Posted by Bowen Cates on 3/7/2008, 10:13 pm, in reply to "Chapter eight part two"
24.207.121.197
Chapter 9: In Which Theodore Learns Many Things of Interest
Theodore awoke at 5:02 the next morning, drenched in cold sweat, tears running down his face.
He had been falling again, but much faster and from much higher, and all the clouds around him, black and thunderous, all seemed to be Watson, and they were all yelling at him, forcing him closer and closer to the roof. However, this was not the roof of 221B, it was his house, and in it, his whole family was dead, their bodies lying in splinters on the ground, shattered like glass on impact.
Curling up in a ball he tried to go back to sleep, his gaze drifted toward the window, where the horse and carriage of so long ago had been replaced with the murky silhouette of hover cars as they floated eerily through the fog.
Baker Street remained as a time capsule, nothing changing on the inside, but all around it, the ebbing tide of progress was wearing it away.
After tossing and turning for a few more hours, Theodore gave up on sleep, half-grateful, as he did not want to have another nightmare, and put on his trousers and shirt, leaving the baggie pajamas that Wiggins had also loaned him, on the chair beside the bed. Bare foot, he slowly crept across the floor, he wanted to do something, anything, to help him forget how lonely he was.
Maybe Watson was finished recharging and they could bake or something. Just as his hand reached for the doorknob he heard a strange sound seeping under the door; kind of like a warped viola. Cautiously he twisted the doorknob, the first thing he saw was 2103 Holmes, playing on some sort of futuristic instrument that looked like a cross between a keyboard and a violin, the volume was reduced to almost nothing and a mournful stream of faded notes was escaping from under the detectives rapidly moving fingers.
Suddenly he stopped and put the instrument down.
“Ah Mr. Trent, do sit down” the detective invited him kindly “did I wake you?”
“No sir, I kept having a weird dream and I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Perfectly understandable, I too am having similar difficulties.”
Theodore started with surprise, “Really?” It was amazing to him that first, Holmes was willing to share this bit of information and second that he was not angry with Theodore for distracting him.
“Indeed, there are nights when sleep seems to evade me, I used to find comfort in the sound of my Violin, but I am afraid that the Syntholin is an entirely different matter.”
“I like your violin better too, I heard you play once,” Theodore ventured.
“Really?” Holmes was intrigued. “And what did you think?”
He didn’t know what to say, the question seemed to hang in the air in urgent need of an answer. He decided on the truth: “it was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard” he stated matter-of-factley
Holmes actually looked abashed; evidently, he had not expected such a glowing report.
“Er…” he seemed lost for words “thank you Mr. Trent”
“Do you miss it?”
“My Violin?”
“Ya”
“Occasionally, however there is nothing to be done about it, they do not make them anymore in this century and my Stradivarius went missing, stolen from the museum prior to my reanimation.” The recounting of this tale seemed to be quite painful to him.
“Couldn’t you ask someone to make one?” Theodore inquired with some interest. Surely Holmes had thought of this before?
“Well I could…it is a kind of lost knowledge, one could learn I suppose…”
“It wouldn’t be the same?”
“No, it wouldn’t” agreed the detective
Again an awkward silence filled the air, Theodore opened his mouth to say that he was sure Holmes could track down whoever stole the instrument and get it back, but was interrupted by a large ‘THUMP’ coming from the direction of 2103 Holmes’ room in which his counterpart was sleeping.
“It would seem that I am awake.”
“Ya…” Theodore couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy, he had been dreading this moment for a long time.
“Would you mind talking to him Mr. Trent? I rather think that it would be a little too much for me if I saw myself walk through the door.”
“Sure” even through Theodore knew his companion was right he still wished he could think up an excuse not to go, 1800 Holmes must hate him for what had happened. He got up from the sofa then stopped.
“Yes?” Asked Holmes
“Um sir…could you call me Theodore?” behind his back he crossed the fingers of his right hand.
“Er…” Holmes sounded unsure “if you would prefer it,” he allowed, in such a way that one could tell he was opting for the contrary.
“I would” he asserted with conviction.
“Very well…Theodore.” He did not sound very comfortable with the idea.
Smiling all the same, Theodore turned around and walked purposefully toward the bedroom door, opening it he saw 1800 Holmes, sitting up in bed, looking pale and gaunt.
Eyeing him warily, still dressed in his street beggar’s costume although his beard, wig and bushy eyebrows where gone, either lost in the fall or removed by Watson. Theodore felt his momentary confidence seep away like water through cupped hands.
“Mr. Trent” Holmes greeted, even though the electricity was off, and aside from the slit of light from the partly open door it was pitch black he could obviously still see the young man standing in front of him.
“Yes Mr. Holmes” Theodore confirmed uneasily
“When are we?”
He didn’t know how the detective had figured this out, after all, he had been unconscious during the fall.
“How did you know?”
“As the wound from the bullet is now completely healed, and no scar remains, there is a clock with luminous segmented numbers upon the bed side table and a metallic reproduction of Dr. Watson just passed behind you, I must surrender to the fact that I am indeed the chosen companion for your foretold time traveling excursion.”
“I’m so sorry sir, I don’t know how I did it, it just happened” said Theodore a little amazed by the fact that upon turning around the door was open less then three inches across, only a pair of very sharp eyes indeed could have identified any person’s specific features from that distance and from such a limited view point. And he was taking it so well, how did he do it?
“I know, there was nothing you could have done, besides, I should have seen it coming in the first instance.”
“I don’t think you could have, and…”he stopped, amazed that he had actually found within in him to contradict Sherlock Holmes “I am so sorry about the bullet sir.”
He could not have meant it more.
“I told you to run.”
“I know but I couldn-”.
“You needn’t worry Mr. Trent, I understand completely, I too have had similar inclinations in the past.”
“You saved my life,” Theodore said in an almost whisper.
“And you saved mine.”
“I did?” this was quite astonishing to Theodore who had been picturing himself as the messenger from hell sent to murder all decent Victorians.
“Had you not time traveled, I would no doubt have suffered greatly for my mistake - of allowing us to be overheard - in one way or another.” He explained reasonably while sticking his shoeless (apparently Watson had taken the liberty of removing them) foot out over the side of the bed as if to test the solidity of the floor.
“Well…er…that’s a really nice thing to say…but it’s my fault…if you hadn’t jumped in front of me you would never have been shot and I wouldn’t have had to time travel.”
“The point, Mr. Trent, is that I was shot and you did time travel and because of that we are both still alive” he insisted exasperatedly.
“Well thanks” surrendered Theodore, abashed.
“Now that we have that settled, I would appreciate a sketch of all the events which took place after I was injured up to the present moment.”
So Theodore told him, he told Holmes everything, about how they had fallen into the future, how robotic Watson had insisted on cleaning up the entire living room by himself and had done so in less then an hour, about the strange children, and about the rude inspector Lestrade…
He couldn’t seem to stop, perhaps it was guilt, perhaps he felt he needed to have some excuse for all that had happened, even though Holmes had said not to worry about it. Perhaps he was himself, seeking to find some meaning in the events which had followed so rapidly, one after another.
The detective didn’t mind, in fact he never said a word, throughout the entire extended narrative, but listened with silent enthusiasm and immense understanding.
When Theodore had finally finished, albeit, only because he was out of breath, had anyone asked him, he would have admitted to feeling a good deal better. There was something soothing about someone trusting your word, as much as the man in front of him, sitting on the bed, did right now.
It was a feeling he had never had before and it felt good to once, just once, feel like someone was listening.
“Certainly a very compelling narrative” allowed the detective.
“Thank you sir.”
Holmes glanced apprehensively toward the door. It was obvious what was on his mind.
“You don’t have to worry sir” Theodore assured his companion “you haven’t changed much.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
Theodore was too
“You’re really nice” he prodded tactfully “in both centuries.”
Holmes seemed to understand what Theodore was trying to do and responded only with a tired sigh.
Theodore liked to be called ‘Mr. Trent’ by 1800 Holmes, it seemed to fit. He couldn’t explain it, he could only guess that it had something to do the fact that it made it easier to figure out which Holmes was addressing him.
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