The Case of the Displaced Detective

by Stephanie Osborn

  “Righto.” And Huggins headed off to help Team Blue wield the remote controllers for the heavy machinery.

  “Dammit, we were almost done sealing it up, too. Twenty-four more hours and we’d have been clear. Well, at least this property is now owned by the government,” Ryker murmured in disturbed annoyance. “We don’t have that to worry about.”

  “The transaction went through?” Skye asked.

  “Yeah,” Ryker confirmed. “Ian McFarlane was glad to do it once he found out volatile Nazi chemical weapons were hidden in the cave.” He offered the couple a weak grin.

  “So you decided to go with that story,” Sherlock noted.

  “We did,” Ryker said. “It’s already being circulated that the cave had been used as a Nazi spy’s base during the War, and he’d left a small chemical weapons cache there—nothing on the CWC list—which had become unstable over the years. His intent was to prepare for a Nazi invasion of Great Britain via U-boat, but it was thwarted. The cache was only recently discovered due to the efforts of a small terrorist group to recover the chemicals.”

  “And the UFO?” Skye wondered.

  “Was a hoax perpetrated by the terrorists in their attempts to reach the chemicals. They were even willing to murder the landowner, under cover of the supposed UFO, to obtain free access to the cave.” Ryker sighed. “Now I guess we’ll have to add an addendum: the terrorists have been discovered dead inside the cave, killed by the very chemicals they were trying to recover.”

  “Because of their instability,” Skye added with authority. “It was contact contamination, and no chemicals were released into the neighborhood.”

  “Ah,” Ryker said, understanding the reason for her addendum. “Good point. We’ll use that.”

  “It will do,” Sherlock nodded approval. “It will work nicely. And provide any curious members of the general public with more than sufficient incentive to stay away.”

  “Exactly,” Ryker agreed. “That was the intent.”

  The operative pulled out a palm computer and punched in the annotation, then emailed it. Just then, Ryker’s radio went off. He pulled it off his belt and keyed it.

  “Ryker.”

  “Captain, this is Team Yellow. We’ve got something here.”

  Ryker glanced at the Holmeses, who nodded as one. “Team Yellow, this is Wiggins. We’re on the way.”

  * * *

  Team Yellow was awaiting outside the equipment shed behind the barn.

  “What is it?” Ryker demanded as the trio walked up.

  “We think we’ve got the perpetrators’ vehicle, sir,” one remarked. “Indications are that they came in through a far back gate and along a farm track. Must’ve been one helluva ride; we never anticipated a vehicle could have made it along that route, and it’s too many kilometres for a regular bloke to walk, or we’d have had a better eye on it. Have a look inside.” He gestured toward the door of the shed.

  Ryker entered carefully, closely followed by Sherlock and Skye. They meandered around a tractor and a hay baler, then stopped.

  A late model navy car, of Oriental make, sat there, covered in road dust, with tufts of grass caught in its undercarriage, front bumper, and fenders, all of which showed signs of the rough passage. A long, dented scratch ran down the passenger side, from front tire well to rear fender. In addition, Sherlock noted, the tire tread pattern exactly matched what he’d sketched in the driveway of the cottage in Melton.

  “Send it to Forensics,” Sherlock declared. “I believe you will find it a perfect match to the metal and paint samples Skye and I took from the Victor residence, and the tread marks I obtained in Melton.”

  “It’s a cinch those guys won’t be needing it to haul off any Nazi gold,” a wry Skye remarked.

  “And that’s the God’s honest truth,” Ryker agreed.

  * * *

  By near sunset, Fereaud’s vehicle had been towed away; the doped concrete was poured and set, and Fereaud and Cunningham permanently entombed therein. “We’ll let it cure overnight,” Ryker noted. “The doping process affects the concrete, causing it to harden faster than regular concrete. By morning, we’ll be ready to apply the water sealant. That’ll take about two hours to soak in; it’ll solidify on its own. By lunch, a couple of well-placed charges will bring the entrance down, and a cement truck will finish the job.”

  He turned toward the Humvee, gesturing to the Holmeses. “C’mon. I’ll take you back to the house.”

  Sherlock offered Skye a hand in entering the vehicle, then climbed in beside her. Ryker took the driver’s seat, switched on the ignition, and they were off.

  * * *

  Back at Gibson House, there was no evidence the other continuum had come back. Having missed lunch and tea, Sherlock and Skye sat down to a large dinner, whose preparation they shared; then they retired to the sitting room with two brandies.

  And waited.

  Their counterparts did not appear.

  Finally, near midnight, the married pair went to bed in some disquiet.

  * * *

  The next morning, they still had not heard from the other continuum. Ryker came by again, however.

  “I thought you two might want to see the end of the thing,” he said simply.

  “Indeed,” Sherlock agreed. “Skye, my dear, bundle well, and bring your medications. You sneezed three times this morning. I will not have you relapsing with that nasty ‘bug.’”

  “I’ll stay well, Sherlock. But I want to do one thing first.”

  So she tore the covers off of a spare spiral notebook and used their insides to write large placards:

  * * *

  Gone to cave to watch final sealing

  Will be back tonight

  Please leave note

  -Skye

  * * *

  One placard went on the sofa in the sitting room, propped against its back; the other went on the desk in the study, leaning against the computer monitor.

  “Okay,” she said, gathering her medications and bundling up. “Now let’s go.”

  * * *

  The concrete sealant was already nearly applied when they arrived. Ryker brought the Holmeses over to the command unit, and they listened on the radio, as the last matters were coordinated.

  Team Blue brought their remote equipment out through the electronic lead door, where a decontamination team was waiting to ensure the equipment was safe.

  Once the “all clear” had been given, Ryker picked up the microphone and issued orders.

  “Seal the interior door and lock it.”

  A dull clang echoed from the mouth of the cave. Within minutes all equipment and personnel had exited the cave.

  “Pyro unit, commence,” Ryker gave the command via radio.

  A team unfamiliar to Sherlock and Skye moved forward, wearing explosives gear. They began delicately setting small explosives in strategic places around the cave mouth.

  “Have you warned the Carvers to expect an explosion?” Sherlock wondered.

  “We have,” Ryker nodded. “And all the neighbours within a radius of some five kilometres. I might add there was a lot of relief to find that the ‘nasty chemicals’ were going to be sealed up ‘proper-loyke.’”

  “Very good,” Sherlock said, and subsided, watching.

  Half an hour later, preparations were complete, and a cement truck was trundling across the field.

  “Take cover!” came the order from the pyro team.

  All personnel took refuge behind prepared barricades.

  “All clear!” the pyro team leader called.

  The ignitions specialist executed a quarter turn to the right and shouted, “Fire in the hole!” Then he turned a quarter-circle to face the rear, calling, “Fire in the hole!” Another quarter turn to the right was followed by, “Fire in the hole!” A fourth quarter turn brought him full circle, facing the cave entrance once more. The pyro team leader began a countdown.

  “In three…two…one…FIRE!”

  A sustained
detonation worked its way around the cave mouth’s perimeter. The side of the hill slumped as a white cloud of dust rose. As the sea breeze gently blew away the dust, everyone could see the cave entrance had disappeared, replaced by a pile of limestone and slate rubble.

  The concrete truck lumbered its way across the field to the debris. Five minutes later, a concrete cap was taking shape over the cave’s former entrance.

  “And that’s that,” Ryker declared, somber.

  * * *

  Ryker took them back to Gibson House. Once inside, Skye immediately checked sitting room and study, to no avail.

  “That’s not good,” she worried. “I would have thought we’d hear something by now.”

  “The other continuum?” Ryker asked.

  “Yeah,” Skye confirmed.

  “And you have,” Skye’s voice suddenly announced. “It just took us awhile to catch our breaths after.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Skye muttered fervently under her own breath, putting her hand to her chest.

  “I’m sorry, Sis. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Chadwick said contritely.

  “It’s okay,” Skye said, smiling ruefully, watching in amusement as Ryker tried not to let his eyes pop from his head. “I take it, things got hairy?”

  “You might say,” Holmes’ voice remarked dryly. “It was a near thing. We very nearly overshot the rest energy. The brane is decidedly touchy, it seems.”

  “NO SHIT,” Chadwick added vehemently. “I’ve never entered commands that fast before.”

  “I think perhaps you may have done, over here,” Sherlock noted with a slight smile. “Remember Haines’ ‘booby trap,’ Skye?”

  “Oh HELL yeah. I’ll never forget it. Yeah, I think I know what you mean, Sis.”

  “But was it successful?” Sherlock asked, betraying considerable impatience and concern.

  “It was,” Chadwick said in triumph. “We had to kind of decompress for awhile after, which is why we’re only now getting around to contacting you. Sorry it worried you.”

  “Um, excuse me, Holmes, Holmes, Boss, and Boss,” Ryker interjected lamely, “but not only is this bloody well creeping me out, I need to get back to my unit and make sure they get the heavy equipment loaded without any more ‘incidents.’ Is it safe for me to leave?”

  “Just a moment, Ryker,” Holmes’ voice noted. There was a brief pause, followed by, “Now you may leave.”

  “See ya,” Ryker said. “Call me when you’re ready to head back to London, you two.”

  “That will likely be sometime tomorrow, by the sound, Wiggins. Perhaps even later tonight,” Sherlock told him as he headed out the door with a wave.

  After he had gone, Chadwick inverted the tesseract, and she and Holmes came to stand before Skye and Sherlock.

  “I wish I could hug you both,” Chadwick told them softly. “I can’t begin to tell you…”

  “You do not have to.” Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. “As with your ‘sister,’ my wife, your eyes speak for you.”

  “Agreed, old chap,” Holmes nodded, then hesitated a moment before continuing. “It is somewhat out of character for me, but there is one thing we CAN do, in a kind of surrogacy.”

  “And that would be?” Sherlock asked.

  “This,” he said.

  Holmes turned toward Chadwick, taking her gently in his arms. Then he pulled Chadwick close and kissed her. Sherlock and Skye exchanged the barest of smiles. Then Sherlock opened his arms and Skye stepped into them.

  “Capital idea, old man,” Sherlock said, just before his own lips came down on his wife’s.

  * * *

  After dinner, Skye and Sherlock began packing. By bedtime, everything except what they needed for the next day was packed, and the suitcases were sitting in the mudroom beside the garage door. A quick call to Ryker, and that worthy swung by to pick them up, promising that the bags would be in their rooms in London by that night.

  As they climbed into bed, Skye noted, “As Brae would say, ‘That’s that.’”

  “And as you would say,” Sherlock added, “‘Two up, and two down.’”

  “And now we can finish our vacation—finally.”

  “What do you say we begin finishing it tonight?” Sherlock wondered, drawing her close before nuzzling her shoulder.

  “I think you would say, ‘Capital notion,’” Skye said with a grin, before turning off the light.

  * * *

  The next morning they were surprised to find Ryker waiting patiently outside the front door when they headed to the kitchen for breakfast. Skye let him in.

  “What on earth are you doing out there? I know it’s starting to warm up, but it’s still awfully chilly out there, especially this time of morning. Have you had breakfast yet?”

  “Waiting for you two, it’s not too bad with my coat, and only a pastry,” Ryker answered her rapid-fire questions in order, grinning.

  “Then come into the house and let us prepare some proper breakfast for you as well, old chap,” Sherlock offered. “At the very least, have a hot cup of tea or coffee.”

  “Well, that does sound nice. I’m here to formally drive the two of you back to London, by the way.”

  “That is not necessary,” Holmes remarked, “but as you are likely under orders, we shall not protest.”

  “I am, and thanks,” Ryker said, accepting the cup of coffee Skye gave him.

  A quick, hot breakfast for three ensued, then they cleaned the pans and dishes and put them away. Ryker took out the trash, then stopped Skye as she lugged the bed and bath linens to the mudroom to launder them.

  “That’s not necessary. Leave them in the hamper there. Someone will be by tomorrow to clean house. It’s standard after a safehouse use. I just didn’t want the dirty dishes and garbage to get smelly.”

  So Skye dumped the laundry into the hamper as Ryker carried the last of their luggage to the car, then she and Sherlock scooped up their overnight kits, put on their coats, and bid goodbye to Gibson House.

  * * *

  Ryker drove them back to London. They were fully expecting to be taken to a hotel, either near their original, or perhaps close to Heathrow Airport. Instead, Ryker headed north, toward Regent’s Park. He turned into Upper Baker Street and parked along the street, in front of the bank where Sherlock’s old lodgings should have been, but weren’t.

  “Follow me,” he said, getting out and heading for one of the side doors of the bank building. Skye and Sherlock, both mystified, got out of the rental car and followed their liaison.

  Beside the substantial metal door was a security box. Ryker flipped up a metal cover, revealing a keypad; then murmured, “Watch, and memorise the code I punch in.”

  Puzzled, they watched as Ryker punched in a security code, memorizing it as he indicated, then followed their liaison into the building. Inside the door, they turned right, into a short hallway—which also teed off to the left, fading into the distance—before encountering another door—a door that looked suspiciously familiar to Holmes. To one side was a card reader and cipher lock, and a small brass plaque which read, very simply, “221B.”

  “Open it, Holmes,” Ryker said softly. “It’s already unlocked.”

  The detective shot the operative a meaningful glance, then put his hand on the doorknob and opened the door. At his shoulder, Skye gasped.

  It was like stepping through the tesseract. The entrance to Holmes’ old flat had been recreated with as much accuracy as Her Majesty’s Secret Service could manage—which was substantial—using the information Holmes had provided in his sketches. Inside the foyer, the Queen and the Prince Consort themselves awaited, having painstakingly achieved a clandestine outing expressly for the purpose of welcoming them.

  Ryker hustled the Holmeses through the door and closed it against any potential onlookers as a placid Sherlock bowed deeply and a chagrined Skye curtsied hastily. The Queen smiled and moved to them.

  “Here you are,” she said calmly, handing a card key to each of them.
“Your flat is ready for you to take possession, Sir Sherlock, Lady Holmes. I think you will like what we’ve done with the place.” She gestured them deeper into the apartment. “It is not often I have the opportunity to act as an agent of real estate. However, when Captain Ryker brought me copies of your artwork, and he, the Director of the Service, my husband, and I came to discuss the matter, there really was but one thing to be done. So,” Her Majesty fairly grinned, “we did it. And the bank proved…most amenable. Welcome home.”

  “We did make a few changes, for the sake of logistics,” Ryker admitted, as the stunned newlyweds moved past the royal couple to explore the flat. “The bedroom is bigger, for instance, with a king-sized bed, and the kitchen—which is upstairs now, across from the sitting room, where Watson’s room would have been—has modern appliances.”

  “As we have yet to find you a Mrs. Hudson, and we are informed the Lady Holmes enjoys cooking in any event, we thought that might prove a most convenient and practical modification,” the prince consort added.

  “But even with all that, we tried to ensure everything fit with the overall ‘look,’ so you’d feel at home, Sir Sherlock,” Ryker continued. “The downstairs, here, is a bit different. Rather than being Mrs. Hudson’s rooms, it’s mostly storage and a small modern forensics laboratory, though there is a full servant’s quarters toward the rear, if you wish. Probably we’ll install an operative there to at least function as caretaker when you’re not here—you know, off on a case or the like. The main living area is upstairs on the first floor, and is as much like your old flat as we could make it, given logistics. A couple of spare bedrooms are on the second floor.”

  “For any clients, assistants, or…family additions…that may come along, in future,” the Queen noted archly, eyes twinkling, and both Skye and Sherlock flushed despite themselves.

  The group had been exploring the ground floor while the Holmeses listened to this explanation. In the very back was a substantial storage room; to the left of that, the servant’s quarters, as yet unfurnished. To the right of the entry was the decidedly modern laboratory: It was well equipped with stereo microscope, computer, fax machine, cordless speakerphone, and several other electronic items, not to mention a compact but efficient forensics lab. So they turned to the next floor, moving up the staircase. Skye counted under her breath, much to the group’s amusement, as they ascended; sure enough, the flight contained the correct number of steps. Seventeen steps. They even remembered that little detail, Sherlock thought, moved.