“It’s simple. If I hadn’t developed the tesseract to begin with, none of this would have happened.” Skye bit her lip, taking another large swallow of her strong Irish coffee.
“You cannot say that, Skye,” a pondering Holmes finally added his thoughts to the conversation. “You cannot say that someone with fewer scruples would not have developed the thing, in this, or another, continuum. What if, for instance, it had been Haines who developed the tesseract? And what if he chose to save Moriarty, rather than myself? Given such considerations, how much better that you developed it, with your grasp of the inherent risks and dangers? Your innate moral stance?”
“And how do we know it isn’t still happening out there someplace?” Skye argued.
“We don’t,” Caitlin agreed. “But you know what, Skye? There are several more of you out there—we know that, because we’ve seen it. And there’s several more instances where Holmes apparently dies at Reichenbach, too.”
“So what does that tell you?” Morris pointed out.
“That elsewhere,” Holmes observed, looking down at his blue-eyed darling, “you and I are working together every whit as well as we do here.”
Skye gazed up at him contemplatively; her eyes flickered in amusement, and she laughed.
“What?” Holmes wondered, uncharacteristically surprised and puzzled at her unexpected response.
“Well, Sherlock, usually you just save the day,” she snickered. “When you tossed Professor Moriarty over the Reichenbach, you saved London, and maybe all of Europe. But this time, you saved the whole damn multiverse. How are you ever gonna one-up that?”
There was a pause, while the others took in her remarks. Suddenly the room erupted in laughter.
* * *
Later, after Jones’ empty flask disappeared, the door was unlocked, and one by one, the members of Project: Tesseract filtered in, bringing their own contributions to the celebration. Soon Skye’s desk was covered with dishes of food, and it overflowed onto tables, shelves, and other horizontal surfaces. It was obvious to Holmes and Chadwick that a certain amount of coordination had occurred over the weekend. In fact Project: Tesseract had worked overtime through the weekend to assess events and determine no permanent damage occurred to any continuum. The team was now fully aware of how close to disaster the program had come. Little was said of a serious nature, but there was a subtle undercurrent of goodbye in the air; evidently the team was concerned this spelled the end of the project. Privately, Skye had to agree with them.
But it wasn’t mentioned, and the only solemn conversations revolved around relief that Holmes, Chadwick, and Hughes had finally turned up safe and sound. There was considerable discussion of Holmes’ extraordinary detective skills, as well as how Chadwick ably demonstrated her own budding abilities in that regard.
There were also copious congratulations of the couple’s status, their kiss in the Chamber after thwarting Haines’ takeover attempt providing ample proof that Holmes and Skye were more than merely friends and colleagues. Skye shot Holmes a furtive glance the first few times such comments were made, uncertain if he was comfortable with the idea of their relationship as a subject of public discussion. But the grey eyes were sanguine and assured, the aquiline face relaxed, the firm lips smiling, with nothing of an acerbic or sardonic nature in his expression.
* * *
That expression changed to one of surprise and concern, however, when Ryker showed up in the office in full dress uniform, carrying a package. Jones and Smith greeted him warmly, as if entirely expecting to see him there. Jones pulled him through the crowd in the office until they reached Skye and Holmes.
“Hey, everybody,” Jones called, “may I have your attention?”
The chatter quieted, and Jones went on.
“I hardly think I have to explain that Mr. Sherlock Holmes is not from the United States, let alone our United States.”
Everyone laughed, and the colonel continued.
“So, in order to get him properly established in this plane, we had help across the Pond. And it seems a certain august Lady has taken notice of his and Dr. Chadwick’s work. So one of our close liaisons is here to say a few words on her behalf.”
Jones stepped back, and Ryker moved forward. He snapped off a salute to Holmes and Skye, who bowed and curtsied respectively.
“Her Majesty the Queen sends her congratulations and thanks for your excellent accomplishments,” Ryker announced formally, his English accent back in full, “and wishes to express her immense gratitude at your willingness to risk your lives in the defence, not only of your countries, but of All That Is. In token of her esteem, she commands I present you with these gifts.” He gave the package to Holmes, then reached inside his jacket to produce a much smaller box, which he handed to Skye. “Her Majesty also wishes to inform you that you are a favoured son of Britain, Mr. Holmes, and you and Dr. Chadwick are ever welcome within her shores; if succour is required, it need only be requested. I was also instructed to inform you that a knighthood awaits your arrival in the land of your birth.”
Skye gasped; Holmes dropped his gaze, his eyes sparkling and his cheeks tinged a dusky red.
“Please inform Her Majesty she is too generous, and her gracious favour is all I would wish,” Holmes murmured.
“It will be done.” Ryker nodded solemnly. Then, eyes twinkling, he dropped the formality. “Open ‘em!” Everyone laughed.
“Ladies first,” Holmes observed, turning and watching as Skye opened the small box.
Inside was a lavishly-bejeweled gold pendant depicting the Royal Coat of Arms, sans crown. Holmes let out a low whistle.
“A magnanimous gift, my dear, and the symbology even more so than the thing itself.”
“Seldom is the designation made to someone who isn’t a British subject. Let alone to a private individual.” Ryker nodded.
“I’m…afraid I don’t understand.” Skye looked at Ryker, then turned her gaze to Holmes.
“Only duly appointed representatives of the Crown are allowed to use that device, Skye,” Holmes explained. “You have indeed earned Her Majesty’s trust.”
“She heard the full report of events. She hopes the two of you will continue working together, on both sides of the Atlantic, and after considerable deliberation, it was decided this,” Ryker indicated the pendant, “might help expedite that.”
Holmes temporarily discarded his own package on the corner of the desk and lifted the pendant from its box by the gold chain. He opened the clasp and moved behind Skye, holding it up so everyone could admire it, before putting it around her throat and fastening the clasp. It nestled in the hollow of her throat, and he nodded approval.
“Now it’s your turn, Mr. Holmes,” Ryker grinned.
* * *
Holmes turned to his box, opening it calmly, but his eager fingers betrayed excitement. When the violin case inside was revealed, that excitement transferred itself to his face, where his eyes shone and his cheeks flushed. But when he opened the case, the grey eyes dilated in shock. He snatched the instrument from its velvet bed and flipped it over, sliding his finger across the pattern of wood grain on the back.
“Dear God,” he whispered in awe.
“It’s a Stradivari, Mr. Holmes,” Ryker beamed, as a delighted murmur ran around the room. “From the Queen’s personal art collection.”
“I know, Ryker, I know,” Holmes said distractedly, still trying to take it in. “But not only is it A Stradivarius…it is THE Stradivarius.”
“What do you mean, Sherlock?” Skye asked, puzzled.
Holmes looked up at her, grey eyes filled with emotion. His fingers trembled as they gripped the treasure.
“This…is MY Stradivarius, Skye. I recognise the detail—even to the wood grain.” He glanced eloquently at General Morris. “Evidently it, too, has awaited me.”
The room went dead quiet. Skye smiled at Holmes, her eyes filled with tears as he stared in delighted joy at his own violin, come to him in so strange a
fashion.
Finally a choked-up Ryker managed to say, “Her Majesty will be…extremely pleased.”
“She cannot possibly be more pleased than I,” Holmes murmured.
“Well, Holmes, you’re known for being a master violinist. Let’s hear it!” Smith piped up.
* * *
Without further encouragement, Holmes reached into the case and pulled out the bow. A few adjustments to make sure it was in tune, and he affectionately tucked his old friend under his chin and began to play. Brahms’ Lullaby drifted through the room, low and soft. Skye smiled to herself; she knew it was her beloved detective’s gentle offering—not only to her, but also her team: A soothing, peaceful end to a horrific and turbulent time.
Holmes kept playing, one piece after another from memory, delighting in both the possession of his precious violin and having an appreciative audience. Conversation resumed, muted in respect of the music wafting from the hands of the great detective, and friendly camaraderie showed among the colleagues. The food and drink spread across the office slowly diminished. From time to time Holmes paused the violin music while Skye offered him a morsel, or something to drink. But he always resumed playing within moments, as if months of deprivation must be overcome that very afternoon.
As the workday ended, one by one the members of the team reluctantly wandered away, taking empty serving dishes with them. Finally only Holmes, Skye, Ryker, Caitlin, and Morris were left.
* * *
“Time to go home, guys,” Morris declared fondly. “We’ll have a few meetings tomorrow to go over details, I expect. Meantime, get some rest. We’ve earned it, I think. Every damned one of us. This ‘saving all of spacetime’ shit takes it outta ya.” He laughed.
“Okay, General,” Caitlin agreed, chuckling. “Let’s dump the leftovers in the break room fridge, toss the trash, and go.”
They all pitched in, even the general, and soon they were all walking through the parking lot.
“Bye, Cait! Bye, sir!” Skye called, as Hughes and Morris peeled off, en route to their own automobiles. They waved goodbye, and the trio continued on.
“I take it we have an escort up the mountain?” Holmes observed, as Ryker walked along with them.
“Yes, sir,” Ryker grinned. “I hope you don’t mind giving me a ride. Wang dropped me off earlier with the packages, then headed back.”
“Not at all,” Holmes agreed. “Skye, would you like for me to drive?”
“Sure. But are you up to it? Not too stiff?”
“I think I shall be fine. Let us go home.”
They climbed into Skye’s Infiniti, Ryker folding into the back seat next to the carefully-cradled violin case, and headed off.
* * *
The week was quiet, comprised mostly of decidedly anticlimactic debriefs. About mid-week, word came down that the entire espionage ring had been rounded up, and the Air Force officers were on their way to a military tribunal; the rest would be tried in the civilian courts in the U.S. and Canada. Holmes did not envy them, as his private researches found the penalties for the charges of espionage and sabotage still included capital punishment.
Upon verifying Holmes’ and Chadwick’s safety, Ryker & Co. went around the ranch taking down their share of the security equipment, and loaded up. They shook hands all around before making ready to depart.
“It’s been an absolute pleasure, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Chadwick,” Ryker said, English accent back to stay. “I look forward to being present at your knighting ceremony, sir.”
“Ah, well,” Holmes said with a slight smile, “that may be awhile, Ryker. As you may know, I never sought such honours.”
“We know, sir; and so does the Queen. But you’ve earned it, and I suspect Her Majesty won’t be put off too long.”
“We shall see,” Holmes said complacently.
“Do come to London soon, though, both of you. And let Williams know beforehand so he can notify me; we’ll make a point of getting together with you, my kids and I.”
“We’ll do that, Captain.”
“And,” Ryker added mischievously, “should the two of you ever decide to…well, shall we say, have a little ritual officiated…we’d bloody well better get invitations!”
Skye blushed furiously; Holmes’ jaw went slack, though he covered well and it was barely detectable. Ryker grinned cheekily, and the rest of the MI-5 unit smirked.
And on that note, their faithful “ranch hands” departed, and the ranch was quiet once more.
* * *
Holmes watched Skye closely for the next several days; she grew increasingly subdued and morose as the week progressed, and he recognized it as her equivalent of a post-case letdown. He himself, for possibly the first time in his life, discovered he could assuage the effects of his own letdown, aided partly by the knowledge that he had, at last, found his place, his anchor. But by Friday he made up his mind: That anchor needed his help, needed reminding she was no longer alone, and there was now much more to her life than a spy case and a scientific project.
* * *
So on Saturday morning, Skye awoke to smiling grey eyes and gentle caresses. She wasn’t allowed to get out of bed until almost lunchtime, and Holmes devoted his energies to ensuring his alarm clock rang several times.
“I think you were the alarm clock today,” Skye finally murmured against his chest.
“You are, ahem…properly awake?”
“I was properly awake well over an hour ago, sweetheart. Not that I’m objecting.”
“Then may I suggest brunch, followed by a buggy ride and a picnic tea?”
“That sounds wonderful,” she decided, a secret thrill of excitement filling her. It sounded terribly romantic, in fact, and she wondered if Holmes intended to ask her a particular question. “Let’s do it.”
So they did. It was a beautiful day in August, and up in the Rampart Range, the air was cool and dry, so it was quite pleasant. Holmes drove the buggy, and he kept up a running stream of stories and amusing anecdotes about his days in Baker Street, until Skye’s cheeks and sides ached from laughing.
But when they stopped in the shade of Dog-Leg Rock for their picnic, he didn’t ask her the question she thought he might. Skye shrugged mentally, understanding that, in the flurry of events, Holmes hadn’t had time to look into such matters. Anyway, I told him I didn’t need that, and I meant it. He’s here, with me, and that’s all that’s important.
The rest of the day was a relaxed, happy affair, enjoyed between two people who loved deeply.
* * *
The next afternoon, after another late—if hardly leisurely—morning in bed, Skye and Holmes were puttering around the house, doing various household chores, when tires crunched the gravel in the driveway. Moments later a knock landed on the front door. Chadwick and Holmes exchanged glances—Did you know we were having guests?—before Holmes went to the door.
MI-5 Agent Williams and FBI Agent Smith stood there.
“Good day,” Williams piped. “You look to be doing well. Good to see you again.”
“And you,” Holmes nodded cordially, Skye standing behind his shoulder. “Come in, both of you.”
“Maybe some other time,” Smith smiled at the immediate welcome from the detective. “We come bearing a message.” He gestured to Williams, who held out a letter to Holmes. “Since the originators and the recipient are citizens of two different countries, we thought it might be good to use an intermediary courier. Or two.”
Holmes took the letter, and Williams and Smith shook his hand.
“They’re looking forward to meeting you,” Smith grinned, deliberately oblique. “With any luck, I’ll get by there, too. Dr. Chadwick, good to see you. Take care, now.”
And they were gone.
* * *
Holmes stood staring after the black diplomatic automobile as it drove down the road.
“All right…let us see what that was all about.” He closed the door and turned back into the den, scrutinizing the envelope.
“It has been through several hands,” Holmes observed, “including someone who had been reading newsprint—there is an unfortunate smudge in the lower left corner.” He studied it a bit more, sniffed the envelope, and decided, “It has also been carried inside another container, possibly a locked leather valise, for a considerable period of time.”
“Probably hand-couriered from Washington,” Skye murmured, mildly awestruck. “Open it and let’s see what they want.”
“Very well,” Holmes agreed. He pulled out his jackknife and slit open the envelope, extracting the missive inside.
* * *
August 14
Washington, D.C.
Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
Your recent endeavors on behalf of our government and your own have been most impressive. We sincerely congratulate you on the success of your case and respectfully request your presence in Washington on Monday, August 18, so we may properly pay our respects, as well as discuss some business details with you. Enclosed please find an e-ticket for your flight departing from Colorado Springs at 7:50 A.M. on the morning of the 18th. Your accommodations here in Washington are already arranged. Please bring formal eveningwear if you have it; if not, it may be obtained upon your arrival.
Your point of contact and liaison may be found on the second enclosure.
We look forward to meeting you.
George Antwerp
Director, Central Intelligence Agency
Peter Gallagher
Director, Federal Bureau of Investigation
Charles Connelly
General, U.S. Army
Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff
* * *
Holmes stood re-reading the letter, and Skye moved to his side, reading it with him over his shoulder.
“You’re being summoned to Washington,” she observed, pulling the electronic ticket out of the envelope.
“Yes, it appears so. Undoubtedly they desire to thank us for our efforts.”
The Case of the Displaced Detective Page 73
