Mrs. Hudson is once more sleeping with her head across Watson, when his right pinkie twitches, and then his left. One by one his fingers begin to move, then his eyelids flutter. As quickly as it began it stops, then slowly, slowly, slowly his arm moves up and over Mrs. Hudson's shoulders. As he does so, her face which looks strained and miserable from crying, worry and doubt begins to soften and a slight smile touches her lips.
Professor Langdon, walks in, closes the door and observes the happy scene. As he does, we can see that his chest is invisible now and part of his right leg, but as he also relaxes from the strain of his own fears his body begins to come back fully into view, along with his clothing.
The Doctor walks into the room about ten minutes later to find Professor Langdon seated on the opposite side of Watson's bed, snoring lightly, while both Watson and Mrs. Hudson snore loudly, their snores almost like a chorus as they arise.
The Doctor smiles, makes a note on his pad, then exits the room, shutting the door quietly.
The front door of 221B opens to an anxious-looking Inspector Bloodstone, whose cape and overcoat are covered with a light powdering of white snow. The autos parked on the street outside are so thickly blanketed with snow that they resemble small hills. Small children are using them to slide off of, laughing and screaming happily as they do so, while others make snow men and still others make snow angles on the sidwalk with their arms and legs.
Sherlock stands framed in the doorway. It's obvious he hasn't slept a wink, but his reserve is as usual. "Inspector, you have what I requested?"
"Then come in."
They enter the flat, leaving the street to the bedlam of happy children and ascend into the sitting room, where only Professor Challenger and Conan now sit, with cups of warm tea between their palms, looking into the flickering fireplace. As the Inspector enters they glance over, expecting the worst, but upon seeing the look on his face, they hurriedly rise and set their cups down.
"Is he well? Conan demands.
"Have you see Watson?" Challenger asks, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes.
"Yes. And yes." And then to Sherlock. "And yes. He will fully recover, though I should have thought your first question downstairs to have been about him."
"Oh, but it is, Inspector. It is. You see the two are related."
Sherlock motions the Inspector to a fourth chair near the fireplace, then pours him a cup of tea, before seating himself, but without tea. He cups his fingers into a steeple, resting his chin on them. "Was everything as I thought?"
"What everything?" Challenger demanded. "How can you be holding out on us, Holmes, at this blood moment?"
The Inspector came to Sherlock's defense. "Actually, he wasn't. I was."
Professor Challenger gave him a confused look.
The Inspector pulled out a thick portfolio of paperwork from inside his overcoat and laid it on the coffee table alongside the tea. "The part of my report that I thought did not matter."
"And it is?" Sherlock asked, his lips hiding a smirk that had come momentarily upon his face.
"Hell and damnation." The Inspector replied. "Hell and damnation."
Tesla and Edison rushed into Tesla's office, pushing through several Constables and a crowd of upper management workers who were helping them.
"What has happened here?" Tesla demanded, fearing the worst.
Carl Crawford, Managing Director of Supplies, tossed his sandy brown hair nervously with his overly long fingers, then scowled angrily at his fingernails a moment, then looked at his employer. "Someone has broken into the plant. Specifically, your office, sir.
Tesla's fears were confirmed. He rushed forwards to his desk, where his invention blueprint had been lain before he and Edison had departed the night before.
"It's gone!" He exclaimed, the horror of his discovery and suspicions confirmed yet again as his eyes laid on his bare desk. Then he noticed the shattered window behind his desk and the slime, with traces of blood on the sill, his desk and the floor.
The Constable nearest Tesla motioned to the other one and they positioned themselves closer to he and Edison, who already had figured out what was up by the stern looks on their faces.
"Sir! I'm afraid you and Mister Edison will be having to come with us."
Tesla gave them another shocked look. "But I've done nothing. My office has been violated!"
"Yes. Sir. That is obvious. But what is also obvious is that your office is the scene of a murder crime."
Then he and Edison saw the sprawled remains of what had once been a young woman. A few moments later an officious looking, portly man with a mustache way too large for his fat face and the jowls that dangled beneath his jaw, pushed into view. He looked at the remains on the floor, then blanched.
The Constable next to Tesla raised an eyebrow. "Do you recognize this woman, Major?"
"I do. But what is her body doing here in this office, and why have you called me here?"
The Constable nodded to his partner and he went to the door to block it. He blew a whistle so loud and shrilly that the Mayor put hands over his ears.
Several minutes later five more Constables came into the room, surrounding the Mayor, Tesla and Edison.
"What is the meaning of this?"
The Constable nodded to his partner, who unveiled a piece of jewely. "Do you recognize this, sir?"
"I do! It's my..." His face blanched. He began to tremble. "You don't think I..."
The Constable turned to face Tesla and Edison. "I'm sure we can straighten all this out at the headquarters. Respectfully, if you'll accompany me and my fellow Constables."
"What is going on?" Tesla demanded, his face turning red with anger and confusion.
"You three are now under suspicion for the murder and horrible dismemberment of one Caroline Plummer, a...uh...night worker who was reported missing this morning and found..."
"Here!" Edison barely managed to croak.
"Exactly! Until we can prove your innocence, Mayor, Mister Tesla and Edison, I'm afraid we are going to have to bring you in for the possible murder and the conspiracy to murder, as well as the torture and mutilation of this young woman before her death."
John Pirillo"Writing fuels the heart and soul!" Science Fiction, Fantasy and Adventure Tales to Take Your Breath Away!