I sighed, stubbornly trying to stick a pin in my hair that wouldn't want to go in. Finally it did, and I flew over to get dressed into what I was going to wear. Of course, that was a feat in itself.
The dress was white with china blue stripes and had a *huge* bustle down the back, with a whole lot of ruffles, I think it was called a 'Princess' gown. I walked around my room to get the hang of the dress. If I made it through that night, I would thank the Lord and promise to be good for the rest of my little life.
Holmes knocked on my door twice, demanding for me to be finished. I tried to be calm and tell him that, like any other woman of the time, I needed my time. He sighed loudly and started muttering something about why women couldn't be more like men.
Finally, I was ready, and I started to go to Holmes' room, but his light wasn't on. Heading the other way, I started down the stairs . . .immediately regretting it. Watson started to ooh and aw, and Mr. Stuntson gasped. Holmes, on the other hand, had his mouth wide open and wouldn't close it.
"I suppose I clean up pretty well, or is there something wrong?" I asked.
Holmes didn't answer for a minute or two, but then blinked and shook his head.
"No, you look absolutely . ." he surveyed me, and I looked away, embarrassed, " . . . . stunning."
"Well, I darkened my complexion, so that I look a little more from the country, and a few freckles." I shrugged. "Nothing to change me too much."
Mr. Stuntson cleared his throat and asked a slightly miffing question. "So, what should I tell the curious people. They *will* want to know who this, as Mr. Holmes put it, 'stunning' beauty is."
"I think," okay, time to pull out a talent from the good ol' bag of tricks, "I think you could tell them that I am . .Miss Cornelia Parkins; Soprano."
"Ah, and when were you going to tell us you can sing, Watson?" Holmes raised an eyebrow.
I turned to grin at him, which took him aback. "When I felt like it. I *did* tell you I could have been an actress, and an actresses should be able to sing to a certain degree."
"The voice of an angel, my sister." Watson offered.
"Well, we will see. I do believe we can set something up so that you can sing. Anything in mind?"
I knew exactly what would do, as it was one of the first things my father taught to me. "Carrickfergus. Although, it's a different version then most people know."
I could remember singing that almost everyday. Like most Watson men, save for John Watson, my father had been very strict in making sure I could sing from our families' history. That was no easy feat. To make matters worse, my father believed that there were so little Celtic songs and so much time. He wait around forever to make sure I sang each correctly.
If I closed my eyes, I could still see my father's hands hovering over the piano keys, slamming on them when I sang a note in the wrong pitch. Yes, I was afraid of my father, and I think my mother was, too. After a horrible day when I said I didn't want to sing, I think it was 'Papa, Can You Hear Me?', he showed more fury than I could ever remember. He never struck me, but he came very close on several occasions. After we moved, my mother let me do what I wanted, although the songs were stuck in my head forever. I shuttered as the picture of my father yelling at me kept replaying.
"Well, that'll be fine, I think." Stunston woke me from my little elapse. I nodded. Then, Watson asked me the question I was regretting; "Who's going to escort Ms. Parkins to this party?"
"I will." Holmes didn't even give Stuntson or Watson a chance to say anything. This was a little ackward. "I mean, if you act as her escort, Watson, no other man will even be able to look at her without getting the third degree. And Stuntson, all the women will envy you. I'm the only one who seems to be the best candidate for the privilege."
"Oh, stop fighting over me. I could go by myself!" I exclaimed, trying to clear up whatever was coming.
"No, 'Ms. Parkins', it wouldn't be polite or correct." Stuntson smiled, amused. "Mr. Holmes is right; I *do* want to be able to marry."
Holmes smiled at me, accomplished. I took his arm, and we proceeded to the outside, where some of the guests had started to arrive. We all were introduced and went on with the night.
As the people came on to the porch, a photographer took our picture. I insisted on having all three of us in the picture, and no other way. Watson reluctantly agreed, and I was given the picture after it had developed.
The party was out in the backyard, which sprawled on for what seemed forever. Near the back was a maze made of hedge, and the back of which, I was told, had a view of the ocean rivaled by few.
Of course, everyone was absolutely curious about my career, and I told them that I had just started and was going to London to try to get a job, although I really didn't see much in that career.
"So, show them." Stuntson called from over in the corner, at which I smiled weakly. Oh boy, vocal cords don't fail me now, I prayed.
And I sang. Nothing much to it, actually, and everything went well. As I finished, many of the people clapped, while a few decided to save their opinion. Oh well, I never said I was a diva.
I sat down and finished my drink, suddenly suffering from a dry throat. Holmes tapped my arm. Some of the couples were starting to walk around a bit, and he and I were trying to keep in character. I smiled and stood up. "Yes, Darling?"
He held out his arm. Honestly, this whole etiquette thing was getting old.
I sighed as we were out of ear shot, and Holmes let go of my arm.
"I think we did pretty well." He said quietly.
"Yeah, except for the fact that I sucked."
" 'Sucked'?"
"Oh, I did horribly."
"Oh." We walked a little bit and then he perused conversation. "So, in the future, you would be able to, say, go to dinner with some one?"
"Holmes!" I sighed. "We've been through this before. Yes, but, just out of curiosity, who would this 'some one' be?"
We rounded the corner, and were met by a sunset and the ocean. For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
"It's so . ." I couldn't even think of the words.
"Beautiful." Holmes finished my sentence. The strange think was, he wasn't looking at the view, he was looking at me.
I shook my head. I should get my eyes checked, if that was even possible at the time.
"As I was saying before, who?"
He looked at the water for a moment. "Well, a certain some one."
"And, do I know this person? I mean, if they were family, in a weird way, I would say no . . ."
"Oh, no." He answered quickly. Did he mean himself? "Some one that . .well, had known you a bit, and he well, what would you do if they said they loved you?"
"If it were Mr. Stuntson, I'd smack him around a bit, then force his head between two doors and-"
"Oh, don't get violent, Watson! Just answer the question; no, another person."
Not many people knew me. Not Watson, not Stuntson. . .who else could it be?
"Is this person here tonight?"
Holmes sighed. "Yes, but he asked me to ask you."
I started to laugh, holding my sides.
"What?" He asked me calmly.
"That sounded like . .James . .in eight grade, oh, forget it." I stopped laughing at the sudden realization; that only really left Holmes . . . Maybe I was overreacting.
"I would say, umm, that I was flattered and-"
" 'Flattered' . ." He looked like he was trying to remember all this.
"Yes, and that, if this person is who I think they are, that I-I love them, too."
He turned to me, "And would you mind if he kissed you?"
I opened my mouth to answer as hand went over it.
"I do believe she would say that that is very impolite and would slap you, Mr. Holmes." An amused voice from behind said. A gun went to my temple. If I weren't being held captive this guy would have had one finger less and no gun, dead, or the one with the gun on him. I couldn't do anything, I, unfortunately, was powerless.
"And who are you?" Holmes said in complete calmness.
"Some call me Professor Moriarty, while others, . . . . they call me Mr. Perrins."
"And what do you want?" Holmes, don't lose your cool now.
"I just want a few 'loose strings' snipped." He bumped the gun a little harder into my temple. Oh, that was going to leave a bruise.
"I don't understand, Professor."
"You know exactly what I mean. If the board got hold of information, saying that I was the one responsible for the death of my poor wife." He spat out the last to words. "She had more beauty than brains, except for when she wanted to use them. Nasty little wench, she was. Tried to get me framed for her suicide. But maybe this time, I should marry a woman of brains and beauty, what do you think, Olivia?" He hissed in my ear and took his hand off my mouth.
"The name's Ms. Watson to you!" I screamed, grabbing the gun. "Holmes . .I'd . . move!" The esteemed professor went flying, his gun landing a few feet from him.
"Thank you, Holmes, you helped quite a bit back there." I said sarcastically. Ow, I really pulled a muscle in my arm.
"Well, I've learned that in some cases, women can take care of themselves. You are one of them."
"Well, I think you. But Holmes, I really think we should get out of here."
"No, wait, I have to tell you this." His back was the unconscious man, and he grabbed me by the shoulders. " I am the o-"
Moriarty sat up and grabbed the gun. He aimed it for Homes' back. Spinning around, I pushed Holmes out of the way, and the bullet ended in my chest.
Staggering, I sat down, and Holmes came over.
"Oh my God," he whispered, "no, no, no, no, no, it wasn't supposed to be like this."
"Holmes'," I grimaced. "Shut up, okay? I don't want to spend my last moments on earth hearing you lament, okay?"
He smiled, did I actually see it, tears were in his eyes? "You repeated 'okay', you know."
I weakly punched his arm, then looked at the ledge. "Oy, what a way to go out. Holmes?"
"I'm here."
"That's exactly what I want to thank Watson and you for; for being there."
"Watson?"
I couldn't answer, it was hurting too much.
"Watson? Oh God, not Olivia, ple-"
That's all I heard before blacking out.
I sat up, gasping. Obviously in a hospital. And there was the nurse, she looked awfully like Krys. In fact, it was Krysten. I looked over at the side of my bed. A heart monitor! I was back, oh Mom, I don't care if I have no reason, I thought to myself, I'm calling you anyway, even if you ask if I'm wearing long underwear.
"Livie? Livie! You're awake!" Krysten flew from her seat to hug me. I didn't respond. If I was here, that meant it was all a dream. All of that, a dream? That was too much.
"Whe-when did I get here?"
"Yesterday, your car went over the side of the bridge and . . . . you don't remember?"
I shook my head. "Not really."
"Well, somehow, even though you should actually be at the bottom of that damn water, you're alive. That ankh kinda comes in handy, huh?"
"Yeah," I said softly, "when do I go home?"
"Doc said he just has to see ya, and then he'll let you know. BTW, I'm going down to the cafe, want anything?" Leave it to Krysten Marianson to be able to think about anything not related to what was at hand. For a twenty-five year old, sometimes she was just a little immature.
"Nah, I think I'll take a shower. I know how to handle the IV."
As soon as she left, I clumsily made my way to the shower, the water felt relaxing on that pulled muscle.
"Wait a second." I whispered to myself. I looked in the mirror. As well as having the pulled muscle, there was a bruise the size of the gun on my temple.
It was real, it was all real. I started to dance a bit, then stopped. It wasn't. When a body is injured during sleep, it creates something in the dream to rectify for it. And that's what happened. All of it.
"I'd always have that dream," I told myself.
I started to pack my things, knowing that if a nurse came in she'd make a fuss. *Maalesh* for them.
"Hey! Me back!" Krys plopped her self in to one of the chairs. "By the way, you got a call while you were out falling off a bridge; it was the Sherlock Holmes Museum in London. They said that they had stuff that belonged to your great great great . . ." she ticked them off on her hand, ". .I can't remember all of them. But they called, said you should come and get it. In fact, they have two tickets in first class waiting for you to pick up. Come on, Livie, ol' buddy, who's your friend?"
I ran into the bathroom and changed, unplugging the IV form my hand. "Come one, Marianson," I called over my shoulder as I left, "the game's afoot!"
************************************************************************
Okay, peeps, now's the part when you review like crazy because this was the last chapter and u want an sequel. Dontchya? I have some ideas in my head, but I could always use some advice! Tata, luvs!
The dress was white with china blue stripes and had a *huge* bustle down the back, with a whole lot of ruffles, I think it was called a 'Princess' gown. I walked around my room to get the hang of the dress. If I made it through that night, I would thank the Lord and promise to be good for the rest of my little life.
Holmes knocked on my door twice, demanding for me to be finished. I tried to be calm and tell him that, like any other woman of the time, I needed my time. He sighed loudly and started muttering something about why women couldn't be more like men.
Finally, I was ready, and I started to go to Holmes' room, but his light wasn't on. Heading the other way, I started down the stairs . . .immediately regretting it. Watson started to ooh and aw, and Mr. Stuntson gasped. Holmes, on the other hand, had his mouth wide open and wouldn't close it.
"I suppose I clean up pretty well, or is there something wrong?" I asked.
Holmes didn't answer for a minute or two, but then blinked and shook his head.
"No, you look absolutely . ." he surveyed me, and I looked away, embarrassed, " . . . . stunning."
"Well, I darkened my complexion, so that I look a little more from the country, and a few freckles." I shrugged. "Nothing to change me too much."
Mr. Stuntson cleared his throat and asked a slightly miffing question. "So, what should I tell the curious people. They *will* want to know who this, as Mr. Holmes put it, 'stunning' beauty is."
"I think," okay, time to pull out a talent from the good ol' bag of tricks, "I think you could tell them that I am . .Miss Cornelia Parkins; Soprano."
"Ah, and when were you going to tell us you can sing, Watson?" Holmes raised an eyebrow.
I turned to grin at him, which took him aback. "When I felt like it. I *did* tell you I could have been an actress, and an actresses should be able to sing to a certain degree."
"The voice of an angel, my sister." Watson offered.
"Well, we will see. I do believe we can set something up so that you can sing. Anything in mind?"
I knew exactly what would do, as it was one of the first things my father taught to me. "Carrickfergus. Although, it's a different version then most people know."
I could remember singing that almost everyday. Like most Watson men, save for John Watson, my father had been very strict in making sure I could sing from our families' history. That was no easy feat. To make matters worse, my father believed that there were so little Celtic songs and so much time. He wait around forever to make sure I sang each correctly.
If I closed my eyes, I could still see my father's hands hovering over the piano keys, slamming on them when I sang a note in the wrong pitch. Yes, I was afraid of my father, and I think my mother was, too. After a horrible day when I said I didn't want to sing, I think it was 'Papa, Can You Hear Me?', he showed more fury than I could ever remember. He never struck me, but he came very close on several occasions. After we moved, my mother let me do what I wanted, although the songs were stuck in my head forever. I shuttered as the picture of my father yelling at me kept replaying.
"Well, that'll be fine, I think." Stunston woke me from my little elapse. I nodded. Then, Watson asked me the question I was regretting; "Who's going to escort Ms. Parkins to this party?"
"I will." Holmes didn't even give Stuntson or Watson a chance to say anything. This was a little ackward. "I mean, if you act as her escort, Watson, no other man will even be able to look at her without getting the third degree. And Stuntson, all the women will envy you. I'm the only one who seems to be the best candidate for the privilege."
"Oh, stop fighting over me. I could go by myself!" I exclaimed, trying to clear up whatever was coming.
"No, 'Ms. Parkins', it wouldn't be polite or correct." Stuntson smiled, amused. "Mr. Holmes is right; I *do* want to be able to marry."
Holmes smiled at me, accomplished. I took his arm, and we proceeded to the outside, where some of the guests had started to arrive. We all were introduced and went on with the night.
As the people came on to the porch, a photographer took our picture. I insisted on having all three of us in the picture, and no other way. Watson reluctantly agreed, and I was given the picture after it had developed.
The party was out in the backyard, which sprawled on for what seemed forever. Near the back was a maze made of hedge, and the back of which, I was told, had a view of the ocean rivaled by few.
Of course, everyone was absolutely curious about my career, and I told them that I had just started and was going to London to try to get a job, although I really didn't see much in that career.
"So, show them." Stuntson called from over in the corner, at which I smiled weakly. Oh boy, vocal cords don't fail me now, I prayed.
And I sang. Nothing much to it, actually, and everything went well. As I finished, many of the people clapped, while a few decided to save their opinion. Oh well, I never said I was a diva.
I sat down and finished my drink, suddenly suffering from a dry throat. Holmes tapped my arm. Some of the couples were starting to walk around a bit, and he and I were trying to keep in character. I smiled and stood up. "Yes, Darling?"
He held out his arm. Honestly, this whole etiquette thing was getting old.
I sighed as we were out of ear shot, and Holmes let go of my arm.
"I think we did pretty well." He said quietly.
"Yeah, except for the fact that I sucked."
" 'Sucked'?"
"Oh, I did horribly."
"Oh." We walked a little bit and then he perused conversation. "So, in the future, you would be able to, say, go to dinner with some one?"
"Holmes!" I sighed. "We've been through this before. Yes, but, just out of curiosity, who would this 'some one' be?"
We rounded the corner, and were met by a sunset and the ocean. For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
"It's so . ." I couldn't even think of the words.
"Beautiful." Holmes finished my sentence. The strange think was, he wasn't looking at the view, he was looking at me.
I shook my head. I should get my eyes checked, if that was even possible at the time.
"As I was saying before, who?"
He looked at the water for a moment. "Well, a certain some one."
"And, do I know this person? I mean, if they were family, in a weird way, I would say no . . ."
"Oh, no." He answered quickly. Did he mean himself? "Some one that . .well, had known you a bit, and he well, what would you do if they said they loved you?"
"If it were Mr. Stuntson, I'd smack him around a bit, then force his head between two doors and-"
"Oh, don't get violent, Watson! Just answer the question; no, another person."
Not many people knew me. Not Watson, not Stuntson. . .who else could it be?
"Is this person here tonight?"
Holmes sighed. "Yes, but he asked me to ask you."
I started to laugh, holding my sides.
"What?" He asked me calmly.
"That sounded like . .James . .in eight grade, oh, forget it." I stopped laughing at the sudden realization; that only really left Holmes . . . Maybe I was overreacting.
"I would say, umm, that I was flattered and-"
" 'Flattered' . ." He looked like he was trying to remember all this.
"Yes, and that, if this person is who I think they are, that I-I love them, too."
He turned to me, "And would you mind if he kissed you?"
I opened my mouth to answer as hand went over it.
"I do believe she would say that that is very impolite and would slap you, Mr. Holmes." An amused voice from behind said. A gun went to my temple. If I weren't being held captive this guy would have had one finger less and no gun, dead, or the one with the gun on him. I couldn't do anything, I, unfortunately, was powerless.
"And who are you?" Holmes said in complete calmness.
"Some call me Professor Moriarty, while others, . . . . they call me Mr. Perrins."
"And what do you want?" Holmes, don't lose your cool now.
"I just want a few 'loose strings' snipped." He bumped the gun a little harder into my temple. Oh, that was going to leave a bruise.
"I don't understand, Professor."
"You know exactly what I mean. If the board got hold of information, saying that I was the one responsible for the death of my poor wife." He spat out the last to words. "She had more beauty than brains, except for when she wanted to use them. Nasty little wench, she was. Tried to get me framed for her suicide. But maybe this time, I should marry a woman of brains and beauty, what do you think, Olivia?" He hissed in my ear and took his hand off my mouth.
"The name's Ms. Watson to you!" I screamed, grabbing the gun. "Holmes . .I'd . . move!" The esteemed professor went flying, his gun landing a few feet from him.
"Thank you, Holmes, you helped quite a bit back there." I said sarcastically. Ow, I really pulled a muscle in my arm.
"Well, I've learned that in some cases, women can take care of themselves. You are one of them."
"Well, I think you. But Holmes, I really think we should get out of here."
"No, wait, I have to tell you this." His back was the unconscious man, and he grabbed me by the shoulders. " I am the o-"
Moriarty sat up and grabbed the gun. He aimed it for Homes' back. Spinning around, I pushed Holmes out of the way, and the bullet ended in my chest.
Staggering, I sat down, and Holmes came over.
"Oh my God," he whispered, "no, no, no, no, no, it wasn't supposed to be like this."
"Holmes'," I grimaced. "Shut up, okay? I don't want to spend my last moments on earth hearing you lament, okay?"
He smiled, did I actually see it, tears were in his eyes? "You repeated 'okay', you know."
I weakly punched his arm, then looked at the ledge. "Oy, what a way to go out. Holmes?"
"I'm here."
"That's exactly what I want to thank Watson and you for; for being there."
"Watson?"
I couldn't answer, it was hurting too much.
"Watson? Oh God, not Olivia, ple-"
That's all I heard before blacking out.
I sat up, gasping. Obviously in a hospital. And there was the nurse, she looked awfully like Krys. In fact, it was Krysten. I looked over at the side of my bed. A heart monitor! I was back, oh Mom, I don't care if I have no reason, I thought to myself, I'm calling you anyway, even if you ask if I'm wearing long underwear.
"Livie? Livie! You're awake!" Krysten flew from her seat to hug me. I didn't respond. If I was here, that meant it was all a dream. All of that, a dream? That was too much.
"Whe-when did I get here?"
"Yesterday, your car went over the side of the bridge and . . . . you don't remember?"
I shook my head. "Not really."
"Well, somehow, even though you should actually be at the bottom of that damn water, you're alive. That ankh kinda comes in handy, huh?"
"Yeah," I said softly, "when do I go home?"
"Doc said he just has to see ya, and then he'll let you know. BTW, I'm going down to the cafe, want anything?" Leave it to Krysten Marianson to be able to think about anything not related to what was at hand. For a twenty-five year old, sometimes she was just a little immature.
"Nah, I think I'll take a shower. I know how to handle the IV."
As soon as she left, I clumsily made my way to the shower, the water felt relaxing on that pulled muscle.
"Wait a second." I whispered to myself. I looked in the mirror. As well as having the pulled muscle, there was a bruise the size of the gun on my temple.
It was real, it was all real. I started to dance a bit, then stopped. It wasn't. When a body is injured during sleep, it creates something in the dream to rectify for it. And that's what happened. All of it.
"I'd always have that dream," I told myself.
I started to pack my things, knowing that if a nurse came in she'd make a fuss. *Maalesh* for them.
"Hey! Me back!" Krys plopped her self in to one of the chairs. "By the way, you got a call while you were out falling off a bridge; it was the Sherlock Holmes Museum in London. They said that they had stuff that belonged to your great great great . . ." she ticked them off on her hand, ". .I can't remember all of them. But they called, said you should come and get it. In fact, they have two tickets in first class waiting for you to pick up. Come on, Livie, ol' buddy, who's your friend?"
I ran into the bathroom and changed, unplugging the IV form my hand. "Come one, Marianson," I called over my shoulder as I left, "the game's afoot!"
************************************************************************
Okay, peeps, now's the part when you review like crazy because this was the last chapter and u want an sequel. Dontchya? I have some ideas in my head, but I could always use some advice! Tata, luvs!