#sophiaholmes

[sophiaholmes221b]

This is a photo I pulled from one of the CCTV cameras outside Angelo's. If people could keep an eye out for it, I still have an uneasy feeling about it and want to track down the driver.

[sophiaholmes221b]

Sophia Holmes and the Mysteries in Stone

Epilogue

"Here to speak to Mr Berwick," dad says to the prison guard, flashing him a small ID card. "I believe he wanted to speak to us?"

The uniformed man nods us in, and I follow my breath into an even colder, but larger room.

After we'd finished the case of the Weeping Angels, we were contacted by Barry Berwick: an English man detained in Belarus. The Angels shook us both up, but we're managing to ease ourselves back into The Game. It is quite disturbing being in the nineteenth century one moment with the author of your books, but mind-blowing stepping into a time machine which is bigger on the inside.

"Mr Berwick," dad says coldly as we walk up to one of the tables. "My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my associate Sophia Holmes. You wanted to talk to us about your case."

"Thanks for comin' Mr. Holmes," Berwick says, and we sit down in the seat opposite him.

Except for the one guard at the other end of the room, we're alone with a - potentially - rather violent murderer.

Dad was very reluctant to come here, but I persuaded him into it, but even I am beginning to regret it as I feel the bite of the cold snow outside whilst I look over the boring client.

"I don't really know what to tell you."

"Just tell me what happened, from the beginning," dad prompts.

"We'd been to a bar –" Berwick begins, "a nice place – and, er, I got chattin' with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren't 'appy with that, so ... when we get back to the 'otel, we end up havin' a bit of a ding-dong, don't we?" His misuse of grammar makes us both cringe, and dad lets out a deliberate, noisy sigh. "She was always gettin' at me, sayin' I weren't a real man."

"'Wasn't' a real man," dad corrects him before I can.

"What?" Berwick demands.

"It's not 'weren't'; it's 'wasn't'," dad explains, sounding bored already.

"Oh," he says, looking down, but keeping calm.

"Go on," I urge.

"Well, then I dunno how it happened, but suddenly there's a knife in my hands," I roll my eyes; how very original: he's going to say that he's been cursed or hypnotised or something. "And, you know, me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives." My gaze lowers to his hands to cross-check that fact, and the rough palms and old scars confirm his story. "He learned us how to cut up a beast."

I grimace again, and dad steps in. "'Taught'."

"What?" he demands again, his anger starting to boil. Must have been what Karen Berwick experienced not long before her death.

"'Taught' you how to cut up a beast."

Berwick glares at dad.

"Continue, Mr Berwick," I sigh.

"Yeah, well, then-then I done it."

"'Did it,'" dad contradicts.

"'Did' it!" he emphasises, slamming his hand down onto the table and causing me to draw my hands away. "Stabbed her ... over and over and over, and I looked down and she weren't ..." Dad sighs again and turns his head away in frustration. Controlling his anger, Berwick immediately corrects himself, allowing dad to turn his head back to face him. "'Wasn't' movin' no more." Dad turns it away again, with an even more, annoyed expression painted over his pale cheekbones. "'Any' more," Berwick corrects himself once more, before letting out a shaky breath. "You've gotta help me," he says in a lower and softer voice than before. "I dunno how it happened, but it was an accident. I swear."

"Just like all the times before, you mean?" I ask as dad pushes his chair back. "You were a serial domestic abuser, Mr Berwick. I'm afraid 'sorry' just won't cut it this time."

I follow dad towards the door, and Berwick calls frantically after us. "You've gotta help me, Mr Holmes!" We stop, just for a second. "Everyone says you're the best. Without you, I'll get hung for this."

Dad turns. "No, no, no, Mr Berwick, not at all. 'Hanged', certainly."

I turn and walk away whilst dad cracks Berwick a quirky smile.

We're back in The Game.

[sophiaholmes221b]

Sophia Holmes and the Mysteries in Stone

Chapter Fourteen

"You nearly gave me a coronary, you bloody idiots," a voice says as I begin to regain consciousness. The ground beneath feels like a mound of soil, and I rise up out of it.

"The graveyard?" I question, looking to dad beside me, who is also in the same earth pile as me. "Why are we...?"

"You bloody ... you threw yourselves in front of a bus," John says. "You all but died, in fact you did ..."

"But the paradox rewrote over that," The Doctor says, stepping out from around the corner to reveal himself, "and the energy from the Angels was enough to resurrect you. Perfectly safe."

"Doctor?" dad questions. "What are you doing here?"

"Not getting rid of us that easily," Martha smiles.

"I knew the Angels wouldn't have given up so easily, but you were already writing the paradox so we've only just been able to land," the Doctor explains. "Good thinking on your behalf, Sherlock. I'd call you a genius, except I'm in the room."

"Graveyard," I correct and Martha chuckles.

"But you were just going to leave us in a world full of Weeping Angels without a plan of rescue?" dad says, eyebrow raised.

"You're the amazing Sherlock Holmes!" The Doctor cries. "Knew you'd figure something out."

"So they're gone now?" I question. "The Angels, I mean."

"Yep! And the gap they left between the universes are beginning to seal up. We only have a few minutes left."

"Will we see you again?" I ask.

"Does the the Earth revolve around the Sun?" The Doctor smiles.

Dad and I exchange glances of confusion. "I don't ..." dad begins.

"Yes, of course!" The Doctor laughs. "Like Martha said: not getting rid of us that easily."

"You don't know that the earth goes around the sun?" John questions, nudging me as we begin to walk towards the TARDIS.

"Shut up, John," I reply curtly.

"But you don't ..."

"It doesn't matter!" I snap. "It's not important."

The Doctor turns back around and grins at us. "Sherlock and Sophia Holmes, two of the most intelligent people in the universes, yet outwitted by the solar system."

"And Prime Ministers," John adds, and I glare at him.

"Shut up, the both of you," I retort.

The Doctor laughs as he opens the TARDIS doors. "See you soon," he promises before stepping inside.

"Stay safe," Martha says, coming forward to hug me again.

"You too," I tell her, and she turns, giving a little wave before disappearing inside.

Before the door closes, The Doctor catches it and tosses John a book. "Oh, by the way - thought you might want a copy. The rest will be erased shortly, but this one won't."

"What is it?" John questions, searching for the title.

"The book," I smile. "We met someone today, and he said he was thinking about writing a book about us. It's how The Doctor found us."

"I knew something like this would happen," John says, shaking his head.

"It's not that much of a deal, John," The Doctor says.

"You inspired a man to write a bloody book series about you!" John persists, turning to us.

"You were in them too."

"That's even worse!" John cries.

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't think he really wanted to write them. You've got me to blame for that!" I say, grinning. "Besides, how is it any different to your blog? Wouldn't you say we inspired you to write that?" John shakes his head in denial, and I turn back to The Doctor and shake his hand. "Goodbye Doctor."

"Goodbye, Miss Holmes," he a grin flickers onto his face before stepping back inside.

For the second time today, we stand back as the TARDIS begins to disappear, fading away through the crack once more.

"Back home then?" I question, once the odd blue box has gone. "I'm starving."

Dad smiles at me, and I think back to our conversation before. It can't be any more than a week ago, yet this trip has felt like it's lasted a lifetime.

"Come on then," he says, then his phone bleeps. "Lestrade. He says ..." he pauses, looking down at his phone.

"What?" John urges.

"Those people who disappeared, they've all been found. Apparently, they were found in the graveyard earlier, wandering around."

"Must have been weird for those who found them," John laughs. "Tonight's headline 'Zombies Walk London Graveyard'."

We laugh, and once again, everything is quiet and ordered.

[sophiaholmes221b]

Sophia Holmes and the Mysteries in Stone

Chapter Thirteen

The engines whir into action and the control panel lights up into a thousand lights. All of a sudden, the TARDIS begins to shake.

"Doctor?" Martha yells, leaning against one of the columns which spiral up to the ceiling. "What's happening?"

The Doctor leans across the controls, flicking switches and pulling down leavers to try and stabilise the ship.

"I don't know," he admits, skipping over to the other side to the screen. "The TARDIS won't fly back through the time barrier - something's holding her back."

"The Angels?" I question standing up shakily and moving towards the panel for something better to hold onto.

The Doctor looks back and nods before hopping across to some switches on the other side of the console.

"Can we help?" dad offers, joining my side. "I can fly a helicopter."

The Doctor looks up, offended. "Are you calling her a helicopter?"

"Well ..." dad replies, suddenly speechless.

"Her?" I put in, picking up on the pronoun for a second time. "Bit sentimental, isn't it?"

Martha smirks. "See, I'm not the only one!"

The Doctor glares at her, but brushes over the subject. "Sophie, if you can take the lever, Sherlock, you can do the buttons, and Martha you can do this," he says, pointing to something around the other side. "She may just fly a little steadier then, and we'll be able to break through."

The next five minutes was sickening as we fought to get through. For a moment, The Doctor seemed to get a bit worried, but after hitting something on the panel with a hammer, we were able to pull through, and we let out a sigh of relief as the TARDIS stabilised.

"We're almost there now," The Doctor remarks and I stand up from where I'd sat down on the chairs.

"Will that be it then?" I question. "Have the Angels gone?"

"Maybe," The Doctor lies as the TARDIS begins to land, then looks up at my face and reconsiders. "Probably not."

"Why do they take people back in time?" dad questions. "Is there any specific pattern?"

"No," he replies. "The Angels feed off all types of energy - nuclear, but also time - which is why they like to take humans back in time. They feed on the life you left behind. To them, time energy is like a bag of sweets in the way that it can give you a short burst of energy, but you will tire quicker than if you were to eat something healthier."

"Then what happens when we step outside?" dad questions. "Will the Angels stop following us?"

"You're supposed to be in 1877, but time can be rewritten. One of two things can happen when you step out these doors." The Doctor looks at us, concern written across his face. "One, the Angels will be poisoned by the paradox of your existence here. Two, the Angels will still be here and they will chase you across the stars if necessary to get you back to the nineteenth century."

"If that was to happen," I begin, thinking, "then we would need another, stronger paradox to kill them off, surely?

The Doctor nods. "It'll be difficult though, might even rip the fabric of time apart."

"You said that before," I remind him, "and it didn't happen then, so why should it now?"

He doesn't reply, so I take it as a cue to step outside.

I don't know where I was thinking I would be, but the fact that we've moved destination surprises me, even if it is just a little bit.

"Weird, huh?" Martha smiles, stepping out for herself. "I was pretty creeped out the first time as well." I look around at the busy London street outside Bart's.

"Impossible," dad exclaims, looking up at the building behind us. "We've moved in both time and space."

"Well, what did you expect?" The Doctor exclaims, appearing in the doorway before giving dad a pointed look. "She's no helicopter."

"No sign of the Angels," Martha observes. "Maybe they've gone after all."

"Hmm, maybe," The Doctor answers, not sounding so sure.

"Is it just me, or do the streets seem quieter to you?" I question.

"It does seem so, but maybe it's just the timing," The Doctor reassures.

"So this is goodbye then?" I ask, turning back to The Doctor.

"For now, yes," he looks me in the eyes and grins widely. "But it's been great, Miss Holmes."

We exchange handshakes before he moves onto dad, then he steps back inside the box, giving us a small wave.

"Bye!" Martha smiles, embracing me in a tight hug, leaving me feeling awkward in her arms.

"Yeah, sure," I smile back before she follows The Doctor back in. We stand back as the TARDIS begins to take off, and we watch until it fades off completely.

Only to reveal another statue.

"Sophie," dad says, taking my hand. My grip tightens around his. "Run!"

The Angel follows us, through the quiet streets.

"We need to create a paradox," dad reminds me. "It's the only way we can finally defeat them."

"Will it work though, really?" I question. "The last paradox didn't."

"That was tiny, minute in comparison."

I follow his gaze and my stomach tightens. "If you're sure," I say, grasping his hand tighter as we run out across the road.

The bus squeals as the driver slams on the brakes, but it isn't enough.

I'm dead before I hit the ground.

[sophiaholmes221b]

Sophia Holmes and the Mysteries in Stone

Chapter Twelve

I clean and dress my wounds in the back of the cart, not sparing Arthur any blushes by taking off my shirt to do so. Instead, the boy faces away as I patch myself up the best I can before changing into the fresh shirt.

"How do you planning to get back to your time?" he questions as we arrive in London, speaking for the first time since I told him he wasn't coming with us. "Can the Angels take you forward in time as well?"

"From what I've been told, no, they can't," I admit. "I have some people out looking for us, but they need us to send them a message through time that they can link onto. I haven't worked out how yet."

"I was thinking about writing a book about you two," Doyle says shyly. "It was just an idea."

I turn my head towards him, remembering what The Doctor had said. If Doyle writes about us, would that erase our existence?

"It could work, but I don't think it'll be enough - just enough to attract their attention. We need to pinpoint a location for them first."

"So these people, can they travel through time too?" Arthur questions, looking excited.

"From what I've heard, yes. But no, time travel isn't common in my time. The Doctor comes from another planet altogether."

Arthur's eyes widen. "You mean you have discovered the ability to travel across the stars and meet the creatures who live there?"

I smile slightly. "Our space travel explorations are not nearly so advanced. The Doctor found us."

"An extra-terrestrial invasion?" he asks, his face whitening and I sigh, wishing I hadn't broached the subject with him.

"Not exactly."

Arthur looks at me uncertainly for a moment, then changes the subject. "When exactly do you come from? I know you live in future London, but what year?"

"When I left, it was March 2010," I say slowly, watching for his inevitable reaction.

"2010?!" he yelps. "But that's almost one hundred and fifty years into the future!"

I laugh at his bewildered face. "Yes, and we would like to get back there as soon as we can."

Dad pulls the cart to a gentle stop, and we hop out.

"Where are we?" Arthur questions. "I haven't been this far into London before."

"Baker Street," dad tells him. "This is where Sophie and I will live in the future."

"And it's where our rescue party are likely to converge," I finish, and dad nods in agreement.

A shiver runs through me as we step inside the building. It's odd: while much of it looks the same as it will in a hundred years, it still doesn't feel like our home.

"Keep quiet," dad tells us unneccessarily as we creep up the stairs, missing out the ones that creaked back home, even if they may not be creaky now.

I push the lounge door open and walk in, looking around the room.

"Arthur, could you make sure you write down every detail for that book you were going to write?"

If Arthur's story is written exactly the same as it happens, it's going to be a lot easier for The Doctor to track us down. If he finds the book.

"What book?" dad asks, spinning around to face Doyle.

"It was just an idea," he blushes.

"No," I insist. "You've got to write it, our future depends on it."

Doyle shrugs reluctantly and I feel another shiver as I look around. Something is different than a moment ago.

"Something's changed," I voice, looking around again. "I think time was just rewritten. Just a bit, but enough."

The real-life version of spot the difference.

"There," Arthur says, pointing. "There's a rip in the wallpaper that wasn't there before."

"Are you sure?" dad says, frowning, slightly annoyed that he didn't notice it before him.

I walk forward to investigate as Doyle nods. "Certain," he replies, sounding more confident about this than with anything else that's happened today. "My family used to play a game of observation."

"I'm sure it'll come in handy with your books," I say, pointedly, beginning to tear back the wallpaper.

At first, nothing is revealed, but as I peel the paper back further, some black writing appears.

"Allons-y?" Arthur reads. "What does that mean?"

"It's French," I tell him, "for 'let's go'. But what's doing here?"

Dad sighs. "The Doctor said it when we first met him, weren't you listening?"

My eyes widen in realisation. "He's already tracking us," I say, and turn to Arthur. "He's reading your book."

"I haven't written it yet!" Doyle protests.

"But you will," I snap. "You have to now."

Arthur looks to dad to see whether he's going to lecture me, but he's to busy to notice. "I don't necessarily think your time changed for the better," he retorts bitterly, and I have to stop myself from replying. The game is on, and I need to concentrate.

"Sophie, how did The Doctor tell you to send this message?"

"He didn't," I admit, not wanting to tell him that I left before he had the chance to tell me any more. "But I logged his number on the way to the graveyard, so I should have enough here to do what I need to."

Dad nods and I walk towards the window and close the curtains as I pull out my phone.

"What's ... what's that?" Arthur stammers, pointing to it.

"It's a communication device," I tell him, typing. "Quite common where we come from." I frown, thinking for a moment before continuing. "You might have heard of the telephone Alexander Graham Bell invented? This is a compact version."

His eyes widen. "That's a telephone? But it has no wires. And it's so small - where do you fit all the components?"

I roll my eyes and ignore him as I send the message. It takes just a few seconds to get a response and I grin at dad. "Their signal is locked. He says 'stand back!'"

"Into the kitchen," dad suggests, and I nod, dragging Arthur with me as he continues to stare at my mobile.

Within a minute of receiving the message, something begins to happen. A loud whirring engine croaks as the wind echoes through the flat, then suddenly a blue box crashes through the window. The TARDIS lands, and the door swings open.

"Sophie!" the Doctor grins widely. "Is Sherlock with you?"

"But that's impossible," Arthur yelps. "How is that possible?"

I see dad gritting his teeth - Arthur's limited intelligence is beginning to get on the nerves of both of us.

"Yeah, he's here,"

"Who's your friend?" he questions, laughing at Arthur's puzzled expression.

"Arthur Conan Doyle, he's the one who wrote that book," I say, gesturing towards the book in The Doctor's hand.

"My book? I haven't -"

"Arthur Conan Doyle," The Doctor grins, rushing forward to shake the boy's hand. "No way!"

"Pleasure to meet you sir, but how can my book be in your hand if I haven't written it yet?"

"Your books are going to live forever in most universes!" The Doctor says, continuing to shake his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I presume you're here to take us back," dad says pointedly, and The Doctor grins.

"Of course, get in."

The Doctor holds the door open as I step into the box. I'm not sure what I'd expected, but this is certainly not it. This ... this is impossible.

Obviously using some sort of alien technology, The Doctor has managed to squeeze an entire room - if not more - into a small police box from Earth. An entire spaceship is hidden inside, an entire, impossible spaceship. This must be as baffling to me as my mobile was to Arthur.

"What do you think?" Martha questions from the circular control panel where a transparent column winds up through the centre to the ceiling.

"Impressive," I remark. "And not what I was expecting."

"I wonder how the 'famous Sherlock Holmes' will hold up!" she exclaims, and I smile as The Doctor tries to coax dad in.

I walk around the control panel, looking below at the complex-looking machinery underneath the metal mesh, and then up at the circular lights lined across the bronze walls, just taking everything in. I don't know how to deduce anything from it, so I join Martha as she watches a small screen embedded into the control. The engines give a little moan, causing me to jump.

"The Doctor said it's the TARDIS matrix," she explains, smiling at my startled expression. "I guess this is a lot to take in for someone like you."

"How would you define 'someone like me'?" I question, feeling a little uncomfortable.

She shrugs. "I dunno, logical, intelligent -"

"Narrow-minded?" I put in and Martha looks at me guiltily.

"Sorry," she apologises.

"No, you're right," I admit. "I never expected ..." I don't finish, I just gesture around at the control room.

The Doctor eventually manages to lead dad in, before turning to Arthur to give him a hearty farewell.

Dad steps in, his mouth open in confusion before he frowns. "This is impossible," he says, turning back to the doctor. "This shouldn't be happening, it can't."

The Doctor smiles as he steps in. "Anything to say?" he asks, and dad spins around.

"How is this possible?" dad demands. "How is it that this control room is bigger than the entire box."

"Time Lord technology," The Doctor says simply.

I look to him incredulously. "Who's that? Your people?"

He looks back over to me and nods silently, beginning to flick the switches on the control panel. "Are you two okay?" he questions, diverting from the subject. "Because sometimes the TARDIS can make you feel a bit ..." he pulls a face and dad and I exchange glances before continuing to look around.

"Yeah, yeah, we're fine," dad replies.

"So, back to 2010," I remind him, and The Doctor looks up, smiling.

"Alright then. Allons-y!"

[sophiaholmes221b]

Sophia Holmes and the Mysteries in Stone

Chapter Eleven

We edge quietly along the walls of the barn, sticking to the shadows as I still have the feeling of being watched.

"Someone will be in, in a minute," I tell dad in a low voice. "They'll notice we're gone."

"Then we'll have to be quick," he hisses back.

We open the barn door enough to slip through but freeze, startled by the number of people outside. Carriage loads of unconscious people are being brought in by the minute, and each cab is flanked by at least two lanky men.

"Ah," dad remarks, stepping back into the barn and closing the door. "We might have to wait."

I hear something metal drop to the ground a few yards away, but I can't see who caused it.

"Who's there?" I call out, stepping cautiously forward. I expect dad to hold me back, but he looks on curiously, so instead, I arm myself with a rusted nail from the ground and inch forward again. "Show yourself."

A lean figure steps forward, shaking as he holds his hands up. He seems fairly genuine in his fear. "Please don't hurt me, I'm sorry!"

I lower the nail slightly and look him over. He doesn't look much older than fifteen or sixteen. "What's your name?" I ask.

"I'm Conan Doyle, sir, Arthur Conan Doyle. Please - I only came to see to your head. I'm the physician."

I hesitate for a moment before nodding and he creeps forward. He seems too young to be a physician, but then I've been told I'm too young to be a detective. Age doesn't always have to be a limitation. Plus there's the fact an operation of this sort probably wouldn't want to attract attention by hiring a legitimate physician.

"Why were you hiding?" I ask curiously. "Why didn't you stop us from escaping? You had plenty of opportunities."

"To be honest, sir," he says, lifting up my head to check it over. "I never wanted this job. I don't agree with it."

"Good for you." I wince as he touches a sore area.

"Sorry. You have a minor concussion, sir, but nothing to worry about," Doyle concludes, letting go. "You will be fit enough in a few minutes. I can do less about your flesh wounds."

"Thank you," I say, my eyes glancing across the walls of the barn. "Is there any other way out of here?"

"Afraid not," he replies. "Only way is the front door and, well, you saw it for yourself. You'd be mental to try to escape."

I bite my lip, thinking of what we could do. "What would you have done if our injuries had been bad?" I question, and dad latches onto my train of thought immediately.

"Er," he pauses for a moment. "I dunno, take you to the infirmary, I guess."

Dad and I glance at each other. "Arthur, we can get you out of here if you can do the same for us," dad tells him. "You won't have to return."

It takes him a moment to process the request, but then he nods. "But we need to hurry," he says. "We might be able to catch them as they switch shifts."

We nod in agreement and allow him to tie our hands loosely together with the remaining rope before leading us out of the barn.

The sunlight dazzles us as Arthur leads us between the carriage, and I blink rapidly to try and adjust. Not a single eye passes over us - in fact, those who aren't focused on carrying the other prisoners have their heads down, determined, obviously, not to stand out lest the same fate awaits them sometime in the past.

We stop as we reach the fence bordering the edge of the farm, and I double over in pain as my cuts burn. Arthur unties our bonds as I draw myself up, grimacing, and survey and farm to make sure we haven't been seen. But we have.

I let out a gasp and dad spins around, his gaze also fixing automatically on the Weeping Angel that has appeared on the other side of the field, facing, unmistakably, in our direction.

"Arthur," dad mutters quietly, "keep your eyes on the Angel."

"Of course sir," he replies. "I've heard tell of these creatures. Creatures of the devil, so I'm told."

"Not too far from the truth," I answer. "They aren't from this world, at least."

Arthur gulps from beside, his eyes unblinkingly staring at the Angel.

"Can you keep moving?" dad asks me, not taking his eyes off the Angel.

"I'm fine," I lie. "It's nothing; it's just beginning to smart, that's all."

Dad grimaces and I can tell he's unconvinced. But we have no other choice - we can't stay here. "Now, on my mark, we're going to edge backwards and duck under the fence," he proposes, and I nod in agreement.

He gestures with his hand and I begin to walk backwards, my hands feeling out behind for the fence. I reach the fence first and somehow I manage to duck under without breaking eye contact with the Angel, then I help dad and Arthur through.

"The fence isn't going to stop it from getting through," I realise, and think around for a further escape plan. "Arthur, do you have access to any of the carriages?"

The boy shakes his head for a moment, then he seems to remember something. "No, but Farmer Carter only lives a mile away. He has a good set of horses we could borrow."

"Brilliant," dad says. "I hope, Arthur, that you're a fast runner?"

Doyle shrugs. "Decent enough, I suppose sir, why?"

"Because we're going to have to outrun the Angel," I reply. "And I'm fairly sure it's going to be quite quick."

"On the count of three," dad begins, his eyes beginning to water. "One, two, three!"

We turn our backs immediately and begin to run. I hear the crack of wood behind us, and I know it must have already broken through the fence.

I seem to be ahead of the other two as I push myself faster still, but make sure I pace myself. I've reigned champion of the cross-country for three years now and, finally, it's being put into use. I whip my head back for a moment and cry with despair.

"Now there's four of them!" And they're dangerously close behind. "We are not going backwards again!"

I push myself on even faster, ignoring my wounds as they open again. Behind, Arthur lets out a cry of pain as his stitch begins to burn, but we're soon at the farm. We slow to a walk as the farmer and his wife comes out, meaning more eyes on the Angels.

"What the devil do you think you're doing here, boy?" Farmer Carter demands, his face growing red with rage. "Those things are best kept back there and you have no right to bring them here."

"We had no choice, we had to escape," I tell him. "We have a plan to get rid of the Angels once and for all, but we need to get back to London. Could we borrow one of your carriages?"

Carter looks over me and dad critically. "I s'pose you're part of them future kind, are you not?"

I nod quickly. "Yes, and I think I know of a way of getting us back if you can help us."

Dad gives me a sideways glance, and it occurs to me that I haven't told him of The Doctor's plan.

"Don't speak to us about no time travel," Carter grumbles. "Can't be doing with that God-forsaken fantasy. But I'll lend you a cart if that's what you want. The Good Lord knows that it's better in your hands than in the hands of the filth down the road."

"Thank you," dad replies. "We appreciate it."

"So what's it like in the future?" Carter asks gruffly, seeming to ignore his previous statement. "Is Britannia still the greatest Empire in the world?"

"A lot will change," I tell him, truthfully. "You'll see the first changes happen soon. I'm afraid I can't say much more than that." The farmer nods, satisfied as I turn to dad and Arthur. "There's one thing I can think of that would trick the Angels into letting us go, and I don't think you're going to be too happy about it."

They look at me quizzically for a second before I grin and start running again. Dad and Arthur follow behind.

"What are you doing?" Arthur pants, looking back, we can't just keep running!"

"I know," I reply, turning into a field. "Just trust me."

"They're circling us in," dad hisses. "What are you doing?"

"The Doctor said that they work with quantum locking," I explain as we arrange ourselves into a triangle, staring outwards at the Angels surrounding us. "It's probably why they cover their eyes: if they look into the eyes of another Angel, they turn back into stone and won't be able to move."

"So we're leading them into a trap?" Arthur asks.

"Exactly," I smile.

"A trap which we're the bait."

My smile slides. "I suppose. If you want to look at it like that."

"It's the only idea we have," dad says grimly and we blink to allow the Angels closer.

"I really hope you know what you're doing," Arthur says as the Angels get closer and closer until, at last, they are just a meter away, their hands up over their heads, their mouths open and teeth bared.

And their eyes staring at us.

"Duck!" I cry, grimacing as we bend down and hoping beyond hope that my theory will work.

If we're as important as The Doctor makes out, then the Angel won't be able to take us again. I hope. Either that or they'll be able to feed even more on our potential time energy and they can keep sending us back for centuries.

I wait for the inevitable crack. But it doesn't come.

Arthur is the first to risk looking up and he lets out a cry of exclamation. I follow his gaze and smile. Their eyes are still looking at where our heads were. When we ducked, nothing was blocking their line of vision. Nothing except the other Angels.

"You did it!" Arthur says.

"Stay close to the ground and edge yourselves around the Angels," dad instructs. "If you stand up in this circle, we'll be as good as dead."

We do as he says and squeeze past the Angels, only standing up once we've got behind them. I look back at them and shake my head in disbelief. That was unbelievably close.

It only takes us a few minutes to walk back to the farm, and as we arrive I notice a good, fresh workhorse harnessed up to a lightweight cart.

The farmer's wife approaches from inside carrying a small hamper, along with a clean shirt, some water and some bandages.

"May God look after your souls," she says, pushing the bundle into my hands.

"Thank you," I say sincerely, before stepping into the back of the cart. "Arthur, can you drive this thing?"

"I'll do it," dad says swiftly, stepping up into the front.

I watch him climb up, slightly startled. I didn't know he'd had much to do with horses before - let alone know how to drive a cart. I thought he'd always lived in the city. I don't know much about his life before me, to be honest.

"So, you and him," Arthur says, jerking his head upwards at dad as we ride out of the farm, "are you brothers?"

I smile slightly. "No! Not at all."

"You two seem strange, 'tis all. You more than him. You seem..." he stops, looking down at his feet.

"What?" I encourage.

"My deepest apologies if I'm wrong, sir, but you seem a bit of a Molly."

I frown. "What's a Molly?"

Arthur reddens. "A jack-the-lass?" he tries again, but I give him another blank look. He clears his throat and looks away. "You seem a bit feminine, is what I mean."

I let out a soft laugh. "I am, Arthur." I laugh harder as he looks up, startled. "I'm a girl."

"What's your name?" Arthur questions, suddenly realising he hadn't asked before.

"Sophia, Sophia Holmes. My dad is Sherlock." Doyle nods as he processes that.

"So women in your time have their hair short, and wear, well, men's clothes?" I nod.

"As I said to Farmer Carter: 'a lot will change'."

"But you can't say any more than that?"

"Arthur, where are we?" dad calls down.

"Stubbins Hall lane, sir," Arthur calls up. "Comes of from the Hollyfield track."

"Right," dad answers and urges the horse onto a quick trot.

"It takes about an hour to get into London again," Arthur murmurs to me. "Of course you two would have been unconscious for that trip. Will we still be using a cart and horse where you come from? I can't wait to see ..."

"Arthur," I interrupt.

"... It'll be amazing and ..."

"Arthur!" I repeat, louder and Doyle looks up. "You can't come with us." The boy looks crestfallen and begins to protest. "You belong here," I say, interrupting again. "You don't belong in our London. God knows what could happen."

"But I thought ..."

"No," I say, firmer than before, and he doesn't bother to reply.

[sophiaholmes221b]

Sophia Holmes and the Mysteries in Stone

Chapter Ten

I groan quietly as I regain consciousness, feeling the pain burn across my body. But my main concern is my head: I can barely hold it up as I blink my eyes open to look around.

The air smells musty - like this area hasn't been used for several months - and the missing boards of wood from the walls further indicates that it's fallen into disrepair. I'm no expert on the Victorian era, but I'm fairly sure their basements and warehouses weren't made from wood which considerably narrows the field of where I can be.

I become aware of someone else nearby, watching me through the shadows. I go to reach for my phone, but my hands are tied behind me with a thick rope that cuts into my skin.

I inhale some dust as I try to breathe, and I splutter as the tiny particles choke me.

"Sophie?" somebody calls, and my ears begin to ring. "Is that you? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I think so," I call back, a feeling of relief flooding through me. I've found him.

I can accept that somebody may want to take me - either as a ransom or for some other purpose common in this time - but why take dad as well? It doesn't make any sense.

"I swear I am never getting into another cab."

Dad chuckles quietly. "Yes, that job certainly seems to attract a certain type of person."

"So where are we?" I question, looking around.

"Surely you can answer that?" he challenges and I roll my eyes.

"Concrete ground and wooden walls suggest we are in a barn, which means we're probably no longer in London."

"Good ..." dad urges, looking for more.

"This barn obviously hasn't been used for a while," I continue, squinting as I look around the building. "But there are unopened crates over in the corner which means it's used for storage. I thought originally the air was musty, but there's something else that I was missing. Those crates contain bottles of alcohol, but they haven't been opened, meaning they would still be drinkable. The fact they aren't being used means the owner had no use for them - he was bankrupt and lost his business then. But the crates haven't been sold on at auction to another, solvent business. The men who took me were unemployed of any job I could recognise, but I didn't make the connection that they may have been working for someone else. They didn't take me on a whim, otherwise they wouldn't have taken us both. That means they know that we aren't from this time. They've taken us to a farm which means we're obviously out of London, but what if it's more than that? What if the Angels are keeping certain humans alive on the agreement that they take the future-kind to the farm. A farm where we're the livestock."

"Well done," dad compliments. "Are you able to move?"

"These ropes are too tight for me to undo," I admit as I fiddle with the knots.

"We're in a barn," dad reminds me, and I smile at my stupidity.

"Of course!" I nudge my chair closer to the walls.

A barn always contains something sharp - whether it's a sharpened hook on a wall or some over sharp implement. If we can find something, we can cut through the rope.

"I've found something," dad calls out, and I hear the slice as the metal cuts through cleanly. "Where are you?"

"Your eleven o'clock," I guess, judging on his voice. "I'd say thirty paces."

He sees me as he steps into a splinter of light coming through the roof. "Right, hold still."

"Like I can do otherwise," I mutter, smirking. He glares at me for a moment.

"I could leave you here," he tells me, a smile creeping through his poker face.

"You wouldn't," I dare and he chuckles, bending down behind me to cut through my bonds.

"I know," he says as the rope fall to the ground, and he helps me stand up. I fall against him as my head swirls. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"My head hurts," I admit. "I must have hit it when I fell."

It's not just my head either. Looking down, I notice my shirt is soaked with blood and, as I move, the cuts from the glass rub against the material. This isn't good if we're going to stay unnoticed.

"Not much we can do about it here," dad says grimly. "Might have to wait until we get back into London."

I nod in acknowledgement and smile, trying to conceal the amount of pain I'm in. "I can wait. I can also walk, so we may as well start."

[sophiaholmes221b]

Sophia Holmes and the Mysteries in Stone

Chapter Nine

I sit up as we approach Baker Street, ready to step off as we pull up close. But we don't stop.

"Excuse me," I say, hitting the top of the carriage. "Could you stop here please?"

The driver pulls hard on the reigns and I fall forward as we're brought to an abrupt stop. As I'm picking myself up, the cab door opens and two men get in, neither of them from my 'social class'. They look like toshers: people who scavenge in the sewers beneath London - hardly the sorts of people who would be able to afford a cab fare.

"'Scuse young master," the first says grinning darkly, flashing his rotten black teeth. "Mind if we hitch a ride?"

I look them over again. Two males in their late twenties - early thirties perhaps. Both unemployed and struggling for money. Deductions are getting harder in surroundings I don't know.

"Where are we going?" I demand, ignoring the shady smile the two were giving me as I'm coerced back into my seat. "Where are you taking me?"

"Well, that'll be our little secret," the second says, his hair hanging limply in oily snakes around his face.

It's my turn to smile. "I hope you aren't expecting me to go without a struggle." I stand up, steadying myself as the cab knocks against the cobbles.

The other two aren't the strongest men, nor are they very talented in any martial art. But they're desperate, and that alone will make them dangerous.

"Course not," the first admits as he stands. The space inside is now very limited, and both of our heads are ducked to avoid hitting them on the low ceiling.

"Well then," I say punching out quickly at his nose. "Let's get this over with."

He falls onto his friend who shoves him aside, standing up for himself and blocking my exit.The door of the cab would open outwards with any sort of pressure, and the driver hasn't had the funds to maintain it properly, which means the catch is likely to slip. Hopefully.

I charge towards him, knocking him backwards and out of the door. We land together on the cobbles, but my impact is softened by the man, who groans as we roll. On the sides of the roads, people watch on as I stand up and begin to run, my limbs aching from the fall. The cab has stopped now, and although the second man won't be getting up for a while, the first man is now on my chase.

I weave through the busy streets, trying to shake them off my trail, ignoring the protests as I push past couples and through markets. Now and again, I spin my head around to look for my pursuer and, by the fifth turn, I'm able to slow down and stand, panting for a minute against the walls.

If I was replaceable, they wouldn't have chased me: not if I was just another mugging victim. They wouldn't worry about me going to the police. So why do they need me? It's also doubtful that they'll give up. They might have underestimated the effort needed to grab me, but they'll still be coming for me. So where are they?

Still panting heavily, I pull out my phone and tap a quick message to dad before slipping it quickly away again. Looking around, I've got no idea of where I am. I'd memorised every street in the London back home, but here, I'm lost.

Just as soon as I've got my breath back, I hear the muffled, running footsteps of a man, identical to the sounds which followed me across London. Picking myself back up from the wall, I turn and run back the way we came, back towards Baker Street.

As I approach the market again, I see one of the shadows to my right flicker. I push on forward but, in the next second, I feel an arm around me, dragging me into a narrow alleyway - invisible if you didn't know it was there.

A hand is clamped over my mouth as I struggle against the grasp, but my attempt to bite the flesh is foiled as they let go, only to bring their hand back in a quick hit to my head, knocking me down into the dirt and broken glass scattered around me.