==Epilogue==

A Never-ending Adventure

You'll come with me to-night?

When you like and where you like.

Two years later...

Wednesday, November 20th, 1895.

Watson looked up from the scrawl-filled page of his notebook and parted the curtains for the hundredth time, staring in frustration at the dense yellow fog which stubbornly hung over London. It was several weeks since Holmes had last had a case, numerous petty thefts apparently not being in the least worthy of his attention. Admittedly, despite being mostly confined to the house due to the weather, the detective had conducted himself with commendable restraint thus far, initially occupying himself by updating his scrapbooks (paper snippets still coated the floor in a premature blizzard, which Watson was determined that Holmes should deal with, despite Mrs Hudson's increasingly pointed looks at the pair of them!); and the last 48 hours had been spent mainly in the study of his most recent interest, music in the Middle Ages.

Now, however, after three straight days of this infernal fog, Watson could see the restless look beginning to return to the detective's eye: a look which always spelt trouble for someone, generally Holmes himself in the form of a syringe. Watson had yet to catch his friend glancing wistfully at the desk drawer, but it was only a matter of time, unless some suitable diversion could present itself in short order. The doctor leaned back in his chair with a sigh, and let his gaze wander around the cluttered yet cosy sitting room, where they had been comfortably ensconced most of the evening. Thankfully for his injured leg and Holmes's disposition, their landlady was more than happy to keep them well-supplied with coal on such a night! He pitied anyone having to be out in these conditions...

All at once, an odd noise began, low at first, but rapidly rising in volume, the strangest sound that Watson had ever heard: a wheezing, groaning, grinding sort of noise that had an almost unearthly quality to it. What the devil...? Had Mrs Hudson gone and invested in one of those newfangled carpet sweepers? His startled thoughts were interrupted by the thud of Holmes' history volume hitting the floor as the man leapt from his armchair as if electrified, eyes shining with a light that Watson had never seen in them before, glancing wildly around the room, all but trembling with excitement. Before an astounded Watson could react, the noise began to fade away again, as swiftly as it had arisen... and the doctor was dismayed to see Holmes sagging dejectedly where he stood, like a puppet whose strings had suddenly been cut, his expression filled with profoundest disappointment.

Deeply concerned, and not a little bewildered, Watson rose from his desk, turning to lay down his notebook; but just then, his eye was caught by a glimmer of blue light from outside the window. Curiously, he twitched the curtains further aside to discover the source... and his anxiety at Holmes's sudden depression was overwhelmed by further mystification at the sight which greeted him. "Holmes?" he called quietly, still staring down into the mist-shrouded street. "Has Lestrade mentioned any new measures put in place by Scotland Yard?"

"Not recently," Holmes's voice came back, still worryingly dismal. "Why d'you ask?"

Watson looked back over his shoulder, his deep puzzlement no doubt written clearly on his face. "Because there's some kind of blue booth across the street, with the words 'Police Public Call Box' at the top of it!" The doctor had hoped for some kind of reaction – after all, this did seem to be an excellent chance to divert his melancholy friend – but he certainly hadn't expected Holmes's face to light up with the very same rapt expression it had only a minute earlier. His eyes narrowed as a vague but strong suspicion began to take hold. "Holmes? Do you know something about this?"

Holmes laughed in delight, all but rubbing his hands together, spirits obviously entirely restored. "That, my dear fellow, would be putting it mildly! Come, Watson!" And the next instant, Watson was astonished to see the detective leaping over the back of the sofa in his impatience to reach the door, flinging it open and dashing down the stairs, two at a time from the sound of things. Shaking his head in combined amusement and growing misgiving, Watson grabbed his discarded jacket off the back of his chair, shrugging into it as he followed after Holmes...

To Be Continued...

in Episode Two: 'Men of England'

Author's note from Ria:

Well, folks, we hope you've enjoyed this adventure! Please stay tuned, as there's plenty more where that came from, especially now that Watson's on the team. Speaking of the good doctor... one of the many interesting elements of this series is that the job of writing Watson's action and dialogue gets passed back and forth between us while roleplaying out the various scenes, depending on who else is with him at the time. Let us know if you can spot the difference, or if we've done a good enough job of getting inside each other's heads to keep him consistent!

Author's note from Sky:

I'm curious about that, too! Well, once again, I must apologize: I'm always the one lagging behind in writing out my assigned scenes, and I am very sorry for making you all wait! And... oh boy, oh boy, do we ever have so much more in store! It's gonna be one long, wild ride... (For the occasional extra, btw, you can check out my Tumblr, astudyinimagination - I do post stuff about this series from time to time, usually under the tag 'Children of Time' or 'Wholmes'.) Now, as the Doctor is so fond of crying, "Allons-y!"