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Watson

• 1 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes

1. The Adventure of the Empty Heart

It was on a rather balmy day in April, when I arrived back home to find the house oddly quiet. So often there was some sort of commotion or another lately, even if it was just my friend Sherlock Holmes bowing away at his Violin, and our housekeeper Mrs. Hudson grumbling in displeasure. I felt a brief pang of worry; the silence reminded me of walking into the home I had lived in with my late wife before she passed. I pushed the thought away as best I could. Opening the door to our rooms, I found Holmes sitting in his armchair, leaned back, puffing away on a pipe he held in one hand, as the other displayed in front of him a telegram that had caused him to go into a mode of incredible focus. His brow furrowed down as he read and reread the telegram, and while I set my bags down rather loudly, he did not respond at first.

Finally, with something of a start, he turned to look at me.

“Ah, welcome back. I’m afraid I must trouble you immediately with a problem that requires both of our areas of expertise, you can retrieve your doctor’s bags again, as we’ll be needing them.”

It was my turn to furrow my brow, “You could have said that before I’d started putting this away.” But I argued no further, and gathered my things together as we talked. “What’s the nature of the case this time?”

Holmes rose, and strode about the room as he spoke, his eyes showing he was stil deep in thought. “We’re to examine a girl. Inspector Grayson took her in, and Scotland yard is perplexed by her. She is dressed in clothes that seem to match no nationality they are familiar with—and while I know that

• 2 •

Watson

the police do not have an encyclopaedic knowledge of such things, I’m inclined to believe them as they’ve never expressed this form of confusion before. She speaks fluent English, but in an accent that sounds more like that of Americans in the North, but again, not quite. She also intersperses words not known to anyone, and then explains each of them with a tone of exasperation. Most curiously, she appears to be from Asia.”

I gave a huff of a laugh, “You say curiously, but wouldn’t that explain the other oddities?”

Holmes gave a smile that was not unkind, but perhaps a little patronising. “My dear Watson, there are many countries in Asia, but she claims to be from one which does not exist.”

That was indeed curious, and so in short time we had hired a carriage and made our way to Scotland Yard. Gregson met us at the front, and took us back to a room—rather than a cell—while regaling us with some meaningless prattle about how odd the whole scenario was, before opening the door to reveal the girl in question.

Her black hair was surprisingly short, cut just below the jaw, and her dark eyes had perked up from a state of intense doldrum upon our entrance. Her clothing was bizarre: she had no hat, and wore a bright orange garment on her torso like a thin coat that ended at her waist, two pockets near the waistline, some sort of fastening system in a line down the front, and also hooded, for good measure. She wore men’s trousers, of a tough black fabric. Her shoes were also colourful: red canvas with white rubber soles.

“…Hello. I take it I’m in for another round of questioning?

Can I have some more tea, if that’s the case?” She paused, as if realising she was missing something and then finished with,

“Please?”

“Gregson, if you would be so kind as to oblige her request,” Holmes swept in, taking a seat in front of her.

Holmes looked down a page of notes, then set it down as though it had been useless. “My name is Sherlock Holmes, this is my companion Doctor Watson. We’ve been asked to consult on the confusion surrounding you.”

• 3 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes She looked between the two of us. “…No way. Get out of town. Wait—do you say that—do you have that expression, get out of town? I didn’t just sound like I was insulting you—

no wait—forget I rambled. But—I’m not sure if this is al real yet, but if you are Holmes and Doctor Watson, I’m a huge fan.

And also have an incredible amount of questions.”

Holmes raised and eyebrow but remained otherwise impassive. “You have already raised several questions of my own. But let us start with the basics—as while I see the members of Scotland Yard have done their best, it is not adequate. So, what is your name?”

“My name is Jhe Sang Mi—wait—you use family name last here, right? So… Sang Mi Jhe? My friends call me Kalingkata though.”

Holmes nodded. “It appears that several incorrect assumptions about your nationality have been made, but unless I am mistaken, your name comes from Chosön, the Land of the Morning Calm?”

She squinted a moment, her mind turning like the gears of a watch till they clicked into place. “Oh—I think that’s an antiquated form of Korea? That’s where my ancestors are from, but I’m from Gongen. The city of Takumi.”

Holmes leaned back a little, this was clearly catching his interest. “Curious. Well then, where is this… Gongen?”

She pointed up. “You know. It’s in space. Oh—wait, you call it Mars here. And don’t have space travel. So that probably sounded absolutely insane—wait, no it’s insane that I’d think that, this has to be some sort of… wait, you didn’t slip me Delirium did you? Did Saki put you up to this?”

“I neither know a Saki, nor know what Delirium is, at least in a form which could be, as you say, slipped.”

Sang Mi nodded. “Right… well, it’s a drug, but that’s a whole other story.”

I looked to Holmes. “Some foreign name for opium?”

Holmes held a hand up to me that was clear enough in his desire for me to not say anything that would embarrass him

• 4 •

Watson

further. “I believe it’s unrelated to the matter at hand. Ah, here is the tea.”

Miss Sang Mi picked up the cup that was set in front of her, only for the handle to immediately snap, and send a small amount of tea onto her hooded jacket. She said several indecipherable words in a language I was unfamiliar with, and the attendant apologised while trying to help her wipe it up, which took less time than anticipated. And when it was done there was no wet stain on her jacket. As a new teacup was set in front of her, I could see Holmes' eyes glittering. “Let us look at the information at hand. This young lady is wearing clothing from no discernable nation or place. Perhaps it is an elaborately constructed costume, but in that case, what exactly are the materials? As you just saw, her jacket is not only too bright to be of any familiar dye, and reacts to the light in a way fabric simply does not, but also repels water while feeling soft to the touch like a downy pillow. Her shoes are also unfamiliar, the manufacturing process that made them is unknown to anyone in the British Empire, nor are we aware of any process anywhere else capable of producing them. But the biggest clue is something that I have kept from you Watson, for which I apologise. Could one of you please return the lady’s mirror?”

A constable rushed off, and returned holding a strange rectangular mirror—only the glass was black, almost like obsidian. The back of it was also some sort of rubber, and had writing on it in a foreign script that was neither that of China, Arabia, or Russia. The girl took it back eagerly, she had clearly felt anxious to be deprived of it. At the time, I assumed that it was due to vanity, though I had seen far clearer mirrors for ladies many times.

“Now, if you would leave the room?” Holmes looked at the constables and Gregson, who did not look pleased at this.

“Now look here Holmes, we—”

“I guarantee you that I can reach the cause of this problem, if only you trust me this far with some privacy for merely five minutes.”

• 5 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes Gregson sighed, and relented. The door shut, and Holmes and Sang Mi began a stare off.

“Miss Jhe, could you please cause that device to eliminate light?’

She looked at him curiously. “…If this is the 1800s which I’m starting to suspect it is, won’t this cause problems?”

“I see you have already figured out what I have.”

I looked between them, confused. “What do you mean—

what does she mean? If this is the 1800s?”

Holmes did not look away from her. She touched the mirror, and suddenly it lit up, turning colourful and bright. On it was now displayed a picture of a group of young people, all around her age, arms around each other and smiling, though obscured by several smaller images.

“That’s impossible,” I spat. “How—what is that?”

“It is nothing magic, or outside of our possible understanding. Simply out of our current one. I was able to get that machine to produce light earlier, but not able to do anything with it. I believe if you touch the mirror on the front, it changes what is on the mirror?”

She nodded, “I wouldn’t use those words specifically, but yes basically. You real y are clever. So… you believe that I’m from the future on a different planet?”

“I believe that is a likely current possibility, considering the information presented. There is also another element I do not believe the police are aware of—the text on your mirror, and your jacket. I believe they are in the Hangul script, yes?”

She nodded.

“It was difficult to find a resource on such short notice, I had to send a telegram to an expert, who thankfully replied back before our return. Your jacket says “2386 Academy 27

Track and Field Team” does it not? And your mirror says, “If you are reading this, ignore me.” Am I correct?”

She laughed, “Wow. Did you do like… the whole mind palace thing to figure that out? That’s wild. Wow.”

“Mind Palace?”

• 6 •

Watson

“They made a bunch of shows about you—like uh, stageplays but you watch them on…” she fumbled for words for a moment, “big mirrors. I’ve seen a lot of your adventures!”

Holmes actually laughed at that. “Well then, it does appear some artistic licence was taken, but I’m glad to hear my small work in investigating and studying the criminal mind lives on in memory.”

I looked between them. “You can’t honestly believe this, can you? The year Two-thousand three-hundred and eighty-six? That she… comes from the future and beyond the sky?”

“Watson, our investigation is not yet complete. I would like to hear from Miss Jhe how she arrived here, in her own words.”

She kept a tight grip on the mirror, and took a long sip of her tea with the other to steady her nerves. Her posture was terrible. “Alright… well I’d just gotten home from school.

There is this boy who has a crush on me and he walked me home and kept me talking to him outside the apartment door for way longer than I’d been expecting, so I was tired and lay down on my bed. Then I felt myself… sinking down into it. I raised my arms to try to stop it, but I was falling, falling through this blue light. I came out inside of a dark room, where two figures were standing. One was dressed… well I don’t honestly know how to describe it. Bizarrely. It looked as odd to me as my clothes must look to you, but he also never left the shadows so I didn’t get a good look at his face. The other was wearing a well tailored 3-piece grey suit. He had keen eyes, he was older, but not frail. Caucasian, with grey hair. He had a strange air about him as though he knew something was about to appear, but that it was me was surprising.

“I stood up, though I staggered, I felt dizzy and nauseous, and before I could speak I heard them exchange a few words:

“It’s not what I was hoping for,” the shadowy man said.

“She’s quite interesting though, what fascinating attire.”

The shadow man scoffed, “To you maybe.”

I finally found my voice, “What’s going on, where am I?

Did you kidnap me? This isn’t like a true crime thing right? I mean like—like a crime?”

• 7 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes

“You talk in a curious manner too,” the suited man approached me, his cane tapping on the floor as he approached me. I looked around for something to defend myself with.

There wasn’t anything, the house had boarded up windows, it was a trash heap honestly. But I could see a door, and did have a trick up my sleeve.”

“Go on,” I said, invested despite myself.

She held the mirror up, “I turned the flashlight on, on this.

The uh… it can make a brighter light, basically. I turned it up as bright as it would go and it blinded them for a moment, and as they lifted their hands up to shield their eyes I made a break for it. I’m a runner for my school’s team—the Track and Field team on my phone, er, mirror—and turns out I was a lot faster than either of them. The shadow one called out to his friend, and yelled his name out at him in anger as I bolted. I just kept running and running, and eventually I couldn’t run anymore and I doubled over, no idea where I was. I started wandering around trying to figure out where I was, and I guess I got reported as a suspicious character and the cops found me. I was too tired to run more so I just figured I’d have to make the best of it and… well now I’m here I guess. They had a lady do an examination which was kind of scary, but thankfully it wasn’t anything, like, weird.”

“Would you be opposed if my companion here performed his own examination? Nothing so strenuous, merely a quick observation.”

She narrowed her eyes, “Only if you open the door again.”

“Of course, at your comfort.”

Holmes opened the door, and I did a quick pass on the girl.

A healthy pulse, healthy teeth… too healthy. Each was pure white, with not a sign of a cavity or extraction. I was no dentist, but I knew how unusual this was. Indeed, there was no sign of any ailment. Her health was beyond what riches could purchase. Could she really be from some time and place beyond hers? Holmes had made quite the case, but it seemed to me like believing in faeries.

• 8 •

Watson

Rolling her sleeves back up, she looked at me with an incredulous demeanour. “Are you satisfied, Doctor Watson?”

I nodded, “You appear to be in perfect health.”

Holmes could see the doubts in my eyes, and I knew that this examination had been less for her sake than my own.

Indeed, he moved on from the topic of it as quickly as he had introduced it. “Then, I have one further—and perhaps final question. You said that one of the two men shouted after the other. Was a name spoken?”

“Oh, right, yes, sorry.”

“And what was the man’s name?”

“He said his name was Moriarty. James Moriarty. Like the criminal. I mean, you know who he is.”

“Like the criminal indeed,” Holmes replied. “The only problem being, James Moriarty is dead.”

* * *

Holmes negotiated with Gregson to put the girl into his custody for the time being. The Inspector was hesitant, and vocalised repeatedly the suspicion that she was some sort of spy, to which Holmes laid out a counter argument so complete that Gregson was begging him to stop by its completion. We were granted the care of Miss Jhe for the short term, for Holmes to continue his investigation. But this required one stop first before we would tend to the actual location of interest.

Holmes gave Sang Mi his cloak, and as we got to the carriage paid a boy to take a message to a Modiste whom Holmes had heard good things about and tell her to arrive at 221B Baker Street postehaste, with some dresses and fabric that could be resized quickly.

"What's a Modiste?" Sang Mi asked as we got moving.

"A dressmaker. Your own clothing will draw too much attention as we reach the final stage of our work. Until we can solve this mystery, you'll need to blend in as well as you can."

• 9 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes She nodded but scrunched her nose up, "Well, hopefully it's not too uncomfortable."

We arrived, and Holmes launched into an explanation to Mrs. Hudson of why we had a teenage girl with us, that she was a client, and that he would cover the costs of her staying with her for the time being, since it would be improper otherwise, and Mrs. Hudson was far gentler and more sympathetic to Holmes' request than I expected, perhaps out of concern for the girl or in combination with a joy at seeing Holmes take such consideration himself.

We took Sang Mi up to our apartment, where she spent quite a bit of time examining things, and excitedly telling us about our own cases, until the Modiste arrived.

Ms. Stella Marsdon was quite the image of the independent working woman. A long deep green skirt was complimented by a blouse and tie with a men's suit jacket, and her tightly wound hair was complimented by the monocle that she had squeezed over one eye.

"I see this is my client?"

Sang Mi waved with a nervous casualness.

Ms. Marsdon looked to Holmes, "What exactly is she wearing?"

"Normal clothes from her home country, we need something quickly for travel around town."

She nodded, and promptly kicked us out of our own home so she could work in private. We took a strol through the crisp air to a nearby cafe till the same boy who we'd sent to Ms.

Marsdon earlier came by to tell us the work was done.

Holmes clearly had excellent contacts, as the work of the Modiste was, to match her name, steller. Sang Mi had been fully done up, in blue day dress with white trimming, as well as a hat and boots. She held her arms out and moved them around awkwardly as if testing they still worked.

"I'm surprised how mobile it is, though it’s not very loose."

• 10 •

Watson

"It's not supposed to be," Ms. Marsdon replied. "However, you should be able to go about town much more inconspicuously."

"There are so many layers..." Sang Mi mumbled.

"You've done well Ms. Marsdon, your reputation is well earned. I'll order six more outfits for her, to be delivered here upon completion, now then, if you are ready Miss Sang Mi, the game is afoot, and the three of us must meet it head on."

Now that she no longer stood out like an orange cat, Sang Mi was able to slowly guide us to where this house was. It took some looking around, and questioning as to landmarks she could remember we could locate.

"I believe it's over here--yes! I recognise that lamppost,"

Sang Mi hurried along, tripping over her skirts occasionally, before remembering to lift them, a thing she said she'd known only from stories of our time. I began, slowly, to believe her.

But when we turned that fateful corner, I dropped all sympathy and care. Indeed, the expression of my visage must have been quite terrible, because Sang Mi took two steps back, hunching her head down like a pet fearing a scolding.

"...I have played along with this game, Sherlock, but this is too far, and I will play my part no longer."

Sang Mi looked between myself and the house, confused, an anxiety growing within her. Before us stood my house. My old house, a house I had shared so many memories in with my dear Mary. It loomed over us, taunting me. You couldn't see through the shuttered and boarded windows, but I knew what was behind each one. The empty nursery that was never fil ed.

The cold bedroom that had once been full of warmth and comfort. The dining room we had shared so many smiles in. I could hear the house laughing at me, though all was silent. The echo of loss pounded in my ears.

Holmes had stopped still, and removed his hat, looking at me with the deepest sympathy. "I'm sorry my dear friend. I had suspected--"

• 11 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes

"Had you suspected? Or had you known? Did you set this up, was this some cruel prank or jest? Not that I've known you to do such a thing--perhaps an experiment on the criminal mind?"

He shook his head gently. "Nothing of the sort. I think you're right, this is a cruel game. But it is not mine."

"Then it’s hers, is it?"

Sang Mi cowered at my anger, placing the lamppost between herself and me, one eye peeking out from behind it.

The fear in it brought me to my senses, and shame to my heart.

"...I apologise. I... spoke rashly in anger. This was my house, you see."

I rambled on for a time, I will not give you all the details, but I know I spoke for long enough that by the time my throat had become dry, she had come out from behind the lamppost.

"It's alright, I really didn't know. I get it. I've lashed out when I've lost people too, its only human to fill the empty spot in your heart with whatever you can find, even if its more pain."

"The lady is too kind," I took in a deep breath, and steadied myself. "We should head inside, and find out why someone has done such a thing."

Holmes replaced his hat, and nodded. "I am sure if someone is here, they know we are about to open that door. I have other eyes here, and they have yet to alert me that anyone has left. So if they are here, now would be the time to ready your service revolver."

I had brought it for just such a scenario. We crept cautiously to the door, and Holmes turned the knob. It was not locked, though the inside was dark and difficult to peer into. I was about to call for a lantern, when Miss Jhe pulled her mirror out, and brought forth the light she had claimed it could make earlier. It was brighter than I could imagine, cutting through the darkness and carving its way down the entryway to the back wall, where a man was standing with his back pressed to it, arm raised to shield his eyes.

"Don't move, name yourself," I called.

• 12 •

Watson

We couldn't see his eyes, but we could see his teeth bared into a wide grin. "Call me Lazarus, perhaps."

"It’s him," Holmes whispered. "Moriarty."

"One and the same. You took longer outside than I anticipated. I see there is still something lingering in this empty house. This world... it’s something else. I had almost not believed it, that there could be a place where I could meet you again after Reichenbach.."

"You speak as though you are Moriarty, and yet not the Moriarty I know."

"Did you not already suspect? Ah, I see, you had met a girl from the future, I see your reasoning now. But there is so much more to learn. Though you may not believe this Mr. Holmes, I am so relieved to see you, things got so... boring at the top."

I gritted my teeth, "And you ignore the... disgrace of using this house for your parlour tricks?"

"Doctor Watson, I am here precisely because I can help you. Miss Jhe there was an accident, a... missed target. I can make this house filled with light and warmth again. You have only to ask, turn that revolver around, and give me Sang Mi, and I can reunite you--in the same way I have defied death."

Sang Mi looked up at me, there was a firmness to her eyes I didn't expect. "It’s a trick."

"It’s no trick," Moriarty countered simply.

"Even in my time, the dead can't return."

"And yet, here I am."

I took in a breath, and let it out slowly. I felt the air leave me, and levelled the pistol at him. "Even if I have lost the warmth in my heart, I am not so cold as to turn on my comrades."

Moriarty's surprise emanated from his voice. "Well then, I suppose I will have to resort to parlour tricks. You will see me yet again--the game has only played its first hand!"

There was a snap, and a bang of sound and light, and as we coughed and the smoke cleared, he was gone. With trepidation, we moved through the house, but there was nothing to find.

Only my own solemn memories.

• 13 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes We returned to 221B Baker Street, and had a fine dinner prepared by Mrs. Hudson. Sang Mi told us of the world she came from--according to her it had once been called Mars, before it had been settled. She lived in a great glass dome, like an overturned fishbowl, which kept the air in. The entire thing would have felt ludacris, had I not had the experiences of the last 24 hours.

"But some things don't change," she said. "I lost my grandmother not that long ago, and I lashed out at my friends and family. I found myself again with those people."

I looked over to Holmes. "Well, perhaps I have done the same without intending to."

She smiled at that, and the rest of the meal was a joyful one.

After spending the night in Mrs. Hudson's lodgings, Sang Mi awoke and joined us for breakfast, at which time we were joined by another unexpected guest. Reading the newspaper as she sat next to him eating toast, was Sherlock's brother, Mycroft.

"Well sit down, don't let me stop you from enjoying your meal."

I did so, and looked between him, Holmes, and the girl.

"Mycroft has been regaling us about a problem which it turns out we are already acquainted with," Sherlock explained.

"It appears that these sort of... portals to other times and places are not isolated incidents."

I was perhaps more shocked than I should have been.

Sang Mi nodded at his explanation. "Mycroft says they'll be putting me up in a townhouse with anyone else they find till they can figure out how to get us home. I'l get a government stipend, so that's cool."

I took a bite of my own toast, and as I chewed it, chewed over this information as well. "I take it then that we will be continuing this case?"

• 14 •

Watson

Holmes smiles, "Of course my dear doctor, we'l be beginning immediately. And I'm sure this will be one unlike any other."

I wasn't sure if I was prepared for this, but I knew that it would be necessary. Sang Mi was a resilient young lady, but not everyone or every problem would be solved with such ease and willingness to assist. So I ate heartily, as I prepared myself for the next chapter of what would prove to be the strangest and most bizarre of al the cases that my friend Sherlock Holmes and I would ever undertake.

We could only do our best, and hope for our foes' hands to slip.

• 15 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes

2. The Adventure of the Piscine Pranksters The degree to which even a man of science — a man who feels himself to be of soundly and unwaveringly rational mind — can find himself accepting in stride even the most unthinkable happenings is, I have often found, truly astonishing. The realisation to which I, alongside my dear friend Sherlock Holmes, had recently come — that our beloved London was beset by a plague of tears in the very fabric of reality itself, and that other worlds and higher planes existed beyond our own — had resolutely not sent me into the kind of fearful hysterics which I might have imagined such a revelation would. In fact, having quite quickly yielded to the weight of evidence to the effect that this was, in fact, the current state of affairs, I had set my mind not to questioning all that I knew about existence — but, instead, to the immediate and, dare I say, logical issue of what was causing this scourge and how it might be remedied.

I am sorry to report that the entire affair had nonetheless been causing me a great deal of strain and a great deal of anxiety, of late. For it was a dreadful thing to be afflicted with the thought that, at any moment, some new and unthinkable entity might come 'round the corner — that Professor Moriarty, whom we had previously believed deceased, was somehow involved in these events and would doubtless try to catch us in a trap — and that the burden of solving it lay entirely upon Holmes and I, despite the fact that it seemed to be an impossible puzzle.

I say that I set my mind to these things, but in truth I was rather secondary to such proceedings. It was, of course, Sherlock Holmes who had taken up the bulk of this intellectual weight, an endeavour to which I was more than happy to leave

• 16 •

Watson

him. Even now, as we strol ed through the streets of our city, he was deep in thought — pondering, of course, but also — I am quite sure — taking note of all that surrounded him. When faced with such an unusual issue as this — Holmes had assured me — anything and everything around us should be viewed with an eye towards it possibly being key to solving the entire riddle. Our path through the city had been a long and tortuous one, following no apparent course — although I was certain that Holmes did have one in mind, despite appearances. It had started to rain, somewhere past the church, and a heavy wind had joined it not a minute later, so that we were now inundated with a fine mist of precipitation, whipping up against our overcoats from every angle. The sky was grey, and threatening worse — and, though I should not have liked to cavort through a thunderstorm, I held my tongue.

In fact, I had endured the entire walk from our flat in silence, allowing Holmes his quiet meditations — and it was only as we turned into a barren alley-way where I had never before tread that I at last risked turning to my faithful friend.

"Holmes," I asked him, cautiously, "Forgive me, but why

— ?"

"We are here, Watson," he began, having already deduced my query despite my hesitant speech, "because this, if I am not very much mistaken, is the location in which the next tear will be opening."

He quirked an eyebrow in his cryptic manner.

"And I am not mistaken."

Having known Holmes as many years as I have, I did not doubt him for a second — but my curiosity was piqued to no small degree. I told Holmes as much, and asked him how he could know this with such confidence — as he had not, previously, told me of any formula he had devised by which to pinpoint the openings of these tears.

"I have found no such method." Holmes told me, stepping forward down the alley. "It is from simple observation that I have drawn my conclusion. Did you not

• 17 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes notice, Watson, a certain… unusual feeling, before, while in the vicinity of the previous such rifts which we have encountered?"

"Why, yes, I did!", I told him — for I had, although I had not consciously taken note of it before. "I should say it was —

something like the feeling of an open window in a small flat, as applied to all of the world around us!"

"To reality itself, Watson." Holmes confirmed. "And I have been tracking that feeling, in fits and in starts, throughout London. This is where it is the strongest."

It was, I realised. Holmes had done it again — and now, having made his proclamation, he stopped at the end of the alley-way.

"It will open here." he proclaimed after a moment of deep thought, indicating an unassuming spot. "And I suggest, Watson, that we prepare ourselves for any eventuality."

No sooner had he spoken than the area to which he had pointed began to glow and swirl. Thinking back on it now, it resembled nothing so much as a great whirling maelstrom —

of the kind that old sailors will spin sea-tales about at any opportunity they are given. At the time, of course, I was far too surprised at the suddenness with which it had developed to think of any such things at all — only to stare, shocked. It widened, becoming the spitting image of the rifts which we had seen before — and then, as Holmes grasped me by the sleeve and pulled me to the side of the alley-way with haste, a vast form began to emerge from the tear.

It was a great sailing-ship — a galleon of the high seas, with billowing sails to match. It floated forth from the rift, seeming to bob on thin air rather than water — then lowered itself onto the cobblestones beneath us, filling much of the alley and leaving only a small gap in which Holmes and I could stand. There was a great crack along the hul of it — though I noted that it had been sealed with care and what looked to be adhesive bandages — and its sails scraped the walls of the buildings on either side of us. Glancing upwards, I could make out a small orange flag waving atop the mast. In the shock of the moment, I felt sure that it could not possibly — despite

• 18 •

Watson

appearances — be a drawing of a fish. It was only later that I realised how very wrong I had been.

Before Holmes or I could speak a word, a rope-ladder descended from the deck of the ship, and a person descended with motions like that of a pantomime pirate. It was only their motions, I must take care to point out, which in any way resembled a seafaring swashbuckler — for the person was dressed, head-to-toe, in a costume which resembled, once again, a very large fish.

"Say, there!" Holmes hailed them, stepping forward into the small space available to us. "Do not be alarmed. My friend Watson and I have some experience with tears much like that which you have emerged from, and have now dealt with all manner of entities which have come from the other side of them. If you will simply tell us who you are and where you have come from, we are sure that we can assist you in — "

The figure leapt from the ladder. Executing a clumsy spin in mid-air and landing on its flipper-covered feet before us, it bowed in the manner of the theatre — then announced, a laugh nearly breaking through with every word:

" I am Bos'n Claptrap of the Faction of the Fooling Fish!"

I do not know what Holmes would have replied to this pronouncement — certainly I haven't a clue which question I would first have asked, of the many which were by that point circulating in my mind — because the apparent boatswain clapped her hands, and three more figures in similar dress leapt from the deck of the ship, landing in a manner which was in no way agile, but which seemed intentionally so — an awkward pantomime for the purpose of our amusement.

"We've finally made it!" called one of the Fish. "The 10,000 Dawns! In all of our multiversal travellings, we've never been to the 10,000 Dawns!"

"Have we landed anywhere cool?" one of the others put in, casting its eyes about the alley. It spotted Holmes and I, and its face seemed to fall. "Aw, no, it's just a Holmes and a Watson."

• 19 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes

"Bah!" said the third. "You can find Holmes and Watson in any old universe! Heck, there's even a Holmes and a Watson back in our original home! If we're in the 10,000 Dawns, we ought to find something unique!"

"Now, now!" Claptrap rebuked them. "We can't neglect to spread our wonderful gift to such a gloomy old city as this just because it's boring! That's all the more reason to give 'em a great April Fools' Day!"

I was relieved, then, to see that Holmes had once again stepped forward, ready to speak — for I was unsure how much longer I could stand to listen to the private conversation of the Fooling Fish.

"Here, now!" Holmes exclaimed. "While we are, as I have said, happy to help the lot of you — I must ask you to explain yourselves in a bit more depth! How was it that you came to find yourselves falling through this tear? And in what sense do you mean it when you say that you intend to give a gift to London?"

"Yes!" I put in, "I wondered that myself! Are you charity-workers, on some higher plane?"

"I should think it more likely, Watson," Holmes muttered to me, "That they would be a troupe of players —

should their intentions truly be pure. But note the mischief in their eyes... no, I have reason to suspect that we will find their motives entirely unpalatable."

"We Fooling Fish are trying to reinvigorate ourselves!"

Claptrap replied. "See, we used to travel by rift, before we came across our beautiful Fish'N'Ship! So we decided to get back to our roots and figure out what it was that inspired us in the first place! Problem is, where we come from, there aren't any rifts any more — so we used our Time Scrambler to get back to an era when the crisis was in full swing, and sailed through the first one we saw!"

One of the other Fish nodded.

"And, gosh, it was hard to get in! These guys we know, they really hate rifts, and they were heading towards it to try to

• 20 •

Watson

figure out what was causing it! But don't worry, we knocked their ship right out of the way!"

"I rather think," said Holmes, dryly, "That I would have greatly preferred the company of the people to whom you refer. But in all of your ramblings, you have yet to answer my most pressing question. Just what do you intend to do here?"

"The best thing we know, Mr Holmes!" Claptrap exclaimed. "We're going to prank you and everyone in London!

Happy April Fools'!"

And with that, an entire crew of people in similar disguise emerged from hatches all across the ship. Barrelling past us, and holding large crates of strange supplies — among which I could make out what looked to be the exaggerated form of a chicken made from rubber, and a worrying quantity of pies — they made their way into the city, shrieking with laughter.

"I think, Watson," said Holmes, with a slight frown.

"That we may have something of a problem on our hands."

I could only nod, realising suddenly that the Fish had reminded me of nothing so much as a particularly ill-behaved group of schoolchildren, and wondering with no small amount of anxiety at what sort of terrors such a group might exact upon our beloved city when armed with masses of supplies and a flying ship at their disposal.

* * *

For several days, Holmes and I saw neither fin nor scale of the Fish — and it was my folly, at the time, to believe that we were genuinely rid of them, that they had perhaps departed without our notice, off to other pastures. In that time, we continued to work on the enigma of the tears and the mystery of the deceased Moriarty's involvement — although we had yet to make any real progress when our investigations were interrupted by a telegram, directed to Holmes and imploring him to track down a man who had apparently been missing for many days. Putting our research on hold, we set off on his trail.

• 21 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes Holmes, in usual good form, used the meagre information with which the telegram had provided us to unearth enough clues as to trail our missing man — a one Scherzo Archimboldo, whom I supposed to be of Italian descent — throughout the entire city. A hotel booking here, a sighting in a newspaper photograph there — we blazed through London as did the great fire, everything falling into place before us. Eventually, we found ourselves in an abandoned mill — the location at which, Holmes had determined, our man had last been sighted.

We stepped into the darkened building, and I felt a terrible chill all down my spine. I hated to confess it to Holmes, for fear that he would think me illogical, but the place had the feel of a ghost-story about it, and I had never been brave in the face of such things. Yet I pressed on, out of obligation and —

partly, I admit — out of a desire to prove that I was beyond such petty fears. Oh, would that it were true!

Holmes, of course, seemed totally unbothered. He bade me to follow him, and I did, creeping slowly through the dust and spider-webs which blanketed the entire building. We searched the place for many minutes, until we came upon a prone form in the darkness.

My heart was in my throat, and I am ashamed to confess that I lingered back several feet, allowing Holmes to step forward and bend down before what looked for all the world to be a body. He felt at the wrist, then stood, shaking his head.

"There is no pulse," he told me sadly, "I shal have to call for an examiner."

We turned to leave — which inspired in me much relief, for all that the plight of the poor man distressed me. But this was not to last — for from behind us issued an eerie wail.

Nearly fainting outright at the shock, I steadied myself — then turned, very slowly, to see that what Holmes had just pronounced as a dead man was beginning to rise, unsteadily, to its feet.

It resembled, in its motions, nothing so much as a marionette, swaying and wobbling as it began to walk towards

• 22 •

Watson

us — but perhaps I am letting my later experiences colour my description. Certainly, at the time, I could think of nothing but to turn and run — although I was foiled in this attempt by the fact that my legs had become quite frozen with fear, and would heed no commands from my higher consciousness. The weird figure beckoned to me, jerking forward with a saccadic shudder and clasping — it seemed then — for my throat.

"Watson!" , it shouted, in a high and nasal voice, "Hey, Watson! Woooo! Booo! I'm gonna getcha!"

"Holmes!" I managed to gasp, feeling greater terror at this horrifying declaration of the corpse's intent than ever before in my life — but Holmes was no longer beside me. With a force of will, I turned my head towards the far wall — just in time to see Sherlock Holmes light, with the use of his match-book, a previously-unnoticed lamp situated upon the wall. The sparse room was soon bathed in a flickering golden glow, revealing the full features of the zombie which had nearly made an end of me.

"That," said Holmes, "is a puppet."

Indeed! I looked again and saw that there was no dead man — only an oversized puppet hanging from a set of strings which stretched to the rafters. It was made all of felt — had a ridiculous, gaping mouth and goggling eyes, one of which popped out of its seam and bounced several times across the floor, coming to a rest at my foot. From above came the shrieking peals of laughter.

"April Fools!" called one of the Fooling Fish, peering from the rafters. "We sure got ya good that time, didn't we?"

Before either of us could respond — and I suppose there is some good in that, for I could scarcely have printed my response here, and I should hate to leave this memorandum incomplete — the Fish darted off through some secret passage, vanishing from sight. I cast my eyes towards Holmes.

Outwardly, he had retained his usual stoic demeanour — but I could see that his jaw was clenched. Never, I think, had he been so deceived, and certainly never in a manner which I might describe, if I am honest, as a totally farcical one — much as I

• 23 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes hesitate to do so, as such an adjective indicates myself, more than any other, as the proverbial April Fool.

I should like to write, now, some sentence to the effect that this was our final encounter with the Fooling Fish. But I have always prided myself an honest man — if not, regrettably, always a very brave one.

* * *

In spite of this distasteful incident, it was not long before the Fish were once again pushed from the forefront of our minds. The days which followed were busy ones, full of inquiries and investigations — encounters with the rifts and visits to our recent, displaced friends at Mycroft's townhouse.

Half a week had passed before Holmes next received a request for assistance which did not concern the tears in our reality —

but such a request did eventually arrive, from a wealthy man who feared that robbers had found some secret entrance into his vault and were, by degrees, making off with its precious contents. He had apparently been unable to locate any such hidden passage, but — as he was certain that it was occurring

— his letter implored Holmes to search the vault and find the exact means by which the crime was being committed.

We arrived at the indicated area, a local bank which seemed — I will admit — less prestigious than I would have imagined a truly wealthy man's depository of choice. It was obvious that Holmes thought the very same, for he turned to me and said:

"We must be on our guard, Watson, for anything."

I nodded, then turned to see that the man who had summoned us was approaching. He was a tall and burly figure, his features rough and somewhat feline. He shook my hand with powerful enthusiasm, nearly lifting me off of my feet, then reached for Holmes — who stepped gingerly to the side and asked the man to lead us as quickly as possible to the vault in question.

• 24 •

Watson

"Why, sure, pals!" he heartily replied — although there was a definite, wily undertone to his words, as if he were privately chuckling at some deception. He turned, walking towards the bank with long strides. "Just fol ow me!"

His voice, slyness aside, was gravelly and American.

Surely, I realised, he must have made his fortune in the West, handily explaining his unusual traits — or so I had thought, at the time. We followed him, Holmes and I, into the bank and off to a vault somewhere near the back.

"This is th' place!" the man informed us, indicating the door. "And here's the combination."

He handed us a slip of paper. Holmes examined it, then gave a curt nod and stepped forward, rotating the spindle wheel to the appropriate positions. After a moment, the lock gave a click — and Holmes (still, I noted, with something of a wary look in his eye) tugged the door fully open.

Never before and never since have I seen such a deluge.

It was an avalanche so great as to put the fiercest floods of the Thames to shame, a torrent of unimaginable proportions —

and ever since that moment I have privately thought of the events of my life, up to that point, as having been antediluvian.

The objects with which we were suddenly beset tumbled from the depths of the vault, and the squeaking of each individual component ran together until the sound of it was as if the crust of the world itself was splitting beneath us. Holmes and I were bowled over entirely as the contents of the vault rolled over us, finally coming to a gradual stop. I sat up, blinking, and found myself lying within a great pile of what must have been many thousands of rubber ducks.

From behind us came the boisterous laughter of the man who had sought our assistance.

"Aw haw haw!" he bellowed, doubling over. "You shoulda seen your faces!"

Reaching up, he pulled a mask down over his head —

the mask of a Fooling Fish! From within the vault, Claptrap bounded over the ducks, giving the burly man an enthusiastic pat on the back.

• 25 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes

"That was a great one, Captain!"

"Aw, well, I do try my best." the man answered with mock humility, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "And, hey, we weren't really lyin' to you, neither! We did find a secret entrance, on account o' the bank wouldn't let us deposit these things! Now that ya know about it, maybe it'l save ya some trouble later, once we've left. That sort of kindly gesture is what we call the Fooling Fish Difference!"

Before Holmes or I could fully extract ourselves from the mound of bathtime toys, the two Fish had scampered off with admirable litheness, laughing all the way. 'Toodle-oo!', I think I heard the burly man call to us over his shoulder.

I turned to Holmes, and noted that he was staring after them, a distant look in his eyes.

"Watson," he said to me, "I am at last beginning to understand the fury of an angler who has long chased a cunning fish, and long been frustrated in his attempts."

"Yes," I replied, scarcely believing what had just occurred. "I feel rather like Ahab himself."

* * *

It had been only a day since the incident at the bank when Holmes next received a request for his assistance. A note had been delivered to the local constabulary, scrawled in green ink in the disorganised handwriting of a criminal acting in haste, which purported to be a ransom letter.

'We have in our possession the child of a local baker' , it read,

'Which shall be returned to you with great haste, provided you meet us at the following location with the following sum.’

Attached was an address, as well an amount of money which was not, in truth, particularly hefty — although I suppose that it would be improper of me to record the precise amount, not least for fear that providing too many details of this particular case will lead only to the further embarrassment of all involved — a quantity which, at this point, needs no compounding.

• 26 •

Watson

Holmes' presence having been requested at the scene, we set out that very evening. A suspicion nagged at me as we neared, and I could not help but to ask:

"Holmes, does it not occur to you that this may yet be another trick of those duplicitous, scheming pranksters who call themselves the Fooling Fish?"

"It does, Watson," he answered me, "But I cannot al ow such suspicions — likely as they may seem — to interfere with my duties."

So on we went. Eventually, we came to the indicated spot — a lonesome tree at the edge of a nearby park. Lestrade and some others were already on the scene, and together, we waited for the perpetrator to emerge.

Despite my earlier hesitations, I soon found the worrisome thrill of the thing overwhelming me, pushing thoughts of the Fish from my mind once again. It seemed that no time at all had passed — and I wil admit that I spent that small amount of time with my heart fairly pounding, wondering what sort of scene might shortly develop — before a shadowy silhouette stepped out from a distant bush.

We watched as it reached back into the foliage and drew out what looked to be a burlap sack — which was most certainly full of something very heavy. I knew that it could only be the baker's child — and I only hoped that the poor youngster was alright.

One of Lestrade's men stepped forward with the money, while the others stayed back behind the tree. Holmes stood at the ready to ensure that, in the event of the blighted villain's escape, all possible clues towards their identity would be recorded in his perceptive mind.

With a small distance stil separating them, Lestrade's man displayed the money. The silhouetted figure reached into the bag — and Holmes suddenly stepped forward.

"Hold a moment!" he commanded, standing in front of the man — but the silhouetted figure did not pause. Removing a circular object from the bag, it lobbed the projectile into

• 27 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes Holmes's face. I gasped as the great flying blueberry pie made impact, dousing my friend with pastry and fruit.

"Hee hee hee!" came the voice of a Fooling Fish — the silhouette, now revealed. It was obviously having trouble getting its words across, so uncontrollable was its laughter.

"Get it? Get it? The child of a baker? Hee hee! And we returned it to you with great haste, just like we said! Ha ha! "

The Fish scampered back into the bushes, and I could only stare after it in shock — although I worried, for a moment, that I would be forced to restrain the ordinarily unflappable Holmes from rushing after the prankster in a rage.

* * *

After that, I was afforded little rest. The possibility of the Fooling Fish putting in yet another appearance weighed on my mind, to be sure, but it was the increased rate at which the rifts were appearing and at which Holmes and I were forced to deal with the myriad entities which came through them — as well as the terrifying knowledge that Moriarty was somehow involved, and would in all likelihood be planning some especially fiendish trap for us one day soon — that truly strained me. If I had been anxious before, I was certainly so now. I could scarcely sleep, could scarcely go about my day without being forced to deal with these occurrences — so that I was beginning to feel entirely stretched to my limit, and liable to break at a moment's notice. I wandered the streets of London with tired eyes and an aching head, always wondering from which direction the next inconvenience would be coming.

I could see that Holmes, in the time between cases, was beginning to plan something — that tell-tale look was in his eyes, and I knew that it would not be long before it came to light. At the time, I regret to say that my only hope was that I would not have to be very much involved in it. But I waited, until Holmes finally declared to me one morning:

"Watson, I am going to meet with the Fooling Fish."

• 28 •

Watson

At this proclamation, I could scarcely contain my shock.

In fact, I do not believe that I did. To Holmes, I replied:

"But what can you hope to achieve? They are not reasonable people, by any means! And, if they are not inconveniencing us just now — then surely there are more pressing things to attend to, and we may put the Fish, for the moment, out of mind!"

"No, Watson," Holmes replied, shaking his head, "It is best to deal with these matters as they come, rather than allowing them to stack up for later. For too long we have allowed the Fish to play their tricks upon us at any time — and I should like to remove that possibility from among the many obstacles which we already face in solving this most baffling mystery. They are not reasonable, but they are by no means inhuman, and I am sure I can find some way to convince them of the necessity of their speedy departure — or, at least, of the cessation of their practical jokes."

Holmes would hear no more talk to the contrary. That afternoon, after a light lunch — consisting, I am somewhat amused to report, of fish and sliced potatoes prepared by our landlady, Mrs Hudson — he set off to parts unknown, seeking the Fooling Fish.

He returned to the flat late that evening, and would not

— despite my prying — divulge many details of the day's events. He would only tell me that he had sorted something out which would surely allow us to take the Fish off of our now-lengthy list of concerns. There was a strange look in his eyes, I thought, which worried me — for I felt certain that he was now planning something entirely new and entirely unusual.

Stil , as there seemed to be nothing else for me to do just at that time, I looked forward to a night of rest. This, I am sorry to say, I did not attain — for, with all of the stress of recent events still weighing on me, I could scarcely manage to catch a wink.

Morning came — as it will do at these times —

altogether too early, and I, tired and irritable, watched Holmes with concern. He moved shiftily about the flat, eyes cryptic, seeming to be deep in thought and muttering occasionally to

• 29 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes himself. Eventually, I could stand it no longer. I demanded that he tell me what it was that he was scheming — and he, after considering me for a moment, reached into his coat-pocket and produced a small wooden box.

"I have determined," he said at last, "That only the item contained herein could possibly convince the Fish to leave our poor city alone. Do not ask me where I located it, Watson, trust only that I have!"

He pressed the box into my hands, although I was quite reluctant to take it.

"But, Holmes!" I said, "What is it? Are we to use it as blackmail, or — ?"

"You will find out, Watson, you wil find out!" he answered me. "And you wil do so this very day. I have found what I believe to be a lead in our ongoing mystery of the rifts, and I shall be indisposed with it until tonight. You must find the current docking-place of that boat which they call the

Fish'N'Ship, and only then must you open this box. Can I count on you, my loyal friend?"

At this speech, I was entirely shocked, and hadn't the slightest idea how to respond. I was to confront the Fish, alone, with an item the nature of which I was not yet allowed to know — while Holmes went off chasing a lead on the case we had been trying to crack without giving me any hint as to what this lead might be? It was almost too much!

"But — !" I protested, sputtering. "But, Holmes, you mustn't — !"

"No further arguments, Watson! We must make great haste!" he told me — then very nearly pushed me out of the flat, so enthusiastic was his rush. Baffled, and unsure how to proceed, I felt that I could do nothing but set off in search of the flying ship — for I was feeling altogether too tired and too stressed to protest it any further. And so I set off, looking for any sign of the mast with the orange flag upon it.

The journey was long and tiresome, and I began to gripe and to grumble. This was al far too much at once, I felt, and I was beginning to feel like a candle that had well and truly come

• 30 •

Watson

to the end of its wick. I needed a holiday, I was sure, or at least a rest — but I did not seem likely to get one, not now. The crisis of the tears pressed on.

Eventually, I crested a hill in the nearby park — and there, among the distant grass, sat the Fish'N'Ship. I could see the Fooling Fish frolicking beside it — and I quickened my pace, till I was within sight of them. I feared that they would bombard me, at once, with pies or with rubber ducks — but they simply waved from afar. Taking a steadying breath, I placed the box which I was carrying upon the ground, then knelt low.

As I made ready to open the box, the anxieties of my mind reached a fever-pitch. Supposing I was going about it the wrong way? Supposing the Fish, contrary to Holmes's assurance, refused to leave? Supposing they never left?

Supposing the tears plagued our city for the rest of time, and the spectre of Moriarty's return remained forever lurking around every corner? These thoughts and many more raced through my mind, which wound itself so tight that, had it been a clockwork machine, its cogs would surely have burst. My heart thumping, my nerves racing, I lifted the box's lid.

And vast quantities of confetti rocketed forth, accompanied by a sound something like the bellow of a railway whistle.

Perhaps I ought to have been angry at this turn of events.

Perhaps I ought to have cursed the Fooling Fish with renewed passion. But — in that instant, to have my anxieties offset by such an absurdity felt as if a great weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. What had, seconds before, seemed so all-important as to allow the world to hang in its balance was suddenly revealed for the sil y trifle which I suppose it ultimately was, and I — laughed. Long and hard, until there were tears of mirth in my own eyes.

Eventually, I rose to my feet — wondering, suddenly, what role Holmes had played in these events. I did not have to worry for long — for he stepped out from behind the nearest tree, and laid a reassuring hand upon my shoulder.

• 31 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes

"Holmes!" I said, shocked. "Did you know — ?"

"I am sorry, Watson, for participating in this little joke,"

he told me, "And I do hope that it was received in only the best of ways. When I set out, yesterday, to confront the Fooling Fish, it was in earnest. And we talked, as I promised that we would. I inquired of them what it was that they hoped, ultimately, their pranking should achieve. There was much debate among them, much discussion — but eventually, they all came to one conclusion. They told me that, when all was said and done, the point of their jokes wasn't to make their targets angry, for all that such a reaction is often the result —

on the contrary, that it was to give them a moment of joy. They further informed me that they would shortly be leaving our city and our world — but only if I would agree to help them with a final joke. And, since I had noticed the pressure which all of this crisis had been putting you under, Watson..."

He coughed — somewhat sheepishly, I should think.

"Well. I thought it couldn't hurt to give their way a try.

Just once."

I could not find it in myself to feel angry at Holmes, or at the Fish. Indeed, I felt refreshed — ready to dive back into our investigations. Assuring him that I had taken his little joke as intended — I nonetheless informed him that I should not like to find myself subject to any further ones.

"Don't worry!" chimed Claptrap, from behind us. "We really are leaving now! Like we said, we came here to get back to our roots and reinvigorate our love for pranking. And our chat with your pal there helped us out a lot!"

"Yeah," added the burly man who had deceived us before, casting his eyes downward and rubbing at the back of his neck, "We'd lost sight o' the real point o' prankin'. The fun part, an' the 'spreading joy' part, too! We were too busy tryin'

to pull bigger and bigger gags — but that ain't the heart of the thing, when you get down to it. Talkin' to Sherlock and prankin' you made us remember why we do it in th' first place!"

"But a friend of ours recently told us that you can't live in the past — even if it's fun to visit!" Claptrap finished, as the

• 32 •

Watson

Fish began to board their ship with awkwardly acrobatic flips and tumbles. "We're re-invigorated, refreshed — and now, we're heading back to our own present-day to think up brand new pranks and gags and goofs and everything else, with the heart back in 'em!"

Having made this speech, she grasped a rope-ladder, as the burly man clambered up another.

"First Officer Codswal op?" he called to someone on deck. "If you'd be so kind!"

The ladders were suddenly rolled up over the deck with the Fooling Fish stil upon them, and Holmes and I watched and waved as the Fish'N'Ship floated off into the golden-afternoon sky, sailing back out of our reality on a cosmic fair-wind.

"Well, Watson," Holmes said at last, turning away, "Shall we get back to it, then? I'm beginning to feel a hint of that same old sensation again — another tear about to open, somewhere in London. Could very well require our attention, I should think." "Yes, Holmes, I certainly would." I replied.

We set off into the city. As we strol ed, Holmes drew his log-book out of the pocket of his coat, ready to jot down any interesting observations. Turning it to the most recent page, he halted in his tracks — then turned the book towards me. I peered at it — and saw that two of its sheets had been repurposed. A doodle of a fish stretched across them, with words along the top and bottom of it. "Happy April Fools'

Day!", they read, in bold letters.

Even Sherlock Holmes couldn't help but chuckle.

• 33 •

The Cosmology of Sherlock Holmes

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