloth and the door being closed, I guess you couldn’t hear me.”

  “Are you hurt?” Dilated grey eyes gazed up at her from the sofa.

  “No, I’m okay. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I am quite all right.” Sherlock waved away the remark.

  “I know,” Skye murmured, seeing past the attempt at nonchalance. “You always are. But I’m kinda shook,” she admitted truthfully. “Would you mind stretching out with me on the sofa for a few minutes?”

  “Of course, my dear,” Sherlock responded immediately, moving over and holding out an arm. “Lie down and I shall hold you until you have settled.”

  * * *

  The pair stretched out on the couch. Each wore a calm expression, but their pulse rates belied it, for their nerves were wound tight. In moments they were locked in a fierce, passionate kiss. The detective twisted, pinning his wife between his body and the back of the sofa, pressing close to let her feel his response.

  “Skye,” he breathed into her mouth, deft fingers tugging at her shirt.

  * * *

  “Not here. If they come back, they’ll check to make sure I’m okay. This is the first place they’ll look, after the study. There are only two rooms they won’t risk intruding on…”

  Suddenly she found herself scooped up, borne down the hall, and through the bedroom door. That same door was unceremoniously kicked closed behind them. Within moments naked limbs entangled in the middle of the bed, and seconds after, Skye’s whole body was being adored, as firm lips deposited urgent kisses from crown to sole.

  * * *

  Somewhere in the midst of sensuality, Sherlock came to the realization that, since the tesseract was down, the cottage was completely without guard, and had been for at least an hour. He managed to locate his discarded trousers and fish the cell phone from them, while a distinctly amorous Skye attacked various areas of his skin with soft, moist lips.

  “Ryker,” he said into the phone, exerting great effort to concentrate on the conversation, “Holmes. Could you possibly send a guard t-to Gibson House? Well, it seems the tesseract experienced a s-severe instability. Sk-kye seems to think they performed an emergency de…activation, which means they w-will be some time recovering. Yes, precisely. Yes, that would be
capital. No, just a light tap on the door will be sufficient. I have been inside tending to Skye—no, no, she was uninjured, merely…shaken. She is still jumpy, you know, and understandably so. Yes, a sweep of the perimeter is probably called for. Excellent.”

  Sherlock closed the phone and gave himself to Skye’s attentions, managing to reserve a part of his mind for alert observation, in the event of an emergency.

  Ten minutes later, a light tap came at the front door, and the detective turned his full consideration to his wife once more.

  * * *

  Several hours later, they still held each other tightly. The veil hiding a certain detective’s sensitive heart had been temporarily ripped away by recent events, and as a result, that detective’s wife had been given a sure and unequivocal knowledge of her place and importance in his life.

  “Mmh…Skye,” he murmured, pulling her close again.

  “Shh, Sherlock, hush,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him and stroking the back of his neck with gentle fingers. “Everything is fine. I’m okay. And with any luck, the continuum will be stabilized soon.”

  “I know,” he breathed into the golden hair. “I know everything you say is true. I fear I cannot explain the force of my reactions.”

  “I can. Months of dreams of losing me in spacetime, of being left alone in a world that’s not your own, and then those dreams manifesting—after a fashion, anyway—in reality? The strain of a bizarre case, coupled with the knowledge that, at any moment, I could be jerked away, beyond all reach? That the membrane could collapse and destroy, not only their reality, but ours, too? Not to mention my getting kidnapped by crazy treasure seekers. That’s a helluva lotta stress, Sweetheart.”

  “That is still little excuse. Good Lord, Skye, at this rate you will be unable to function properly tomorrow. At this rate, I will be unable to function properly tomorrow.”

  “So?” she giggled, catching him by the hipbones and tugging him closer. “We’re newlyweds. And I’ve been either sick as a dog, or bent over a desk, for days and days.”

  Dark brows rose over silver eyes, and Sherlock sighed long-sufferingly. “Very well, if you wish. But do not complain to me if you cannot walk correctly on the morrow.”