Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)

Okay, people, I'm back! (And it's good to be back.) As promised, I have begun posting the rewritten version of "Elementary" You probably won't notice many big differences for awhile, if you're an old fan. ;D If you're new, let me introduce myself and my story.

The name is Frostfyre (Frosty for short) and I am not only a lifelong SW fan, but also a fan of Sherlock Holmes. So, a couple of years ago, when this all started, I was bit by a plot bunny: what if Holmes met up with some Jedi? What if there were Jedi in Victorian London? It sounded like fun, so here is the result.

**Disclaimer: I am not a historian. I am a history buff, but not of the Victorian era. So please don't get upset if there are inaccuracies. I know there are. For one thing, I'm not British, and I've never been to England in my life. (Romania I can tell you about. I lived there. But England, not yet. ) Dialect, etc. is gleaned entirely from my limited knowledge. Enjoy the story. Don't get hung up on details. (I don't. )

Enjoy!!

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"Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan"


The sound of a door slamming and feet pounding up the stairway alerted me that my friend and erstwhile housemate, Sherlock Holmes, was returning home after a night of doing who knows what on the foggy streets of London. I had returned to our rooms at 221B Baker street from paying a call to my fiancée, Mary, the night before, to discover no sign whatsoever of Holmes. Though I am by no means the genius at deduction that he is, I came to the conclusion that he had found something entertaining to pursue, and promptly went to bed. I had long ago learned that sitting up and worrying would only cost me sleep and irritate Holmes. He hated sentiment, even of the brotherly sort.


Now it was well after nine in the morning, and I was in Holmes?s cluttered study, enjoying an after-breakfast cup of tea Mrs. Hudson, our landlady and housekeeper, had brought up to me, and perusing the morning news. Having been alerted by the commotion on the stairs that Holmes had returned, I did not bother looking up from the paper as the door burst open.


?He?s back, Watson!? my friend said enthusiastically. He was slightly winded, and as I looked up from my reading, I could see that he had forgotten his hat. His black hair was sticking up in spots, and this, combined with his sharp, prominent features and mostly black clothing, made him rather resemble a crow that had gotten caught on the wrong end of a windstorm.


?Who is?? I asked, though I could only think of two ?he?s? off the top of my head that could get Holmes so worked up. One was his archenemy, Professor James Moriarty, and the other was Moriarty?s henchman, former spy Colonel Sebastian Moran. And though Moran was, in his own way, nearly as dangerous as Moriarty, Holmes?s obvious state of agitation made me place my money on Moriarty. He?d defeated Moran once, but only managed to foil Moriarty?s schemes thus far, and Holmes didn?t get this excited over someone he?d already beaten.


Holmes flung his long frame into the wicker chair he favored and lounged as only Holmes can. He ceased resembling a wind-tossed crow and became a rumpled cat instead, grey eyes narrowed on some ineffable secret. ?Oh, come now, Watson. Surely you can guess.?


I sighed. There were days when it seemed to me that my whole purpose in Holmes?s life was as a whetstone on which to sharpen his wits. But at least this time I could be reasonably sure that my guess would be the correct one. ?Moriarty??


?He has been spotted in Woking!? Holmes leaned over the side of his chair, rummaging through the accumulated clutter. After a moment, he emerged triumphantly with his pipe. Stuffing it with the vile shag he favored, he continued. ?He?s keeping a very low profile. No doubt he has some new, nefarious scheme to hatch!? He sounded disgustingly excited about it. This, from a man who scoffs at the Whitechapel murders as ?unimaginative? and ?boring?. It is little wonder that Scotland Yard is none too fond of hi

 

You're back? Already? What a pleasant surprise! Great to see you again! I can't wait to read the ending of this story, but I'll happily start at the beginning again.

There were days when it seemed to me that my whole purpose in Holmes?s life was as a whetstone on which to sharpen his wits. How true, Watson!

And I liked the line about Holmes preferring to be an old man, because of how uncomfortable women's clothing is.

 

Woohoo! Here we go again for this great adventure!

 

It's even better the 3rd (or 4th, I've forgotten how many times I've read this) time than the first!

Dinner conversations with Holmes are so interesting. I can imagine!

*Jadis*

 

What a spiffy nice new thread!!!

[Gets popcorn, sets "active topic notification" at 365, and sits back happily]

 

I don't want to spoil you all, so don't expect multiple posts in a day (I have to make sure not to catch up to myself!) but...well, I can't resist. Merry Christmas. ;D

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Holmes returned later that afternoon, and I could see immediately from the rigid set of his features that he was troubled about something. Knowing that he would be impossible until he?d gotten it out of his system, I immediately asked what was wrong. He snarled at me for a few minutes, no doubt hoping to start a fight, but when he realized that he wasn?t going to get a rise from me he relented.


?I spoke to Mycroft this afternoon. His people have been keeping an eye on Moriarty for some time.?


I raised my eyebrows. ?I didn?t know your brother?s, ah, office was watching the Professor.?


?Neither did I,? Holmes growled. ?It appears that Sebastian Moran was once in the employ of the Foreign Office. During Afghanistan,? he added with a meaningful look at me. As if on cue, my shoulder twinged. ?And now that he?s working for Moriarty, it seems that the Professor is suddenly taking an interest in things political.? He steepled his fingers, resting his chin lightly on their tips. ?I shudder to think what would happen if Moriarty ever got his hands on state secrets. Or someone with real power.? Holmes frowned, and I could fairly hear the gears in his mind whirring. ?I wonder if that?s what he?s after?perhaps he?s looking for a hold on someone in the Cabinet. He certainly isn?t above blackmail.?


Neither are you, I thought, but did not say it aloud. It disturbed me, sometimes, how very much Moriarty and Holmes were alike. If it were not for Holmes?s deep love of humanity I would not have been surprised if he had become another James Moriarty. They were both brilliant far beyond the ken, not overly troubled by scruples, and driven by their brilliance to be the best. Fortunately for Holmes, he sought to be the best criminal investigator, not the best criminal, and he allowed his relative casualness about certain laws to be governed by an underlying set of unshakeable morals. Moriarty, from what I had seen, had no such compunctions. He also had been around far longer than Sherlock Holmes. Holmes had turned thirty-three earlier in the year, though he looked older, and I had placed Moriarty to be of Holmes?s father?s generation. He had experience on his side.


?Is Mycroft going to help??


?Not actively,? Holmes said with a wry smile. Holmes claimed Mycroft was far smarter than he ever dreamed of being. I was inclined to believe this, simply because Holmes was never humble about anything concerning his abilities. Otherwise, the two brothers could not have been more different. While Holmes was constantly driven to do things, almost to the point of being hyper, Mycroft was the laziest man I?d ever met. He was enormously fat, and more often than not preferred to stay either at his apartments or his club and direct the efforts of his underlings from a comfortable armchair. He was officially some sort of accountant, but I had learned quickly that his ?accounting? had very little to do with money and a great deal to do with international relations. His ?firm? was barely even known to the Foreign Office, it seemed, and one of his duties was to keep an eye on them. A guardian for the guardians, as it were. ?He?d rather have me do his work for him,? Holmes continued. ?I suppose I don?t mind, but this time he?s not going to get it for free.?


I blinked. ?You?re going to make your own brother pay you for the privilege of chasing a man you would chase anyway? And you don?t think Mycroft won?t know that??


Holmes flashed me one of his rare, genuine grins, transforming his ascetic features. ?Oh, Mycroft knows, and it?s irritating him to no end. But he?ll pay me, because he knows he owes me. I pulled his fat?if you?ll excuse the rather crude term?out of the fire a few years ago. He may be smarter than I, but his laziness gets him into trouble every now and then.?


I shook my head, smiling. ?H

 

His black hair was sticking up in spots, and this, combined with his sharp, prominent features and mostly black clothing, made him rather resemble a crow that had gotten caught on the wrong end of a windstorm [...] Holmes flung his long frame into the wicker chair he favored and lounged as only Holmes can. He ceased resembling a wind-tossed crow and became a rumpled cat instead, grey eyes narrowed on some ineffable secret. "Oh, come now, Watson. Surely you can guess."

I'd forgotten your utterly felicitous turn of phrase. These as as good as anything Conan Doyle has ever written! I can just picture Jeremy Brett in your story...

 

I'm delighted to read more so soon! We have been waiting for so long, it all looks like a dream!

 

I am so happy to see you are back. My mom loves this story. It's the only fan fic she'll read.

My boss' daughter and son-in-law just went to Romania on a mision (actually a few months ago), I wonder if your paths crossed?

 

Awesome stuff. It's great to read this story again!

 

Hello! **waves**

Small confession - I read the original version and just loved it, although I found it after you left and didn't leave a review as a result. I'm so very happy to see you're restarting this. It's so original and incredibly well written. I ignored your original version for a long time, although I love both series, because I just didn't believe they could work together. And so I was astonished - and mightily pleased - to find out just how well they work together. You're a writer of rare talent to be able to bring together two such different universes into such an enjoyable whole. I absolutely cannot wait to see where you take us with this.

Wonderful, wonderful work (and I'll be leaving reviews this time around)!

Shaindl

 

Merry Christmas to you too! And thanks for starting us off so soon!!

Honestly, I can't wait to read this again -- even though I sort of already know what to expect. I haven't reread it for quite a while, and I keep bumping into snippets of clever writing and bits of humor that make me pause and either nod appreciatively, or else chuckle, as the case may be; a reaction springing equally from both enjoyment and memory.

Such gems as:

?My features lend themselves far better to age than youth, Watson. Also, people tend to dismiss the elderly, and that can be a great advantage. And,? he added a little irritably, ?I make an *extremely* ugly young woman.?

I think I will most definitely have to copy this off so I can reread it in the future.

Great to have you back, and I look forward to more with jittery anticipation! And don't worry, of *course* we won't get spoiled by multiple posts a day...

Sarah >^,,^<

 

Aw, thanks, you guys! You just make me feel all warm and fuzzy.

And now we get into the story! ;D

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Woking, compared to, say, Whitechapel, isn't all that bad. Lower middle class, as it were. It could be dangerous at night, though, and I kept my hand in my coat pocket as Holmes and I walked down the street. My old Army revolver was a comforting weight.


It was not yet full dark, and there were still a number of people out and about in the chill autumn twilight. Hansom cabs and carriages clattered over the damp cobblestones as people returned home from work or those with more money passed through on their way to parties and other entertainments. As an open carriage full of brightly dressed young women and their escorts passed I found my thoughts wandering toward my upcoming nuptials. Mary still wanted my opinion on linens for the wedding breakfast. I'd initially told her that it didn't really matter to me one way or another what the linens looked like, but she'd become so put out with me for some reason that I had agreed to help. I wondered if I could use Holmes and Moriarty as an excuse for getting out of it, then dismissed it hastily. I would have to have a death wish if I were stupid enough to put that to my fiancée.


A small noise from Holmes drew me from my thoughts. The street was nearly empty now. He'd slowed his pace, and caught my sleeve as I drew ahead of him. "Over there, in that doorway." A small jerk of his head indicated which doorway. Trying not to appear too obvious, I looked.


At first all I could make out was a vague person-shape in the deepening shadows. Initially, I thought it was a woman, for the figure was heavily draped in something flowing. Then it moved, and I realized that it was far too tall and broad-shouldered to be any such thing. A man, then, but very strangely dressed. The flowing drapery appeared to be some sort of robe, dark and unidentifiable in the poor light. I caught a glimmer of pale fabric underneath as he moved. "What is it?" I asked Holmes softly.


He shook his head. "I'm not certain. But he's being stalked." A flick of his eyes, and I noticed another shape, standing very still in the heavily shaded mouth of a nearby alley. As far as I could tell, this one was more conventionally dressed.


"What are we going to do?" I hissed.


"Nothing, for the moment." He drew me to the side, into the shadows of another doorway. "Just watch. I want to see this play out."


"But Holmes, if that man doesn't know he's being?being stalked, as you put it, shouldn't we?"


"He knows he's being watched," my friend said softly. For once, I forbore asking him how he knew that and turned my attention to the robed man. After a moment, I thought I understood. There was a furtive tension in his movements that suggested he was aware all was not well.


It was like watching a drama, so captivating was the tableau, but it was not a comfortable one. The knowledge that it was real, and not knowing how it would end was maddening. After a long moment, the robed man moved at a half-run towards the other side of the street, his hand darting beneath his robe.


Another movement caught my eye. The second man had withdrawn a strange object that looked vaguely like a pistol, though it was unlike any gun I'd ever seen. He raised his arm, and I felt Holmes stiffen beside me. I, too, tensed, ready to distract the armed stranger.


The other man seemed to sense the threat; he turned as he neared the street corner, and started to draw his hand out of his robe. Then, without warning, a carriage rounded the corner. I could hear the driver's curses clearly as he hauled back on the reins, trying to avoid running down the man standing in the street. The horse reared with a ringing cry. The robed man turned to see this new danger, and a flash of green light coupled with a strange whine flared from the alley. The man in the street staggered forward, the horse's front hooves barely missing his skull, and fell heavily to the ground. The driver j

 

Awww... Poor Obi-Wan. I already knew this scene of course, but now it's like rediscovering it.

 

Aha, a twist! Mahala O'Kelley (or was it O'Kelly?) is most noticeably absent from the cab in question. Wonder what that little difference will lead to... *rubs hands together eagerly* I feel like I'm on a treasure hunt!

Sarah >^,,^<

 

Aahhh, the damp cobblestones of East London... All of this is, naturally, terrific.

What the devil would have produced a weapon like that?

Small quibble: surely you mean "What weapon would have produced a wound like that?"

But that's really splitting hairs. More, more!

 

Welcome back Frosty!! You have been sorely missed over here! Tabrualian[sp?] beer anyone?

Now to the story!

The girl is missing!? [face_shocked]

 

[face_shocked] No Mahala? Have you decided to take her out of the story completely, or will she appear later? Or am I allowed to ask...

One thing confused me. Is the green flash the laser bolt? I couldn't tell for sure, but that might just be me.

*Jadis*

 

I'm sure Frosty has her reasons, and we'll see what happens when the story progresses.

 

Oh, it's so great that you're back, Frostfyre. I'm also a big fan of Holmes and SW (Holmes is first)

I loved the previous version of this story and am impatient to see how you will make it going this time.

I must add that I love your writing style, it's like reading a new story by Conan Doyle. Wonderful idea to bring these two universes together. Great job!

Nifet

 

Yes, sorry to say, but Mahala has been axed. Her original purpose changed even as I was writing the original story, and she became an extraneous character.

I don't know, Kitara--depends on what city your boss's family went to. Probably not--us 'Mormon' missionaries stayed in the city we were assigned to most of the time. ;D I *did* meet a Baptist missionary couple when I was in Cluj-Napoca. They were very nice, and doing wonderful work with some of the orphanages there.

Oh, yeah. It should be wound, not weapon. ::smacks the editor inside her head:: You're supposed to be keeping an eye out for stuff like that!!!

So what do you people have up in the way of fanfic? I'm just writing now, but I'd like to be reading, too! PM me and let me know. Especially you, Lilith!!!

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22B Baker Street was a welcome and comforting sight to me as we pulled up to the curb. I paid the cabby, adding in a few extra coins and suggesting the man go and get himself a stiff drink. He gave me a grateful, wavering smile and clattered off, leaving us to carry the stranger up the front steps to the door.. He was far heavier than he looked.


Mrs. Hudson opened the door, her eyes widening in surprise as she took in the strange little party on the doorstep. "Oh, good heavens!" Her tone was less an expression of shock than it was exasperation. She has had any number of strange people in varying stages of health intruding upon her territory for years. I think she left the capacity to be shocked a long time ago. "Bring 'im in! No, Mr. Holmes, don't you dare put 'im in the parlor! I just cleaned it. No, no, take 'im to the guest room." She put her hands on her hips and glared fiercely at him as he balked at carrying the deadweight up the steep, narrow stairs. "Don't you give me that look, Mr. Holmes. I'll not have 'im bleeding on my parlor furniture!"


Holmes looked for a moment as though he would argue, but after a look at the set of her jaw decided that discretion was the better part of valour. We meekly hauled our heavy load up the stairs, Mrs. Hudson following. We laid the man carefully on the bed, and I asked Mrs. Hudson to bring my bag up to me. She towed Holmes out with her, ordering him to the kitchen to start boiling water, a past time I invented years ago to keep him out of my way when I was treating an unconscious patient. In this case, I really did need the water, as I intended to make a poultice for my patient's shoulder. His protests were firmly ignored and in the end he meekly shuffled off to do as ordered while I turned my attention to the man lying on the bed.

His clothing was more peculiar than it had looked in the dim light at Woking: a long, voluminous brown robe of what felt like soft wool, and underneath, a cream colored tunic and tabard belted over trousers of a slightly darker shade. The clasp of the belt was a curious piece of work, and it took me a moment to figure out the mechanism. The belt's chief adornment was a long cylinder wrought of some metal with odd protrusions on it. I'd never seen anything like it, and I examined it closely, wondering what Holmes would make of it, before setting it carefully aside with the belt wrapped around it.


Once we had him stripped to the waist, I saw why he had been so heavy: the man was solid muscle. I wondered what his profession could be, to keep him in such excellent shape. I hadn?t looked like that even at the height of my army career. I hadn?t even come close, if I were perfectly honest, having been endowed with a shape that might be kindly referred to as ?stocky.?

Mrs. Hudson returned with my things, and I set to work on the young man's shoulder. He did not stir even when I poked the wound roughly. He wasn't very old, not much more than twenty, but there were scars on his arms and torso that suggested a less than peaceful life. His features were regular, even handsome, with broad cheekbones and a deep cleft in his chin. His hair was even more outlandish than his robes. Cut short all over, it stood up like a ligh

 

It's great to see Mrs Hudson knowing who she really is!

It's awesome, Frosty!

 

22B Baker Street

221B Baker Street!!

 

And the story merrily clatters on! I agree with Mitth, is great to see Mrs Hudson forewarned, so to speak!

I love Watson's assessment of the unconscious Obi-Wan, and the references to his own Army career!

Details, details, from your resident A-R editor (please tell me to shut up if you find this annoying!):

I paid the cabby, adding in a few extra shillings : That's a lot of money. £2 a week was a decent salary at the time. Easier to write "adding in a few extra coins".

leaving Holmes and I to carry the stranger up the front steps to the door. "leaving Holmes and me" (you wouldn't write "leaving we" but "leaving us to carry, etc.")

"No, no, take 'im to the guest room." Should be "spare room" in British English.

(And BTW, I don't think Mrs Hudson, a housekeeper and property owner -- she leases the rooms to Holmes, after all -- would drop her aitches. Certainly Rosalie Williams, in the Granada TV series with Jeremy Brett, shown on PBS in the US, I believe, didn't.)

past time: Surely you mean "pastime".

The belt's chief adornment was a long cylinder wrought of some metal with odd protrusions on it. I'd never seen anything like it, and I noticed my assistant examining it closely before setting it carefully aside with the belt wrapped around it. : But Watson no longer has an assistant, since you've dispensed with the beautiful Miss O'Kelly!

He curled his lip at her. "I wish to know more about our unusual guest, madam, and as he is not currently available : Was something cut off here?

... anyway, this is more tightly-written than the first version, and absolutely unputdownable again! More soon, please!