Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century 1. Contemplating

I am not in the best of moods. I have had not one interesting case in the last three months and I am bored to death. I need a good case badly - desperately. When I am roused from a medically-induced slumber (even John the compudroid has agreed that I need something to help me to rest when I am between cases of late) I expect it to be of import - not an invitation to a wretched party that is to be attended by wretched Yarders!

"Really Lestrade! I have rather more important and urgent things to do than to attend parties."

Her image on the screen before me frowns for a moment and then smirks. "Yeah, obviously. That's why you're still in bed at nine thirty and why you've been put on medication to help you sleep."

I gape at her. How could she possibly know that?

She continues to smirk at me. "Watson 'n' Chelsea are going," she informs me.

"That surprises me not at all; Chelsea likes to dance."

"Watson said that you'd go too, if I told you what it's for."

I sigh wearily and gesture for her to tell me all in an impatient manner. I am not in the mood for her games.

"It's a charity ball to raise money for sick 'n' disabled kids," she informs me. "Particularly terminally ill kids."

My expression must say it all, because she nods and gives me a sympathetic smile.

"So you'll come?"

I shrug with my hands. "How can I not? But a ball, you say? Do you mean a ball of the sort that I might have had in my own era?"

She grimaces and scratches her nose. "I don't really know Sherlock. It's a charity event and Grayson wants the press there, so we're expected to dress up - not that I'd have to tell you to wear something extravagant o' course... What? What's so zedding funny?"

My mouth is twitching ever so slightly at the corners and I am shaking with silent laughter.

"What is it Holmes?" Beth repeats impatiently.

I shake my head and press a finger to my lips in an attempt to bring myself under control. "McGregor," I chuckle softly. "I have never seen him in anything besides his uniform or those hideous blue denim trousers with the holes in that he is so fond of."

I am actually laughing at the thought of seeing Lestrade out of uniform, for she has even attended a wedding in that outfit. I am beginning to suspect that she owns nothing else.

"Yeah, well, he's gonna have to make an effort like everyone else."

I nod and calm myself. "Yes. Indeed he will."

"Well, I have to go," she announces with regret. "I'll call you if anything interesting comes in. Wanna meet up this evening for a pizza or something, if you don't get called in?"

I agree readily enough and then drag myself back to bed. It is no good; I am wakeful now and find myself staring up at the ceiling, wondering what Lestrade might wear to this ball. I am also surprised to find that I am nervous - more so than I ever was in my own era - and not because McGregor and his little group of friends are going to be there either.

A sudden thought occurs to me as I get up to begin my morning routine, but my idea will all depend upon whether or not the press is to be present all the evening or not. I might just provide McGregor and his gang with something to gossip about.


	2. The Ball

Why did I ever agree to this? The hall is crowded, there are reporters everywhere, and I would appear to be the centre of attention. I do not like the manner in which everyone seems compelled to stare at me in the slightest.

"Mr. Holmes!"

I groan inwardly, force a warm smile to my lips and turn to meet the owner of the voice as she hurries toward me. The woman is clearly a reporter and I begin to look about me for a means of escape.

"Mr. Holmes!" the woman hails me again as she reaches my side. "My name is Gale Atherton and I'm a reporter for the Times. Could you answer a few questions for me?"

I would rather not, but if it will only make the wretched woman go away I shall answer one or two.

"Why are you here, first of all?" she asks. "You don't work for New Scotland Yard and you hate parties."

I grimace. "I dislike crowded rooms and noise; not parties. Furthermore, I am a consultant for the Yard. As for your question, I feel that it is important that we all give what we can for those who are the less fortunate. Do you not agree?" I refrain from adding that I feel particularly strongly about terminally ill children - I do not wish for Moriarty to read that little detail in tomorrow's newspaper.

"Well, yes, of course," she stammers in response as I stare intently into her eyes.

Am I making her uncomfortable? Good! The feeling is mutual! "Is that your only question?"

She blinks and shakes her head. "Is it true that you're going out with a Yardie? There are lots of rumours..."

I wave a hand impatiently. "There always are. Even in my own era, there were always a lot of rumours about me. They were not true then; why do you think that any rumours that are circulating now are any different?"

"So there's no truth in it?"

I snort and again wave my hand dismissively. "When I wish to make an announcement I shall do so. I suggest that you ignore the rumours."

"All right then," she gazes down at her notes.

Oh, do please go away!

"What d'you think of life in the 22nd Century?"

Well, at least this one is not quite as personal. "I rather like the new technology," I respond after a moment's pause. "Computers make my work much faster and I can travel much greater distances in a day than I could in my own era - it takes only two hours to travel from here to Scotland, after all."

She is not interested. "You like the technology. Anything else?"

I shrug. "I miss the culture of my own era." Again, that is not uncomfortably close to home.

"Yeah, I've heard talk about opening a music hall back up and maybe organising a Victorian-style variety show... Anything to do with you or Doctor Watson?"

Is she joking? "I have never had very much time for such things." Unless I was playing the part of a man of the working class, perhaps. "I prefer operas and classical instruments - particularly the violin."

"Ah. You're a snob."

Pardon?

"Is this woman bothering you Holmes?" Inspector Jones enquires as he approaches us. "I can have her removed if you want."

"Whatever happened to freedom of speech?" the reporter demands to know.

"How about freedom to live your life without being harassed by nosy reporters?" he snaps in response. "Mr. Holmes is a guest here - go bother somebody else."

"Thank you," I whisper with sincere gratitude as the woman storms away.

He smiles and pats my shoulder. "Lestrade thought you might want rescuing."

"She was quite right. Thank you Jones."

Damn the press! I had wanted to surprise Beth tonight, but there are far too many reporters and cameras. No, no, it will have to wait. I follow Jones to the table at which he and Lestrade are sitting with John the compudroid.

Here Lestrade surprises me - she is wearing a beautiful dress that compliments her eye colour beautifully. Cornflower blue is the shade, I believe; Watson would probably know.

"Chelsea picked it," she informs me when I compliment her. "She thought it suited me."

I nod and smile. "She was absolutely right. You are a vision."

"You look very..." she looks me up and down for a moment as she searches for the appropriate word. "...very dashing yourself."

I feel my smile broaden. "Thank you my dear."

"Your damaged penguin outfit suits the occasion tonight."

How I wish I knew why she feels so compelled to call my top hat and tails that!

Jones clears his throat quietly. "Stop tormenting him Lestrade. Honestly! Anyone'd think you enjoy driving each other crazy."

She smirks at me as she apologises.

"That's a little better, I guess," her colleague mutters. "Ah! The Winters family just showed up. Excuse me."

I stand to allow the fellow room to leave the table and seat myself beside John. I do not trust myself to give nothing away whilst sitting alongside my young lady friend in this roomful of snakes.

Watson and Chelsea would appear to be enjoying themselves. They have not stopped dancing since our arrival and both look as if they are laughing together as she teaches him yet another ridiculous routine. I am glad that Lestrade is not keen on dancing, for I have already told her that I would rather not give the press any reason to suspect us to be more than colleagues.

"Good to see 'em having fun, isn't it?" Beth remarks, interrupting my thoughts. "Especially after all the upset they went through when they'd first met."

I nod my agreement. "Indeed it is."

"Then stop glaring daggers at 'em," she chuckles. "You look like an overprotective big brother or something."

Were I to tell the truth I would probably confess to being jealous, for I would like to be able to publicly show my affection toward the young lady sitting opposite me.

She smiles when I turn back to face her. "We've put in our appearance here; Grayson can't easily moan if we leave early. Wanna go somewhere for dinner?"

That rather depends. "If John does not mind; I do not like to abandon the fellow."

He waves a hand dismissively. "I am all right. I should get back to Briar before he makes a puddle by the door anyway. Call me if you require a lift home."

Very well then. I turn to Lestrade, trying not to feel dubious about her choice of cuisine. She does still like burgers, after all. "Where would you like to go?"

"I dunno. What d'you want? Greek? Indian? Chinese?"

I shrug. "I would quite like spaghetti."

"Not in that outfit - I don't think even you could eat spaghetti without getting it everywhere."

What cheek! "I am actually very clean."

"For a bachelor, you're amazingly clean 'n' tidy, yeah."

I glare at her and stand up with an annoyed sniff. "Give me a moment then. I really should make a donation before we leave."

"You haven't done that yet?"

I shrug. "I was going to take part in the auction," I explain. "I had my eye Mrs. Winters' homemade jams."

"How much were you willing to bid?" asks Winters. "I don't mind doing the bidding for you. Anything else you wanted?"

We soon make an arrangement, though my lady friend is so impatient that I feel as if it takes much longer. "Thank you Winters. Well, where are we dining Lestrade?"

We end up in my favourite restaurant - it specialises in quite a variety of dishes and can easily cater for our differing tastes. It also provides a stunning view of the Thames and Westminster.

"What's a quail?" Beth asks as we discuss our choices.

"It is a bird," I respond. "Would you like to try some?"

She smiles. "OK, I'll give it a try. What about a starter? Oysters?"

"How did you guess?"

She laughs and gazes at me with playful eyes that seem to dance in the candlelight. "Easy. They're on the menu."

I shrug. "What about you? What do you want my dear?"

"You've kinda got me addicted to baked brie," she muses. "I might have that to start. Then I'll have the chicken breast, I think. That sounds good - 'wrapped in cheddar cheese and bacon, stuffed with hazelnuts, almonds and red Leister cheese' - I'll bet it's delicious!"

While we wait for our meal, we chat about various things. Music, the amateur dramatics team that I am planning to organise at the Yard, art...

"I didn't think you like modern art," my lady friend says suddenly. "You said it doesn't stimulate your mind."

That is the truth on the whole. I shrug. "I find it difficult to be inspired by a picture that a toddler could create with finger paints."

She grimaces. "I'm sure as zed glad you aren't an art critic - you'd have the world in uproar."

"That is what art would seem to be for these days," I remark with a sniff of disdain. "The favoured word, where modern art is concerned, is 'controversial'."

"Maybe you're not looking at it the right way. Ah! Here comes our food."

The meal is good and all the better for the pleasant company. We talk quietly, share a bottle of wine and unwind.

And the box that I brought out with me remains in my jacket's inside pocket.

Watson laughs when I take the small box from my pocket and return it to my desk drawer. He and John were already home when I returned.

"Did you think twice?" the fellow asks with a chuckle.

I whirl to face him. "Nothing of the sort! I simply... The timing would have been all wrong."

He shakes his head. "She loves you Holmes - a blind man could see it, you know. She is not going to say 'no'."

Perhaps not, but an effort should still be made. I throw myself into my desk chair without bothering to respond. Perhaps I should look for some hints on the internet...


	3. Norfolk

This time I have it all planned. I have arranged to take Beth horse riding in Norfolk, seeing as she has been expressing an interest in it. My friend, Victor, has recommended a farmer to me, who hires out his horses. I shall teach her to ride, then we shall take our horses out along the little footpaths that run alongside the broads. After that... Well, then we shall rest the horses and settle down by the water's edge. We might picnic, if we are hungry, and then, when the timing is perfect, I shall drop down on one knee and ask her The Question.

"How d'you get on one o' these things?" Lestrade asks as she eyes the horse doubtfully.

I pat the beautiful bay mare affectionately. "If you trust me, I could help you."

"What if it moves?"

Oh Beth! "She is not going to move unless you hurt her. Now, put one foot in the stirrup and I shall help you to get up. One two three... There we are. Are you comfortable?"

"I'm scared zedless! This horse is moving!"

"Really Lestrade! She is not a car; of course she is going to move a bit. Try patting her neck and talking to her - her name is Candice."

She gingerly pats the neck before her. "Hi Candice."

"Good girl," I smile at her as I leap up onto the back of mine - a chestnut stallion called Ginger. "Come along then. We shall start off at a nice, gentle stroll."

I have never seen Beth Lestrade so nervous! She is clinging to the saddle and her body is rigid.

"Beth, you look like a shop mannequin," I inform her with a chuckle. "Relax and enjoy yourself - you are perfectly safe."

She does gradually begin to enjoy herself and I increase our pace to a canter, which seems to please the horses.

The weather begins to take a turn as we near a country inn and I decide to stop here. However, there is no shelter or stable boy for our weary horses. Damn! How I miss the way of life that I am accustomed to.

"What about the horses?" Lestrade asks with concern as I help her down from her saddle.

I sniff quietly and look about us. "I am not quite sure. I may have to call our friend Farmer Dunn and ask him to come and get them."

She wipes her nose on the back of her hand. "What about us?"

"One thing at a time Beth. Let me give him a bell first of all."

It turns out that the farmer was just about to call me, to let me know that he is on his way with his horse van. "Stay where you are and I'll pick you up."

Lestrade is cold, so I give her my coat and huddle between the horses as the rain falls heavily. We are soon drenched.

"Go inside Beth," I all but order my lady friend.

She shakes her head. "I'm not leaving you out here like this."

I try not to shiver. "I am all right."

"So am I Sherlock. Really."

I grumble quietly and sniff as I hunch my sodden shoulders. Confound the woman!

I know not how long we have been waiting when our rescue arrives. Farmer Dunn leaps from his van and gives a whistle.

"You look half drowned Mr. Holmes! Let me get the horses into the back and then I'll take you home."

I explain that we are only here for the afternoon and the fellow tuts quietly. "You should've made plans in case the weather turned nasty - it can take a sudden turn out on the Broads. I'm sure Victor'll put you up, but if he can't you're welcome to stay at the farm until the weather lets up."

And so we spend the evening with Victor Trevor, where we are entertained and our every need catered for, starting with warming drinks and hot showers. Our host is very generous.

"Apart from the storm, how did the rising go?" he asks Lestrade when we are warm and comfortable.

She smiles at the memory. "It was great! Can we do that again Holmes?"

"I am sure that we can," I respond with a small smile. "It is a pity that we were interrupted."

Ha! A pity indeed! It was a nuisance. I have still not had the opportunity to propose to the beautiful and remarkable young lady at my side and I am beginning to wonder whether I ever will.

"Never mind," Victor attempts to console me, knowing not why I am so upset. "We'll play some games, maybe watch some old movies and then, if the storm hasn't died down, I'll put you up for the night. I'm sure you'll be comfortable."

We both thank him gratefully and I attempt to put the disappointment out of my mind. It could, after all, be much worse.


	4. Let the Lady Decide

I have not seen Lestrade all week, but I aim to make up for that today; she has the day off and Watson and Chelsea have made plans already. We could do anything that she desires and I plan to allow her to make the decisions this time. My only aim is to find a romantic setting somewhere and to propose - the ring is still in its box in the pocket of my coat.

"You are not going out like that," John informs me as I enter the sitting room, in the process of dressing and looking for my shoes. "You are going to catch your death of cold if you go on as you have been of late; that soaking that you took on Sunday -"

"Was an age ago and I am none the worse for it," I snap in response. How I wish that Lestrade had not mentioned it to him! "I have been good and remained indoors; do not keep on so."

I then snatch up my shoes and return to my room to finish dressing, slamming the door of the bedroom behind me with a bang.

"Holmes!" Beth calls out in greeting from her bedroom when I enter her apartment. "You're early. Give me a minute, OK? I'm drying my zedding hair."

I take a seat in her sitting room and look about me. Chelsea has clearly moved the last of her belongings in, for the room is even more cluttered than Baker Street was when Watson and I had first moved in together in 1881. There are ornaments everywhere!

"Where're we going?" my lady friend asks of me as she turns off her hair dryer. "I don't know what to wear."

I shrug. "Today I shall let you plan our activities. I place myself in your hands."

"OK then. It's nice to know you trust me."

When Beth steps into the sitting room, she is wearing trousers, boots and a polar-neck jumper.

"I'm not getting cold this time," she says with a shrug as she picks up her coat. "Ready?"

I nod and follow her downstairs and out to my car. The sun is shining but there is a chill in the air; the weather is rarely very warm these days. I open the passenger door of the car for the Yarder before getting in behind the steering wheel. I cannot help feeling excited, for I can feel the little velvet box pressing into my chest beneath my seat belt.

Our first port of call is the art gallery, in which I spend two enlightening hours listening to Beth as she explains the point of modern art to me. It is interesting, regardless of whether or not I particularly like the art of this century - or even the previous one.

The next stop is a little tea shop on the bank of the Thames, wherein we lunch. Tea, sandwiches and cakes revive us as we rest our feet for a moment.

"Enjoying yourself?" Lestrade enquires with a smile.

I nod. "Very much."

"Good! Anywhere you wanna go?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Not particularly. I am content to let you lead today."

"Watson 'n' Chelsea have gone off to the funfair, haven't they?"

I grimace. "If I wished to be made to feel horribly sick, I would need only to ask you to drive particularly recklessly."

She wrinkles her nose and folds her arms. "Zed. Thanks Sherlock."

I have seen the 'fun' fair advertised on the television and some of the rides look as if that is exactly what they are intended to do. If a rough ferry crossing could make me sick in my own era, I have little doubt that a fair could.

"So what do you wanna do?"

What indeed? We end up back in Sussex, strolling along the seafront.

"Ever heard of kite-surfing?" Lestrade enquires suddenly. "I used to do it as a kid."

I hunch my shoulders and sniff. "I did not bring a bathing suit and I do not relish the thought of getting wet with this chilling breeze."

She laughs. "We won't get wet. You'll see."

That is because she has arranged for us to kite-surf on the sand in carts. It is a little difficult at first, but I must admit that I enjoy it. I do not even notice the breeze picking up as the tide begins to turn, nor the drop of temperature, until we are called back.

"That was great fun!" Lestrade remarks, her face red from the wind and bright with excitement. "Did you like it?"

I did indeed and I tell her as much, but I am cold and my hands are raw from holding the kite's strings.

"Come on," Beth says as she easily slips her arm through mine.

We take tea in a little tea shop and then set off for another walk, this time up to the cliff top where at last we stop and watch the sun set. All in all, it has been a very good day.

"Well?" John asks eagerly when I come home and sink wearily into my chair beside the fire. "Did you ask her?"

I hide my face in my hands and groan. "No."

"Why ever not?" he demands to know.

I groan again. "I felt that the moment was not right."

"Holmes! Surely you are not afraid that she would refuse you?"

I shrug and look away.

"She loves you - she would never -"

"I want to propose to her as a gentleman should - under the right conditions and at the right time. Today I did not feel that the setting was suitable."

He shakes his head and gazes at me long and hard. "I very much doubt that she would care."

"But I do! Besides, she knows how it should be done well enough - as all women do - and would be well within her rights to refuse me on those grounds, whether she would or not. No, no! I should conduct this properly or not at all."

John shrugs his shoulders. "You amaze me Holmes," he confesses. "I did not realise that you would feel like that."

Which only serves to prove just how well I am able to conceal my heart. But Beth Lestrade would seem to have seen it, for all my efforts, and perhaps that can only serve to improve my chances - this is no stranger whom I wish to marry, after all.


	5. A Proposal in a Basket

I have decided to arrange something a little different for today. I very much doubt that Beth will have ever considered it, but it is something that I would have liked to have had the opportunity to try in my own era.

"You're being very mysterious Holmes," my lady friend grumbles quietly. "What've you planned?"

I merely smile and tap the side of my nose.

She pouts and wrinkles her nose at me in response as she folds her arms. "Huh!"

"I think that it is something that you shall enjoy - it is certainly something that I have always wanted to try."

"Something that involves wearing a hat."

I smirk at her from the corner of my eye. "Surely that is not too serious?"

"I don't like wearing hats. I had to buy one specially - Chelsea helped me pick this thing - and then you tell me a baseball cap would've been OK."

I chuckle. "A baseball cap would never do - not with that outfit. You look wonderful."

She snorts and addresses me with a glare.

"I am glad that you did not opt for a dress," I add cheerfully, knowing full well that Chelsea had strict instructions to see that she dressed well but sensibly and in flat shoes.

"The suit's new too."

"Violet and white is a very fetching colour combination for you."

She gazes down at herself for a moment. She is wearing a white cotton trouser suit with a violet silk blouse. Her wide-brimmed hat is white with a white and violet pattern on its band. About her neck is a silk scarf that matches the pattern on the hat.

"Thanks Sherlock; I feel kinda pretty."

"You look gorgeous," I assure her kindly. "From your suit to your matching accessories and hair style; the ladies of my own era would envy you."

"They'd faint at the sight o' me 'cause I'm wearing trousers," she retorts with a smirk. "There'd be an outcry."

This is actually very true.

"You look nice too," my lady friend tells me. "But you always do."

Hum! The flatterer. "Thank you my dear."

"So where're we going?"

I merely smile to myself and try not to laugh to heartily while driving.

"We're in the middle o' zedding nowhere!" Lestrade complains when I stop the car. "What is this Holmes? One o' your jokes?"

I take her by the hand and guide her into a nearby field, behind some tall trees, assuring her that there is a very good reason for the remoteness of this location. In the field that we enter there are some transport vehicles and on the grass beside each of these is a bundle.

"We want a turquoise bundle," I inform my lady friend.

"Right. OK then," she frowns at me. "I still wanna know what the zed you're planning."

As we pass one of the transporters a large basket with a gas burner affixed to the top is placed on the ground beside its bundle. Beth grips my arm with a yelp of surprise.

"Balloons?"

I smile and nod. I can think of nothing more romantic. "I know how you love to fly and this is something that I have always wanted to do."

"OK Sherlock; if you wanna try it," she mumbles uncertainly.

I did not think that she would be scared! I squeeze her arm gently and assure her that we shall be quite safe.

When our balloon begins to inflate, Lestrade laughs. "A balloon that advertises tea! That's very you Holmes."

"It belongs to the company that I have always purchased my tea and coffee from," I inform her. "I hired their balloon specially."

She gazes at me for a long moment. "You amaze me Holmes."

I doff my hat and bow playfully. "Thank you my dear."

The balloonists gather together to discuss the weather conditions and then their passengers (and there are quite a number of us, which surprises me rather) are called together for a briefing.

"I'm glad you're here beside me," Beth whispers once the balloonists have resumed their pre-flight checks and tasks. "I'm scared as zed!"

I squeeze her hand and address her with my most reassuring smile. "All will be well," I promise. "I hope that you shall enjoy this."

"Me too," she presses herself into my side.

We are advised to pay a visit before take-off if we feel the need at all and are given directions to a local inn that grants the use of their facilities. I remark to Lestrade that it might be wise, for we have no idea for how long we might be out or where the balloon may land. She agrees and we follow one of the balloonists that has also decided to take the opportunity.

When we return to the field, our balloon is standing up and is almost ready. I help my lady friend to scramble into the woven gondola and join her readily. I am quite excited!

Lestrade grips my hand (and the basket) when the balloon drags along the ground, but she relaxes somewhat when the sensation ceases and all is still. It takes us both a moment to realise that we are airborne.

"Wow!" Beth whispers as she looks down. "That's amazing - it doesn't even feel like we're moving."

I smile and look down as well. We are already quite high and there is another, larger balloon following in our wake below us.

"Zed! I wish I brought a camera," Lestrade mutters.

I have to agree. "You are welcome to use my pocket telephone," I offer as I hand it over. "The quality of photograph that it can take is fair."

She first photographs the view and then she turns the lens upon me and the balloonists. I then take the telephone from her so that I can photograph her in turn.

When the telephone's battery is almost empty I put it away, for I did agree to call John when we have landed to let him know that we are all right. The robot was almost as unenthusiastic about this idea as Beth was.

"Did you want your champagne now Mr. Holmes?" our pilot enquires.

"Champagne?" Lestrade repeats with a chuckle. "I thought we'd be offered tea."

He explains then that champagne has become somewhat of a balloon flight tradition. The expression on the face of my lady friend suggests that she is wondering how much this ride has cost. I merely smile at her and drink a toast to the most captivating young lady that I have ever met.

The champagne is good and I am sure that I could quite easily develop a taste for it. It also gives me confidence that I need. I take Beth by the hand and (very carefully, for space is one thing that this gondola is short of) go down on one knee.

"What're you doing?" Lestrade asks of me as her face flushes.

I pull the box that I have been carrying about with me for weeks from my pocket and open it to display its contents to her.

"Sherlock...?" her hands are shaking and she licks her lips. Is she all right?

I swallow with difficulty. What if I have completely misunderstood the signals that I believed her to be giving to me?

"Beth... Will you marry me?"

She nods mutely and then pulls me roughly to my feet to embrace me. She is trembling all over!

"Are you all right my dear?"

I feel her head nod at my shoulder. "Yeah, I'm OK. I'm better than OK. I can't believe it! I was starting to think you were never gonna ask me!"

I laugh softly and take her hand to slip the ring onto her finger. It is gold with a generous diamond in its centre. The stone sparkles and glints as she moves her hand to touch my cheek.

"I love you," she whispers.

And that must make me the luckiest man alive. "I love you too," I respond, knowing not what else to say.

Watson would no doubt give Chelsea a speech about the depth of his love and how much his life has changed since she walked into it, but I am not like that - it would not sound right if I were to try it. All the same, the experience in itself is quite romantic and we are both enjoying it. So much so, as a matter of fact, that we are almost sorry when we land.

"How was it?" John asks of us when he retrieves us from the inn that Beth and I visited before we took to the air.

I smile and take Lestrade's hand in mine. "It was even better than I imagined."

We show him the photographs, describe the experience to the best of our ability and spend an increasing amount of time gazing into one anothers' eyes.

It dawns on me suddenly that I am indeed very fortunate, for I shall never be alone again. While Watson is going to have family responsibilities of his own now, Beth and I can work case after case together. That may have to be reviewed if we choose to have children, but there is time enough for that - in the meantime, we can enjoy ourselves.

John clears his throat quietly. "Are you lovebirds ready to go home?"

"Yeah, I think so," Lestrade responds as she stands.

I am less prepared to leave the inn, though I do not let it show. After the day that I have had, returning to New London would be like waking from a dream.

I wonder whether my fiancée would care for another balloon flight in the near future, because I would seem to be becoming somewhat addicted. Well, that shall have to wait for a while - we have a wedding to plan, save and prepare for first.

I do hope that John and Watson are going to be better prepared for this happy news.


End file.

Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century, Friendship, Romance