Dazed and Confused

“Oh darling what happened to you?” she questions.

“A day in the life Mrs. Hudson I am alright,” I reply with a soft smile.

“Nonsense my dear come on inside I’ll draw you a warm bath,” Mrs. Hudson states with an inviting smile.

“Should I be offended you never treat me so tenderly Nanny?” Holmes remarks snidely.
“If only there were some sort of invention that could make him mute,” I mutter.

“I would be most grateful for such an invention,” she replies hearing my remark causing me to chuckle lightly.

“Here let me help you carry those inside,” I say as I grabbed a couple sacks from her very full arms.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Hudson says grateful for my help.

“It‘s nothing,” I respond carrying the things towards the house.

“Ladies first,” Holmes says letting us in through the doorway whilst I hardly acknowledged his existence. I followed Mrs. Hudson to the kitchen with the bulk of food and Holmes with Watson hot on his heels went upstairs.

“I can‘t tell you how nice it would be to have someone sane to talk to in this home, with Mr. Watson gone I don‘t know what to do with Mr. Holmes,” Mrs. Hudson says honestly.

“Is he truly that bad?” I inquire. I mean it is hard work to be so irritating all the time.

“After you left last night he was shooting his gun in his room and doing God only knows what else in there,” she states.

“He certainly is a character,” I comment somewhat sardonically.

“Oh about that bath, come along I‘ll help you get set up,” Mrs. Hudson says with a gentle smile.

I decided a warm bath sounded great considering I hadn’t bathed in a little while causing me to feel dirty. My hygiene was always up to standards in my day and I hardly ever skipped a day without a shower. Mrs. Hudson drew the bath and left me alone in the bathroom whilst I stripped off the many layers of the 19th century clothing. To be honest I hadn’t taken an actual bath in a long time, I was used to showers not the luxury of a bath tub and the feeling was really quite nice.

After about twenty to thirty minutes in the bath I got out, wrapping the towel around my wet frame. My dark brown hair clung to my back, little droplets of water streamed down my spine from my soaking hair. With the towel securely in place I used my fingers to comb out my fairly long thick hair that I had been growing out ever since I had cut it short almost a year ago. After all the festivities of the day I was tired and sore. Bruises in the shapes of hands decorated my forearms and I grew irritated by their presence. I exited the bathroom connected to the room I was supposed to be staying in and went to see if I could find something to wear that didn’t require an absurd amount of work to get on.

Unfortunately for me that’s all there was in the wardrobe so I picked out a dark plum colored dress but instead of putting it on right away I laid it on the bed next to me as I lied on my back as well. I took comfort in not dressing right away after bathing, there was something relaxing about it and the bed felt nice against my newly washed skin as I closed my eyes enjoying the feeling of rare comfort. Comfort did not last long enough being that Holmes was under the same roof. The sounds of his gun filled the golden silence causing my eyes to snap open.

Letting out a sigh I looked out the window seeing the sky had darkened significantly telling me that I may have dozed off for a couple of hours. I sat up in the dimly lit room and gave a glance at the dress deciding I wasn’t going to put it on then settled to put on the silk crimson colored pajama set that had been set out for me, most likely by Mrs. Hudson. After I was dressed I made my way out of the room a bit angry my moment of piece was interrupted by Holmes and his ridiculous notions.

“Dear don’t go up there he is shooting at the walls again,” Mrs. Hudson warms as I passed her as I headed straight for the room Holmes had barricaded himself in.

“I’ll handle it,” I say to her as I opened the door and entered his little world and shut the door behind me loud enough for Holmes to possibly hear over the gunfire.

“Is that you Watson?” Holmes inquires slouched in his chair wearing a shabby rust colored coat.

“Watson does have a life Holmes; you really think he’d be here again?” I respond as I walked over to him and placed my small hand over the top side of the gun taking it from Holmes’ grasps whilst the other hand loosened his grip. I took the gun examining it with a little curiosity.

“I’m trying to make the gunshot silent,” Holmes mutters.

“Generally when one realizes it is not working they do not continue shooting the gun but actually try to fix the problem, have you tried aiming it at your head? I hear it silences loads of things,” I state with a smirk.

“You are an extremely perturbed woman,” he states.

“As you are an extremely disturbed man,” I respond as I held the gun in my hands and sat on a stool.

I looked around at my surroundings feeling strangely comfortable in his chaos because it reminded me of my room back home.

“Come here to tell me to clean up?” Holmes questions snottily.

“I have no say in telling you to clean up besides, my room back home is no better, I am positive I’ve created a whole new ecosystem in my room or that’s what I like to believe,” I answer with a soft smile whilst I began taking apart the contraption that Holmes have put at the end of the gun.

“Hey don’t take that apart,” he says coming at me.

“I want to see how you’ve made this,” I argue handing him the gun part whilst I kept the barrel part that was supposed to silence the bullet.

“Suddenly you are some sort of gun expert now?” Holmes retorts.

“No but from the sounds of things you need several more chambers in this here barrel and perhaps it’d help to use a type of rubber for the separations, to let the gases disband and cool so that it suppresses the sound,” I say casually.

“How would you know?” he counters.

“In my time they are called gun suppressors, the first commercially marketable one will be released in about fifteen years from now,” I state tossing the barrel at Holmes.

“We’ll see about that.”

“I guess we will.”

“What I am trying to figure out is why Moriarty chose you but it is becoming clear that your insufferable nature might have something to do with his intentions,” Holmes rambles.

“It’s a game to him Holmes, he wants to plunge us into chaos like little lab rats to watch going through a fixed labyrinth that he has personally set up,” I respond with a sigh as I sat back down.

“How much time have you spent with him?” Holmes inquires.

“Long enough, apparently he was eavesdropping to conversations I was having with a friend at that party, for some reason assessing my mannerisms and conversation subject matter unfortunately for me I was deemed interesting for his diabolical intentions perhaps to be ironic or teach me a lesson,” I rant.

“And how would he do that?” he retorts.

“At that party I labeled myself a wandering generality, I said I have no distinct plans and live to breathe because I was too cowardly to do anything else so to speak, in the sickest way possible Moriarty seems to think taking me from my life that I am now serving purpose, what purpose I serve I do not know,” I answer.

“I need proof that you are who you say you are,” Holmes says seriously.

“I know you do, you are rational like that but any proof I may have only lies in history in the making, I can say certain things will happen but they may not happen for another week,” I state.

“Like what?” he counters.

“September 15th Sergei Witte will become finance minister of Russia from there he will begin working on the Trans Siberian Railway most likely because he will be in control of the Russian Finances that fuel the budget for the project,” I say.

“That’s in five days but what does that matter you could have insiders that could tell you those things,” Holmes contemplates.

“October 6th Alfred Lord Tennyson the famous British poet will die at the age of 80, his last dying words being “Oh that press will have me now!”” I continue.

“Tennyson is going to die?” he inquires.

“Natural causes of course, don’t be sad though, the man has been immortalized through his fantastic works of writing, in my day he is known as one of the most notable British Poets of all time and is the second most quoted the first being Shakespeare,” I reassure.

“That is nearly a month away,” Holmes states.

“How about literature, Mark Twain will release three works of fiction this year: The American Claimant, Merry Tales, and Those Extraordinary Twins,” I try but I wasn’t entirely sure when those came out.

“Was it required to know this information where you came from?” he questions narrowing his eyes at me.

“Well no, I just liked random information and enjoy reading literature,” I reply honestly.

“I am convinced you are either completely barking mad or I am mad as well.”

“Or it could be both,” I comment looking out the dingy window wistfully.

Lord almighty I could be just going completely and utterly insane, lost in my thoughts and the dark corners of my mind. How was I going to get back to my old life?