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By Root 531 0

fiery seam opened up across his chest. I was screaming too, as Holmes hauled me up over the wall and pulled me along the road, out of sight of the burning man, but not out of range of his agonized shrieks.

Chapter 7

In which Watson and the Doctor attend a family reunion where much is explained and an unusual guest is introduced.

Holmes dragged me around the corner and onto the street. My side was raw with the pain of running, and the old Jezail bullet wound in my leg throbbed with a hot, insistent beat. I kept gulping for air, but it seemed that no matter how fast I panted, it was not enough. My stomach was in revolt, and I paused for long enough to bring up a thin, acrid bile before Holmes pulled me on.

Eventually he slowed and allowed me to collapse against a lamp-post. He glanced back urgently. I tried to follow his gaze. Although my eyes were watering, I could see that the street behind us was empty. Everything seemed normal. The birds were singing, the sun shone upon scrubbed steps and a cat padded along a wall.

And yet, not five minutes walk from where we stood, a man was burning like a Roman candle.

'They do not seem to be pursuing us,' he said finally. Apart from a slight flush, he was unaffected by our escape. 'No doubt they are worried about attracting attention.'

'Holmes, who are they?'

He frowned.

'These are deep waters, Watson,' he said finally. 'I confess myself adrift.

What we have seen today is not amenable to deductive logic, and yet...'

'And yet it happened.'

My breathing was coming under control now. My stamina had never fully recovered from my wounding near Maiwand and a subsequent bout of typhoid in Peshawar. It never usually let me down when I made demands: it just extracted its price later. I would probably be laid up for a couple of days after this.

'I need to think,' he said distractedly.

'Perhaps Mycroft...' I ventured.

'No. No, not Mycroft . . : Holmes glanced briefly at me, debating whether to let me in on something. I was well aware that there was some player in this mystery whose identity was being kept from me. 'But perhaps...'

The clatter of a four-wheeler made us both jump. It was coming from the opposite direction to Drummond Crescent, and I relaxed as Holmes hailed it with a short blast upon his whistle. It slowed to a halt as I pulled myself to my feet.

'Baker Street,' Holmes barked to the muffled cabbie, 'and double the fare if you make good time!'

He opened the door and aided me into the shadowed interior. I sank gratefully into the upholstery.

'Thank Heaven for small mercies,' Holmes muttered with heartfelt relief as the growler clattered off.

'Let's not get personal,' said a voice from the shadows. 'Small but perfectly formed, I think you'll find.'

A figure leaned forward into the light from the windows. I groped for my revolver, then remembered leaving it back at Baker Street. The four-wheeler turned a corner, and a shaft of sunlight suddenly illuminated our fellow-traveller's features.

'Doctor,' Holmes snapped, 'is that you?'

'Let's pretend it's not,' said the Doctor, 'and see what happens.'

'I presume that this is no accident.'

'Given the random nature of quantum interactions,' the Doctor mused as the cab turned again, and I saw the great hall of Euston Station through the window, 'can the confluence of any two events be truly described as anything but accidental?'

'I refuse to bandy words with you, Doctor. Give me a straight answer.'

'I prefer bandy legs to bandy words,' the Doctor murmured. 'An answer to what, Mr Holmes?'

'To my question.'

'You didn't ask any question.'

'I quite patently did.'

'Oh no you didn't!' the Doctor chanted, grinning.

'Oh yes I . . : Holmes pulled himself together with an effort. 'I distinctly asked you what you were doing here.'

The Doctor gazed owlishly over the curved handle of his umbrella.

'No,' he said, 'you merely presumed that my presence here was no accident.'

'The question was implicit!' Holmes almost spat the words out.

'What question was