The Case of the Displaced Detective

by Stephanie Osborn

  “We tell him the truth of my origins.”

  “Oh, dear,” Skye murmured, face falling. She glanced around, looking for a timepiece. “What time is it?”

  “Hm? About half past three, my dear.”

  “Perfect. Tell him I’m going to make us some tea before I come in, and you keep him entertained. I’ll sneak out through the garage, duck under the sitting room window, and come in through the garden door, so he won’t see me; then, while I’m working in the kitchen, I’ll call Braeden and ask him what to do.” Skye laid a gentle hand on Sherlock’s arm. “I know you want to tell him, and so do I. But we still have to be cautious. We don’t know he’s the same as your Watson. Not yet.”

  “I know. I shall do my best; perhaps a discussion of medical subjects will suffice.”

  “Good idea,” Skye said, scooping up her cell phone and stashing it in her jeans pocket. “Our forensics version, versus his healing version.”

  “Capital,” Sherlock nodded again, and headed back for the sitting room, while Skye made a roundabout curve for the kitchen.

  * * *

  “You’re joking,” Skye said into the cell phone in disbelief. “He really did?”

  “He did,” Ryker avowed, “according to our records. I checked him out as soon as Holmes mentioned meeting him the other day. Watson worked some of the more classified medical situations at both Woodbridge and Bentwaters. He’s as straight an arrow as the two of you. And I took the liberty of reactivating his clearance, into the bargain. For that matter, I got the coroner’s clearance reinstated, as well. Thought it would be useful, in the circumstance.”

  “Wonderful! Sherlock’s gonna be really happy with you, Brae! Could you fax a security clearance for Watson over here right now?” Skye’s face broke into a huge smile.

  “Consider it done,” Ryker said cheerfully. “I’ll have it on your machine in less than five minutes.”

  “Which is just how long it’ll take the tea to steep,” Skye noted, as the kettle whistled.

  “Perfect,” Ryker’s voice grinned, and he hung up.

  * * *

  Skye had the tea tray ready when she heard the distant bleat of the fax. “I’ll get it,” she called into the house, and scurried back outside, under, around, and into the study. Ryker was as good as his word, and a formal clearance for Dr. John H. Watson, M.D., former physician consultant at RAF Bentwaters and Woodbridge, awaited on the fax machine. She swiped it and hurried back around, under, and into the kitchen, all the while wishing for a less linear floor plan to the cottage; sneaking through the herb garden in the winter was COLD. She folded the paper as she went, and laid it on the tea tray. Then she made her way with the loaded tray into the sitting room.

  “Hi there,” she smiled, as Sherlock and Watson both rose. Sherlock moved quickly to her side and assisted with the tray. “Sherlock, fax came in for you. It’s the paper there on the tray.”

  “Excellent,” Sherlock said, helping her ease the tea tray onto the coffee table. “Skye, this is Dr. John H. Watson. Watson, this is my wife, Dr. Skye Chadwick-Holmes.”

  “Very pleased to meet you, Doctor,” Watson offered his hand as soon as Skye and Sherlock got the tea tray positioned and their hands free. While the greeting was occurring, Sherlock casually picked up the fax, unfolded it, and read it. Grey eyes began to sparkle, and a hint of color tinged high cheekbones.

  “Likewise, Doctor,” Skye grinned, taking Watson’s hand and shaking it firmly. “Sherlock very much enjoyed meeting you. I’ve heard so much about you, I’ve really been looking forward to this.”

  “So have I, young lady,” the elderly doctor smiled. “I don’t know if he told you, but I’ve read many of your articles on spacetime.”

  “He told me,” Skye blushed.

  “And so my first condition has been met,” Watson grinned, turning to Holmes. “What about the second? Does Holmes here have anything whatsoever to do with your work in hyperspatial physics, Dr. Chadwick? Er, excuse me, Dr. Chadwick-Holmes?”

  Skye and Sherlock exchanged glances.

  “Let’s sit down and have some tea,” Skye suggested. “This is going to be an interesting visit…”

  * * *

  Several hours later, the three were still talking animatedly. “This is the delight of a lifetime,” Watson averred happily. “And so you really are him? And you say I am the very image—though some decades older—of your own Watson?”

  “Indeed. I could hardly hide my shock upon meeting you.”

  “And you are here on the case of the UFO murder.”

  “We are,” Skye confirmed.

  “You know, I must say, Holmes,” Watson concluded, “I can see why you finally decided to take a wife, after all. This young lady of yours is positively amazing.”

  “She is,” Sherlock agreed. “And every bit as loyal and dependable as ever my own Watson was.”

  “With all the brilliance and skill of yourself,” Watson added.

  Skye blushed badly. Sherlock and Watson both hid grins, though their eyes twinkled at each other.

  “And so you have your medical records now,” Watson continued. “It should provide all the proof you need that the new will is false.” He rose. “This has been a wonderful visit. Please do let me know if I can aid you further, and…” here he became slightly wistful, “do keep in touch?”

  “NO, no, you’re not going yet,” Skye said firmly. “You’re staying to dinner. I’m afraid I’ll have to retire to the study to work further after we eat, but you and Sherlock have way too much to talk about for you to leave now. Please, stay the evening and talk with him. He was so happy to meet you, I want you to get to know each other.”

  Watson glanced from Skye to Sherlock uncertainly, but saw the couple was united on the matter. “Are you certain?”

  “Absolutely,” Sherlock said calmly.

  “Then I’d love to,” Watson smiled happily.

  Grey eyes shone.

  * * *

  The next day, Ryker carried Watson’s medical report and records, along with Sherlock’s report on the analysis of the signatures, to the appropriate court in Woodbridge, and filed a petition that the second will be disavowed. By later that day, he sent word to Gibson House: the judge, after review of all documents, declared the new will null and void, especially in the absence of legal representation of the second supposed heir at the appointed time, and upheld the original legal document.

  A gratified Sherlock called both the Watson and Carver residences, to inform those worthies of the news.

  Skye looked up from her work long enough to declare, “And a sharp-eyed seagull got one more red herring.”

  Sherlock stared at his wife’s back, brows furrowed in puzzlement at her statement, before shrugging and returning to pondering the details of his case.

  * * *

  “Okay, what’s up?” Chadwick wondered, as soon as they focused in the next day. “We gave you several days this time, given the news about the will thing.”

  “Was that resolved, by the by?” Holmes wondered.

  “Indeed,” Sherlock noted, “and to the benefit of the nephew.”

  “Capital, old man.”

  “Remind him later to tell you about the doctor we ran into. And now on to the other business,” Skye grinned, casting a proud glance at her husband.

  “Got something good?” Chadwick wondered.

  “Yeah, actually. I got a lot done, especially yesterday and last night, as it turns out. And my calculations indicate your sequencing is off a smidge,” Skye noted, “and Sherlock and I can confirm the ‘symptoms’ my calculations predict.”

  “And what might those ‘symptoms’ be?” Holmes wondered.

  “When your tesseract focuses either in or out,” Sherlock pointed out, “there is always a sort of popping sound, which hisses or sizzles slightly—depending upon whether you are coming or going—and a distinct smell of ozone.”

  “Well, shit,” Chadwick expostulated, annoyed. “That ain’t good.”
/>
  “Nope,” Skye agreed. “Take a look at the blackboard and write down the equations there. That’s my determination of what the proper closed-loop string sequencing should be.”

  “On it,” Holmes remarked. After several minutes, he observed, “Very well, I have it recorded. This is a simple software modification, Chadwick.”

  “Correct,” Skye agreed.

  “And that’s my bailiwick,” Chadwick said confidently. “Gimme, Holmes.”

  “Here you are, my dear.” There was the sound of papers shuffling.

  “But my predictions indicate it isn’t your only problem, and probably not the main one,” Skye added. “And far from the biggest.”

  “Well, double shit,” Chadwick grumbled. “And triple shit, to boot.”

  “Shall I get out a muck rake, my dear Chadwick?” Holmes wondered with dark humor. “At this rate, it will be getting very deep in the Chamber. Not to mention aromatic.”

  Sherlock stifled a snort with difficulty and made a business of prepping his pipe. Skye suddenly glanced down at her notebook to hide her expression, blue eyes dancing.

  “Aw, shaddup, Holmes,” Chadwick muttered. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “And I am trying to lighten your mood.”

  “I know, but let’s hear what Sis has to say first.”

  “Very well.”

  “As far as I can determine, without having really looked at your hardware and software,” Skye said, sobering, “it seems the sequencing screw-up threw off the alignment and focus of the string beam, sort of de-rezzing it—because of the gravity effect, you know—and…” Her voice tapered off.

  “And?” Holmes queried.

  “Go on,” Chadwick pressed.

  * * *

  Skye took a deep breath and glanced at Sherlock, who gazed back calmly. She drew strength from that calm grey gaze, and finished her statement.

  “I think you have part of the beam striking the parent brane. If there’s tachyon condensation occurring, which looks likely, then the destabilization is happening because the tachyons are bleeding off the brane’s rest energy.”

  “Which will eventually take down the brane and every string attached to it,” Chadwick finished.

  “Exactly,” Skye confirmed.

  “So,” Holmes surmised, “if this is truly occurring, we will need to fine-tune the focusing mechanism and software, re-order the sequencing, and set up a tesseract mode in which we can pump energy back into the brane to regenerate its rest energy? Though not necessarily in that order.”

  “Yes,” Skye agreed. “But—”

  “Not until we determine if that’s really what’s happening,” Chadwick finished for her doppelganger.

  “Yup,” Skye nodded.

  “Very well,” Holmes decided. “Chadwick, would you mind inverting the tesseract so I might verify with your counterpart precisely which hardware parts this might involve? That way, we may begin planning as soon as may be.”

  “Okay,” Chadwick sighed, suiting action to word.

  * * *

  The study walls faded around Sherlock and Skye, and the Chamber appeared. Holmes moved near the monoliths, as did Skye, and they began discussing the various hardware components together, pointing at different pieces of equipment, even walking from monolith to monolith. Chadwick, meanwhile, busily scribbled software edits on a printout of the sequencing subroutine. Sherlock merely watched and listened silently from his seat in the wing chair in the corner.

  “All right, Chadwick,” Holmes noted energetically, rubbing his hands together as Skye returned to her desk chair, “I believe the other you and I have the hardware issue worked out. As I see you already hard at work on the sequencing edits, might I propose you carry on with that correction and get it out of the way, while I begin a preliminary plan for correcting the string beam focus? I think—”

  “No,” Chadwick ordered. “We do it all at once. The other Skye has already ascertained sequencing’s not our principal problem. We need to devise an experiment to verify that the focusing is our main malfunction, then make all our corrections at once. Otherwise we may end up correcting our corrections, and overlay problem upon problem.”

  “All I am saying, Chadwick, is that—”

  “Enough.” Chadwick snapped, then stared at Holmes, eyes narrowed. “The last time I checked, I was still Chief Scientist AND Manager on what’s left of this project,” she pointed out in a biting tone. “I gave an order. I expect it to be carried out.”

  With that, she rose and exited the Chamber, her back ramrod stiff. Holmes glared after her.

  “Blast and damnation! I merely pointed out it seems more logical to—Sherlock, is your Chadwick—er, rather, your wife, so…so recalcitrant?”

  “Skye can be stubborn, but I would not term her recalcitrant,” Sherlock noted quietly, watching the other man. “Nor, actually, would I term your Chadwick’s behaviour recalcitrant. She is struggling.”

  “But why?” Holmes wondered, frustrated. “I am here to help. She knows that. Dr. Chadwick—um, Chadwick-Holmes—perhaps you can help me to understand. Does her behaviour make sense to you?”

  * * *

  “I think maybe it does,” Skye murmured, rising and moving to stand nearer the monoliths, directly across from Holmes. “May I ask some questions?”

  “I should expect you to,” Holmes agreed.

  “Very well. Where are her parents?”

  “Dead,” Holmes answered succinctly. “Nearly a year before my arrival.”

  Skye nodded; she had expected precisely that answer. “Caitlin Hughes?”

  “Dead.” Holmes’ reply was clipped.

  Skye sucked in a sharp breath, swaying lightly; she had not expected that answer. Sherlock leaped from his seat and reached for her, steadying her quickly, as she continued her line of questioning. “Chad Swann?”

  * * *

  “Dead, as well,” Holmes answered, his manner softening as he saw the other woman so affected by the information. “As is Colonel Hank Jones, FBI Agent Adrian Smith, Software chief Brad Taylor, programmer Janet Edgings…” He silenced immediately, seeing Skye’s wide, horrified gaze and watching as Sherlock quickly guided his pale wife to the nearest chair and almost forcibly sat her in it. “Perhaps I had best explain. When Professor Haines attempted to take control of the project, he used a Trojan horse virus…”

  “He did here, as well,” Sherlock agreed. “A graviton singularity was forming as a result. Chad Swann died in the resultant emergency shutdown.”

  Holmes paused, suddenly understanding Skye’s strong reaction. He was now hesitant to tell the counterpart to his own partner the full story, realizing how badly it would upset her, but he saw no help for it at this point; the discussion had already progressed too far to avoid it.

  “More than Swann died in the emergency shutdown here,” he finally admitted. “Fully half the team was killed in the aftermath of the sabotage.”

  “HALF…?!” Skye breathed, shocked. “What happened?”

  “For a proper explanation, you will have to ask Chadwick,” he confessed, shaking his head sadly. “It was not, as in your situation, a singularity formation—at least not a graviton singularity. The entire core became unstable, and…” he paused. “I have learned much in the interim, but the full physics is…complex. The wormhole…pulsed, and…lost focus simultaneously…”

  “Oh,” Skye nodded her understanding of the science. “I gotcha.” Then she sighed. “So is that how your continuum’s Caitlin died?”

  “Yes,” Holmes said simply. “How they all died. We—Chadwick and I, aided by Colonel Jones’ and Agent Smith’s replacements, as well as members of MI5—caught Haines and repaired the tesseract, or so we thought. But afterward it was decided to route all tesseract functions through the director’s console and run on a skeleton staff. I am essentially the only other operator—besides Chadwick—who will regularly work in the Chamber when the tesseract is active.”

  * * *

  “And ye
t you hold her at a distance,” Sherlock murmured, just under his breath. Holmes raised an eyebrow, having caught the comment with his excellent hearing—as Sherlock had intended—but said nothing.

  “Well, I think that’s your answer to her behavior, Holmes,” Skye pointed out. “The tesseract is the only thing she’s got left. And look at what’s happening with it.”

  “She HAS become…distant…in the last year or so.” Holmes’ gaze grew thoughtful.

  “There ya go,” Skye nodded knowingly. “Be patient with her, Holmes. As patient as you know how to be. I know that can be hard for you, but you have to try, for the continuum’s sake, and for what once was, even if not for her sake. She’s hurting worse than even I can imagine, and she’s scared nearly witless into the bargain. Everything seems like it’s coming apart around her, and she feels like she’s the thin, frayed thread holding it all together, AND…she’s afraid of losing it. And I don’t mean just the tesseract.”

  Both versions of Holmes gazed knowingly at Skye, well aware that the only way she could so accurately describe Chadwick’s situation and emotional response was to have lived it in large part herself. At last the other Holmes nodded.

  “Very well, Dr. Chadwick-Holmes. That does, indeed, help. I shall do my best to follow your excellent guidance.” He paused, concerned. “Meanwhile, should I locate her and ascertain her emotional state?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Skye pursed her lips and considered. “No, leave her be for now. Just go ahead and do what she wanted you to, because she needs a few minutes to herself, I’m thinking. She’ll be back when she’s on a more even keel.”

  “Very well,” Holmes nodded, and began working with Skye to plan an experimental test of the tesseract.

  * * *

  At long last, a phone call came from the coroner: He had discovered the cause of death, and needed to see them right away. Skye looked up from the desk at Sherlock, concerned.

  “Oh geez. Which do I do?”

  “You go see the coroner,” Chadwick noted determinedly. “Your eyes look like two fried eggs in a garbage pail, Sis. You need a break.”