GranadaHolmesFans

He still couldn't believe it. Holmes was back—almost as though he hadn't been "dead" for three long years. The detective was now in his room re-arranging some of his belongings—generally meaning he was picking them up to place them in a different pile in another corner of the room. No one ever said that the great Sherlock Holmes was a tidy man. Watson came to the doorway quietly and leaned his head against the door frame. For a minute or two he thought that he had succeeded in not drawing Holmes' attention for the detective continued sorting through his things without looking up. The doctor watched him fondly, still wondering if

Chapter 8:  I slid my medical bag down and off my arm, setting it between Holmes and myself. Just that little movement alone was painful, and I cringed at the thought of what would happen if the men that were after us caught up. Holmes and I were definitely in no shape to get ourselves into a fight, let alone run away. I would just have to do my best at patching us up and hope that the men that were after us would have some difficulty in finding our hideout.  "Are you up to telling me what happened now?" I questioned after a few minutes of digging through my bag for the instruments I needed. Holmes rested his head on the wall and stared u

Data looked at the message, trying to figure it out. "Does anyone have a pen and paper?" Data asked turning around. Dr. Crusher pulled a pen and pad of paper out of her pocket. "Here Data, Ihave no need for it at the momet." she said handing Data the two items. "Thank you doctor." Data wrote down what there was of the message onto the paper. Meanwhile in the transport room, Wesley Crusher and First Officer Wil Riker were working to try and get the system to fully function. "Makes no sense why this thing only works once in a while." Wesley  said. "And why nothing else will." Riker added. The machine began to work again, but Wesley was not

The Captain sat back down, set his tea aside. "Now what do we do?" The counselor came in and sat beside the Captain. "Are you alright Captain?" she asked. She looked at his face. La Forge came in. "Captain, nothing can be fixed, the engines have even stopped and I can not get them up and running again. No matter what I do." "Absolutely nothing works La Forge?" he asked. "Nothing. Started with the warp engines, then the main ones." La Forge said, upset at himself for not being successful. "Geordi, do not blame yourself. It isn't your fault that everything is not operating. There is something that is affecting it, it is not you." Deanna sa

Captain's Log: Star date 43917.9. We are on our way to a place known as London on the planet Rocona. Although, things have been going wrong on the ship.                                                                                       ~                                                                   ~ Captain Picard paced back and forth, waiting for an update on any progress on the problems the ship was having. The computers were not operating properly, unable to give directions to their destination, and it was unable to even run a diagnosis on other places on the ship. "Data, any progress at all?" Picard asked, nervous and anxious

The man with the pipe sees only the obvious Lestrade, you moron

     Part 2 Holmes went to the door and called for Mrs. Hudson. When she came up Holmes asked her to bring up some fresh tea and three cups. When she left to do so Holmes went back to his chair. "Now, Mr. Nix. I want you to tell me everything that happened last night when you took your horse home, up until you came to see me." John looked up at Holmes and took a deep breath. "I live in a faily small house, it has just three bedrooms, one for me and one for each child. And not far from the house is our barn. Each night when I get home from doing my rounds on the roads here in London, I go home, take my horse to the barn. The kids meet me a

For as long as i've known and accomponied Sherlock Holmes on his cases, like anyone else, we mostly traveled by cab. Various types of cabs are horse drawn. We holler for a cab and jump into the first one that stops for us. Now, many people don't develop any kind of freindship-base with the cab drivers, just simply get in the cab, ride to your destination and pay the fare and then be on your way. But there was one cab driver who frequented Baker Street, and holmes and I got to know him well. His name is John Nix, he is a widower with two children, a son and a daughter. The son is 6 years old and the daughter is 4 years. A few times he let one