Like a Dream
In response to this prompt. Time travel to the 1980s!
Like a Dream
“The morning copy of The Times, Watson, some things are, after all, eternal. I believe we have established where, or rather when we are, and it is not, as you so fancifully suggested, the second circle of Hell.”
“I... No. No. No. No...”
“Watson! Get a hold of yourself, man!”
“But Holmes, a hundred years in the future! This is not possible! We are either dead or dreaming -”
“Who knows? Even the ancients theorised that time is merely an illusion. If we exist in an everlasting present, then perhaps, by some distortion in the -- ”
“...This is all your fault.”
“Why should you say such a thing?”
“So, your electromagnetic experiment, and the big flash and bang, and suddenly being in 1989, that was sheer coincidence, was it.”
“Correlation is not causation, Watson. “
“Holmes, what are we going to do?”
“We cannot proceed in the absence of further data. Besides this is the most extraordinary opportunity in the history of science! We must explore!”
“What are you doing? Come back! We can’t go out there! Look at those people.”
“This is still London, Watson. This is my city, and I’ll be damned if I’ll ever be reduced to cowering in fear of it.”
“But everyone’s hair, Holmes!”
* * *
“This is an age of wonders, Watson!”
“Dear God, where are we? Is this Aldgate? What has happened to it?”
“Peace! Prosperity! Towers of glass and steel! The slums are gone! The air is clean! Portable telephones! Everyone is happy!”
“They all look like syphilitic urchins and I want to go home.”
“And cocaine, Watson! Everywhere!”
* * *
“DID YOU KNOW I CAN DO THIS TO YOU LEGALLY.”
“Holmes, do keep your voice down!”
* * *
“Well, inevitably things have changed, Holmes.”
“They would not even let me near the crime scene.”
“I am sure they will come to understand...”
“I have no outlet for my abilities.”
“You are the most brilliant man in this or any century, you will find one... I mean, you would find one, if...”
“Scotland Yard is not even in Scotland Yard any more.”
“...You have made no progress toward finding a way home...?”
“Everyone we know is dead. Mycroft is dead. He will never have known what happened to me.”
“Holmes...”
“And we are antiques from a fallen Empire. We are living ghosts.”
“Oh, Holmes.”
“And the music... the music is unbearable.”
* * *
“Watson! God, I thought I’d lost you! We cannot afford to get separated -”
“Holmes! Dear Holmes. My dear, dear... dear Holmes, let me persuade you to try this drink. It is called a Sex On The Beach.”
“It is called a what?”
“...Just like a prayer - ah-ah! Your voice can take me there!”
“Kindly refrain from singing that infernal song, Watson.”
“It is not an infernal song, it is a very fine song and I like it. Just like a muse to me! Ah-ah! You are a mystery!
“How many of those obscene things did you drink, Watson? ...Watson, remove that paper-umbrella-thing from my hair.”
“Just like a dream! You are not what you seem!”
“Maybe you were right the first time. Maybe this is Hell.”
“Just like a prayer -”
“I have to think. We do not belong here. Please. Stop.”
“But it reminds me of you!”
“Oh God. Barmaid, bring me - oh, I don’t know - yes, a “Pina colada”, anything... ”
* * *
“Holmes! Holmes, wake up!”
His head felt as if it might possibly roll off and he couldn’t entirely remember how to work his eyelids; nevertheless, there was an abundance of data to work with. Watson’s presence, excellent. Scents: coal, tobacco and complex chemical stew including ethanol, iodine, prussic acid and other wonderful things. The sound of hoof-beats on cobbles. Beneath him... a hearthrug, the hearthrug - spinning rather alarmingly, but nevertheless unmistakable. The parlour of 221b, Baker Street. 1889. Give or take a year, anyway.
“Holmes!”
Ah yes, eyelids, here they were. “I hear you call my name -” he croaked.
“Thank God,” breathed Watson, “Whatever substance you indulged in last night, as your doctor I forbid you to touch it again.”
Holmes grinned up at him. “...And it feels like home.”
Like a Dream
“The morning copy of The Times, Watson, some things are, after all, eternal. I believe we have established where, or rather when we are, and it is not, as you so fancifully suggested, the second circle of Hell.”
“I... No. No. No. No...”
“Watson! Get a hold of yourself, man!”
“But Holmes, a hundred years in the future! This is not possible! We are either dead or dreaming -”
“Who knows? Even the ancients theorised that time is merely an illusion. If we exist in an everlasting present, then perhaps, by some distortion in the -- ”
“...This is all your fault.”
“Why should you say such a thing?”
“So, your electromagnetic experiment, and the big flash and bang, and suddenly being in 1989, that was sheer coincidence, was it.”
“Correlation is not causation, Watson. “
“Holmes, what are we going to do?”
“We cannot proceed in the absence of further data. Besides this is the most extraordinary opportunity in the history of science! We must explore!”
“What are you doing? Come back! We can’t go out there! Look at those people.”
“This is still London, Watson. This is my city, and I’ll be damned if I’ll ever be reduced to cowering in fear of it.”
“But everyone’s hair, Holmes!”
* * *
“This is an age of wonders, Watson!”
“Dear God, where are we? Is this Aldgate? What has happened to it?”
“Peace! Prosperity! Towers of glass and steel! The slums are gone! The air is clean! Portable telephones! Everyone is happy!”
“They all look like syphilitic urchins and I want to go home.”
“And cocaine, Watson! Everywhere!”
* * *
“DID YOU KNOW I CAN DO THIS TO YOU LEGALLY.”
“Holmes, do keep your voice down!”
* * *
“Well, inevitably things have changed, Holmes.”
“They would not even let me near the crime scene.”
“I am sure they will come to understand...”
“I have no outlet for my abilities.”
“You are the most brilliant man in this or any century, you will find one... I mean, you would find one, if...”
“Scotland Yard is not even in Scotland Yard any more.”
“...You have made no progress toward finding a way home...?”
“Everyone we know is dead. Mycroft is dead. He will never have known what happened to me.”
“Holmes...”
“And we are antiques from a fallen Empire. We are living ghosts.”
“Oh, Holmes.”
“And the music... the music is unbearable.”
* * *
“Watson! God, I thought I’d lost you! We cannot afford to get separated -”
“Holmes! Dear Holmes. My dear, dear... dear Holmes, let me persuade you to try this drink. It is called a Sex On The Beach.”
“It is called a what?”
“...Just like a prayer - ah-ah! Your voice can take me there!”
“Kindly refrain from singing that infernal song, Watson.”
“It is not an infernal song, it is a very fine song and I like it. Just like a muse to me! Ah-ah! You are a mystery!
“How many of those obscene things did you drink, Watson? ...Watson, remove that paper-umbrella-thing from my hair.”
“Just like a dream! You are not what you seem!”
“Maybe you were right the first time. Maybe this is Hell.”
“Just like a prayer -”
“I have to think. We do not belong here. Please. Stop.”
“But it reminds me of you!”
“Oh God. Barmaid, bring me - oh, I don’t know - yes, a “Pina colada”, anything... ”
* * *
“Holmes! Holmes, wake up!”
His head felt as if it might possibly roll off and he couldn’t entirely remember how to work his eyelids; nevertheless, there was an abundance of data to work with. Watson’s presence, excellent. Scents: coal, tobacco and complex chemical stew including ethanol, iodine, prussic acid and other wonderful things. The sound of hoof-beats on cobbles. Beneath him... a hearthrug, the hearthrug - spinning rather alarmingly, but nevertheless unmistakable. The parlour of 221b, Baker Street. 1889. Give or take a year, anyway.
“Holmes!”
Ah yes, eyelids, here they were. “I hear you call my name -” he croaked.
“Thank God,” breathed Watson, “Whatever substance you indulged in last night, as your doctor I forbid you to touch it again.”
Holmes grinned up at him. “...And it feels like home.”