The Case of the Displaced Detective

by Stephanie Osborn

  * * *

  On the evening before they were scheduled to leave for the States, a very special—and very classified—reception was held. Kensington Palace was the location of the reception honoring the Holmeses, and upon arriving they discovered not only were the Secret Service in attendance, but a substantial number of the Royal Family, as well as high RAF officials and certain top-ranking members of Parliament. Watson was even there, per special invitation.

  Holmes was pleased to see his wife far more relaxed at this event, however: Ryker had given them advance notice of the function, and taken the time to help Skye learn proper protocol.

  “So I finally know what to do, and I don’t feel like I’m gonna cause a diplomatic incident if I blink,” she told Holmes and Watson privately, with a smile.

  “Excellent, my dear,” Sherlock replied in a low voice, nodding and smiling at a duke across the room. “I am glad to hear it. Of course you were not reared with such considerations. But I find it helps to remember that, when all the titles and letters are pared away, all of the furs and jewels and baubles, they are people not unlike ourselves. They have hopes and dreams, and fears and foibles. There are angels and devils in their family trees, as there are in all families. Their ancestors were merely fortunate enough—or unfortunate enough, depending upon your point of view—to attract a considerable amount of attention and power.”

  “Listen to your husband; he’s right,” Watson nodded sagely.

  “Well, I suppose that’s true,” Skye agreed consideringly.

  “It is, indeed,” a soft feminine voice spoke behind them. They turned to find the Duchess of Kensington standing there. “We have our joys and our heartbreaks, as much as any of the so-called ‘commoners.’ And a great deal of responsibility and expectation heaped upon our heads, into the bargain.” She smiled at the couple and their friend. “Forgive me; I did not mean to eavesdrop. I merely came by to greet you properly, as my hostess duties have kept me uncommonly busy this evening, and I inadvertently overheard. I am quite certain none of us knew you were so afraid of us, Lady Holmes, or we should have taken measures to relieve you of your anxieties long since.” She gestured subtly, and across the room, the Queen took note. Several members of the Royal Family turned their way as Skye blushed.

  “Oh, that’s okay,” Skye explained. “I didn’t want to offend any of the Royal Family, but I didn’t have the first clue what I was supposed to do around y’all. I was terrified I’d create some sort of diplomatic incident.”

  “Then it did not show, child,” a smiling voice noted. Skye spun, but her husband hid a grin.

  “Your Majesty,” he greeted the queen before he’d even turned around. He and Watson bowed in respect.

  “Thank you, Madam,” Skye dropped a graceful curtsy, then smiled. “I was trying hard.”

  “And now you are more comfortable with us?” the Duchess asked gently.

  “Oh, yes,” Skye smiled wider. “Captain Ryker helped me learn proper protocol, so now at least I KNOW if I mess up.”

  They all laughed, and the Prince of Wales signaled a passing waiter, who immediately detoured. The Prince gestured to the Holmeses as the waiter stopped at his elbow.

  “Here you are, Milady Skye,” he said graciously. “Have some champagne. You are, after all, the guests of honour.”

  Holmes nodded, taking two champagne flutes from the waiter’s tray and handing one to his wife. Watson partook, as well. They lifted their glasses to the Queen, who nodded; then they all drank.

  “Sir Sherlock was just telling his wife we are not so different from her,” the Duchess of Kensington noted, “by way of calming her worries. And Dr. Watson and I agreed with him.”

  “Indeed,” the Prince of Wales nodded. “And more so than, perhaps, the Lady Holmes realises.”

  “How so?” Skye’s eyebrows shot upward.

  The royals all looked expectantly at Holmes. His lips quirked in amusement, and he answered.

  “I am certain you are aware of matters of propriety and suitability of marriage in titled persons in Great Britain, my dear,” he began smoothly, and Skye nodded. “I have been aware that Ryker has been gleaning information about the two of us, off and on, for several weeks now, possibly months. As, I suppose, anyone who has ever read Watson’s stories will know, I was descended of country squires myself, and might have aspired to a baronetcy had I so chosen, though it is more likely it should have gone to brother Mycroft. I am now a Knight of the Realm. And if you will recall, it was indicated to you that you were considered for the same.”

  “Mmm…yeah, I remember that,” Skye nodded thoughtfully again. “So…are you saying I was, um, ‘vetted,’ too?”

  “You were,” her husband chuckled. “And in the due course of things, a cousin of yours was discovered, here in this country.”

  “Oh!” Skye exclaimed, instantly interested. “Who? Can we meet them?”

  “I fear the particular relation in question is now deceased, my dear, though I am certain his family would enjoy meeting you,” the Duchess of Kensington remarked.

  “But shall we say you come from a line of famous physicists?” Holmes added with a grin.

  “Indeed,” the Queen smiled. “Sir James Chadwick, Nobel Prize winner and discoverer of the neutron, is your cousin, a few times removed. Born the same year your husband departed his…original…continuum.”

  “Now there,” Holmes decided, lifting his champagne glass, “is an interesting correspondence.”

  “Oh, wow,” Skye murmured, wide-eyed. “James Chadwick was my cousin?”

  “He was,” the Prince of Wales nodded. “Had we anticipated your desire to meet his family, it could have been arranged for this evening. As it is, I am afraid it will have to await your next visit.”

  “Cool,” Skye grinned enthusiastically. “We’ll be back in a couple of months!” and everyone laughed.

  “And now,” the Prince noted, “I believe it is time for the Royal Proclamation.”

  “Is he here yet?” the Queen queried, signaling the Director of the Secret Service, who hurried over. “Madam Director, has Captain Williams arrived?”’

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” the Director informed the Queen, curtsying, “he is just now doffing his overcoat, and will be here in a moment. There was a slight weather delay.”

  “Very good,” the Queen said, as Skye and Sherlock exchanged puzzled glances. “Sir Sherlock, Lady Holmes, Dr. Watson, do you join Captain Ryker and the Director. The others will be with you shortly. We have an announcement.”

  * * *

  Puzzled, the trio followed the Director over to Ryker, and his unit, in formal dress, promptly ranked themselves. Moments later, Billy joined them, Tina on his arm. The Director placed the Holmeses beside herself, and Watson beside Sherlock, with Ryker and his unit on one side of the foursome, and Billy and Tina, evidently representing their American-based unit, on the other.

  A bell was rung to attract the attention of all in attendance, and the Queen stepped forward, the members of the royal family meanwhile having arranged themselves in order of rank, as well.

  “Let it be known to all present,” the Queen announced in clear tones, “that Sir Sherlock and Lady Skye Holmes have performed admirably in support and defence of the Kingdom. They are therefore henceforward to be considered adjunct agents in Her Majesty’s Secret Service, Lady Holmes’ citizenship notwithstanding, and she shall be treated and regarded a citizen of the United Kingdom in despite; and a formal contract, in perpetuity, is being drawn up between said Service and The Holmes Agency.”

  Applause went around the room. An awed Skye decided, with hidden amusement, that her husband’s expression resembled the cat that ate the canary.

  “Let it also be known,” the Queen continued, “that a new division is being formed within the Service. Its founding units consist of Unit 47, led by MAJOR Braeden Ryker, and Unit 105, led by MAJOR Will Williams. They, and any other units which shall in future be designated as part of this division, shal
l serve as direct liaisons and assistants to The Holmes Agency…and any of their designated representatives.” She gazed directly at Watson and smiled; Watson looked flustered. “This division shall be named The Irregulars. Unit 47 shall henceforward and forever be known as the Baker Street Irregulars. Unit 105 shall henceforward and forever be known as the Aerotech Drive Irregulars. Further units shall be named appropriately, as they are added to the division.”

  The applause became enthusiastic, as the members of Ryker’s unit whooped with joy, and Ryker, Williams, and Tyler beamed.

  “It seems,” Sherlock murmured to his wife, “that my ‘support group’ is now formal and complete.”

  “It does look that way, Sweetheart,” Skye agreed with a smile.

  * * *

  March 25

  Once more across the ocean, from one home to another. How my life has changed in a year’s time. For tomorrow shall mark one year since I arrived in this continuum.

  My wife is resting on my shoulder, as before, but this time we are eagerly anticipating arrival at our principal residence. We have been assured all of the “critters,” as Skye terms them, are safe and sound, and all is well. I must admit looking forward to seeing Anna, Blaze, the other horses, and my bees, not to mention sleeping in our own bed. Though the bed in Baker Street quickly became “ours” as well; it was quite comfortable, and the environment distinctly relaxing for me.

  Still, this is one adventure I am glad to have ended. The sojourn in London was delightful; the McFarlane case a nice little puzzle. But the threat to the continuum, and to Skye—that, I am more than pleased to be putting behind us.

  And in a few hours, we will have arrived at our first home. And—cases await there. My life here in this continuum is rapidly shaping into decided contentment and happiness.

  Chapter 11—Surprises

  BUT WHEN THEY ARRIVED IN NEW York to change to a domestic plane, a gentleman in a dark suit and sunglasses intercepted them.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Holmes?” he murmured, falling in beside them in the international concourse. “I’m with the U.S. Government. I have a summons to Washington.” He flashed identification, then handed a letter to Skye. It was addressed specifically to, “Dr. Skye Chadwick-Holmes,” and simply stated that she was to accompany their liaison, one Agent Hugh Beaufort, to a waiting plane. Skye and Sherlock exchanged glances.

  “We have only just returned from the United Kingdom, a decidedly difficult case, and a long flight,” Sherlock noted smoothly. “Might this possibly wait until we have gotten home, unpacked, and rested for a few days?”

  “You, Mr. Holmes, are not part of the summons,” Beaufort observed, “and so you may certainly do as you wish. But Dr. Chadwick—excuse me, Dr. Chadwick-Holmes—must come with me.”

  “MUST?” Skye queried sharply. “As in, ‘don’t have a choice?’”

  “Something like that,” Beaufort remarked blandly.

  “Then I most certainly am accompanying my wife,” Sherlock said.

  “I’ll see to it that all of your luggage is recovered and brought with us, then,” Beaufort noted, pulling a palm computer and entering a quick text message. “Please come with me.”

  In moments they were in a small commuter jet headed for Washington, D.C.

  * * *

  They were taken directly to the Pentagon. Inside they were led through a maze of corridors and into a circular room. In the center of the floor was a large mosaic of the Emblem of the United States. On the far side of the room was a curved dais with a semicircular console. Behind the console sat the assembled Joint Chiefs of Staff; a stenographer sat at one end, at a computer. Behind the Joint Chiefs, a closed door led out of the room; it was obviously an attached deliberation chamber of some sort.

  Beaufort led Skye into the center of the room and left her standing there, moving to the door and positioning himself before it as though guarding it. Sherlock slowly followed Skye into the center of the room, sizing up their environment.

  “This appears to be a tribunal of sorts,” he observed.

  “As usual, Mr. Holmes, you are correct,” General Charles Connelly, of the U. S. Army, and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, noted. “We have convened to review the situation regarding Project: Tesseract and Dr. Skye Chadwick’s participation in the events that brought you to our continuum.”

  “I’m on trial,” Skye said softly, in disbelief.

  Several nods from the Joint Chiefs were her reply.

  * * *

  The tribunal swore in Skye, and Sherlock insisted upon being sworn in as well.

  “This is not your concern, Mr. Holmes,” General Connelly said smoothly. “You need not even be here. You are being accorded the privilege due to the fact that you are an ambassador, and highly regarded by this committee, not because of the relationship between the two of you.”

  “It certainly is my concern, General, for she is here because I am here,” Sherlock retorted. “I have no plans to leave, and you may consider me a direct eyewitness to the events under question.”

  “Let it be so noted, then,” Admiral James Hoffman, of the U. S. Marines, stated, nodding at the stenographer. “Let’s get down to it.”

  * * *

  In short order, Skye was being grilled about the details of Project: Tesseract and the arrival of Sherlock Holmes from his own continuum to theirs. Skye answered to the best of her ability, providing details as clearly as she recalled them, and referring them to the classified DVDs for more accurate information.

  “And so Mr. Holmes was expected to die in his own continuum,” Admiral Hoffman observed skeptically. “Despite the accuracy of the stories that Conan Doyle set down.”

  “He was, in THAT particular continuum,” Skye affirmed. “He exists in several different continuums, with some differences in each. Those differences are necessary in order for the continuums to exist separately. Otherwise, they would collapse and merge into one continuum, or worse, create a multidimensional singularity.”

  “And you have proof of the presence of Mr. Holmes in multiple universes?” Connelly asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Skye averred. “Again, I refer you to the DVDs of our scans. In fact, I had to explain that to Sherlock—er, Mr. Holmes—shortly after his arrival. He had hoped to be able to return to his own continuum, but that proved impossible, as it would have failed the individuality test and caused continuum collapse. In between my other duties, I spent the equivalent of at least a solid two weeks working on the physics to send him back,” here Sherlock blinked at the revelation of the time scale, then lowered his eyes to hide his pain, “but couldn’t find a way to do it.”

  “Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?” Hoffman pressed. “Why else would you choose a continuum where he dies at Reichenbach? I submit that you intended the matter to begin with.”

  “On what grounds?” Skye demanded.

  “Scientific curiosity,” Hoffman fired back. “Admit it, doctor. You were curious to know how a brilliant man would fare, brought well over one hundred years into the future. In addition, it has come to our attention that the two of you are now married. It must perforce be questioned, then, whether or not you deliberately brought him here in order to seduce him.”

  Skye stood silently, stunned. She sensed the man beside her stiffen, as well, and grew even more concerned. Sherlock—he doesn’t BELIEVE that, does he? she worried. Skye gathered her startled wits and prepared to defend herself.

  “That is extremely offensive, Admiral, and I would like that formally noted in the record,” she declared crisply, glancing meaningfully at the stenographer, who nodded while continuing to work at the classified computer. “In point of fact, several different subjects were considered for observation before Sh—Mr. Holmes was selected,” Skye continued. “It was not a unilateral decision. Myself, my project manager Dr. Caitlin Hughes, and our team leads made the decision by unanimous vote.”

  Skye had, by this time, metamorphosed into Project Scientist Dr. Skye Chadwick, and her speech had likewise
become precise and technical.

  “Mr. Holmes was chosen for several reasons.” She began to tick off fingers. “One—his high intelligence. Two—his known history, as provided in the Conan Doyle stories and verified via tesseract. Three—his known personality and responses, provided and verified by same. As to the choice of continuum, it was determined that investigating history that was already known would be a waste of the project, in both time and money,” she declared. “It was therefore DR. HUGHES’ stance that we should select a continuum in which the outcome was NOT known, and investigate it, collecting a record of events as we went.”

  “You cannot deny that you became romantically involved shortly thereafter,” Air Force General Mackinaw declared, “nor that a man died in your bringing of Mr. Holmes to this continuum.”

  “If I may,” Sherlock interjected, his voice betraying a hint of annoyance and anger in its stridence, “as I AM the subject of the discussion, it is only reasonable that my point of view be heard, and that my statements be for the record.”

  “True,” Navy Admiral Peter Kirkoff agreed. “You may speak, Mr. Holmes.”

  “First of all, in the matter of Professor Moriarty’s death,” Sherlock began, “it must be stated unequivocally that there was no stopping that. Each and every part of Moriarty’s body was beyond the lip of the ledge, to include his feet, the soles of which pressed against the side of the cliff below. And it took every ounce of effort upon my part to counterbalance his weight and avoid joining him there. No one could have broken the hold he had upon me without his falling to his death, simply as a matter of physics. He knew he was about to die. His entire intent, at that point, was simply to ensure that he took me with him; a Pyrrhic victory.”

  “I’ve seen the classified video from the tesseract,” Admiral Kirkoff observed. “Mr. Holmes is definitely right about that.”

  “In addition,” Sherlock added, “if you have seen the video, you will know that Skye made an instinctive, if futile, attempt to catch him.”

  “Also true,” Kirkoff agreed quietly. “She leaned perilously close to the point of no return herself, but Moriarty had already fallen beyond her reach.”