Shadowing Moriarty

[solvescases]

"Ah, it would seem we are in the right place," Sherlock said, stepping through the sliding door as the lights came on. "And we were expected."

The room was long with a computer console setup on the far left with a large viewscreen keeping track of video cameras set all along the outside. At the far end of the room was a large mechanical device, humming and glowing as it seemed to be charging up a large round metal ring attached with wires and hoses. Sherlock hurried into the room, cane in hand. "Stop him, quickly!" he said to Watson as he ran in with him. "He's already turned it on!"

The scientist at the controls turned with a nasty grin on his face before throwing the final switch. There was a loud crack from the machine, almost subsonic in nature, as a large rip in time and space began to form inside the metal ring. Sherlock leapt at the man holding the lever, grappling with it and Moriarty for control.

The mixed signals from the computer caused the dimensional hole to wobble and waver, lights flickering throughout the room as it drew more current. The tunnel inside collapsing around itself as it fluctuated. The two men still struggled at the controls for a moment longer, Sherlock trying to gain the upper hand by using a baritsu judo hold but suddenly there was a loud explosion as the machine gave way under the strain.

Everyone was flung aside as a ring of energy exploded out of the vortex, killing all the lights. When Sherlock was able to pick himself up off the floor, the emergency red lights were on. He was covered in dust and debris from the broken room and Moriarty was gone. "Blast it," he said under his breath, trying to brush himself off and find out what happened to Watson.

He quickly pulled the rocks and debris off of a lone figure, lighting a match from his pocket to see better. The match itself was practically a relic in amidst all the technology.

Comments

[shadow_ag]

Lamont had been settled quite happily in his lab, having just returned from a successful venture into the darker alleys of New York. Returning from his task, cloak and hat in hand, he was in his abandoned chemistry lab. Margo and Vincent had left hours earlier at his instruction to go home and rest while he continued his business late into the evening. His initial inspection of the lab told him they had dawdled for a short time before realizing he intended to be quite late.

He was reaching out toward the hat stand to trade his cloak for a lab coat when the hair on his arms stood up, as if there was some electric force pervading the room. He looked about, concern and determination on his face as he tried to locate the source, but found it difficult to move.

With a blinding flash, he felt all his senses overwhelmed at the same time and shut his eyes to try and save them. Was there a trap in the lab? What was causing the phenomenon? His mind raced as it felt like he was briefly lifted into the air.

A moment later he felt his shoes tap down on the ground however the noise and light were still too much to figure out more, but then he was airborne again. This time the sensation was a familiar one. For being unable to see or hear clearly, he could feel the concussion of an explosion ripple through his core as it tossed him. Many a time he's been thrown and buried by explosions, and he didn't fight the tumble or put out his arms to break the fall, not wanting to risk injury.

The lone figure which Sherlock finds beneath the debris is breathing easily, and for all purposes seems to be unconscious. Lamont doesn't know who or what is pulling the debris off of him, but he will play the victim for now until he can determine the truth of the situation. Meanwhile, his sharp fedora has miraculously stayed on his head and he's clad in an impeccable evening suit. Spread below him is a black cloak, but folded as it is, it looks like nothing more than an evening coat which had been dropped onto the floor. He can only hope that the single automatic pistol hidden neatly below his suit goes unnoticed long enough for him to palm it into his cloak or hat so that any cursory inspection for injury only yields an empty gun brace.

He waits a moment before moving slowly, feeling sore from the tumble and not needing to act that part at least. With a faint groan he puts a hand to his head, finding the hat there and pressing a hand down on it as if it had been hit in the blast.

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"Hello, this is odd..." Sherlock says, curious as to how this man had gotten into the room. He didn't look familiar in any way, from what he could see in the dim light of his match as he holds it lower to try and see the man's face. He puts an arm under to try and help the man up to a sitting position. "Easy, take it easy. Are you hurt in any way?" he asked, his classic English accent showing through, one borne of older times.

The hat and nice suit are a bit out of place for the industrial district they were in. Obviously the man did not want his face to be noticed, obvious to Holmes at least, but he wasn't that interested in the sharp features of the other man. Instead, he held the other man's hand up to the light of the match, studying his fingernails intently. "Interesting..."

An odd thing to do when finding an unconscious man under rubble, but Sherlock has been known to do stranger things.

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His fingernails are finely manicured, but the palms of his hands are thick from sports, or work. He's certainly a man of wealthy standing to be able to manage both, and while he's holding the hand up, Lamont clasps the hand as if to help him stand.

"A little sore." An easy, Northeastern American accent breaks through the dim light. For having been in an explosion he sounds like he's in relatively good spirits. His mask is hidden away in his suit, he wasn't going to arrive at his own labs in disguise after all, so there's no hiding his sharp features as he sits up. He keeps the brim of his had lowered, and while it keeps him an enigma in the match light, he also can't study more then the pants and shoes of his rescuer. Still, studious eyes take in the details that they can in an attempt to learn something of the situation.

"But otherwise well. What happened?" As well-mannered as his words are, there's a hint of sharp curiosity behind that question at the end. He lets go of Sherlock's hand now that he's on his side and he looks around briefly as if he had no idea where his coat was. 'Finding' it on the floor next to him he slowly starts to pick it up off the floor and setting it in his lap, as if in a daze.

[solvescases]

An American? Even more interesting. Sherlock blows out the match as it's burning low, the computers starting to turn the lights back on. The ones that are shattered spark a few times but it's enough light that the destruction of the room can be seen clearly enough. The machine at the end of the room is now scrap metal, a charred ring burned into the wall behind where it used to stand. The large computer screen above the console is cracked and hanging on it's side, flickering numbers and lines.

"An explosion, obviously. But I don't believe it was planned." Sherlock sounds contemplative when he says that, as if he's thinking to the purpose of the explosion itself. On one knee next to the man on the floor, his long brown coat and deerstalker hat might seem out of place too. However, his sharp blue eyes and even sharper brains had not missed the fact that this man was armed. Sherlock needed to know more.

"Where were you before the explosion?" he asks curiously.

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That elicits an honest look of confusion as Lamont finally looks up at Sherlock, and then he glances around. The coat and deerstalker could be addressed later.

"I was in my-" His voice trails off as he takes in the wholly alien room around him. He sets a hand on the floor, eyes scanning the room with incredible sharpness. They were brown, almost to the point of looking black, and they darted as he tried to make sense of the space. "Where are we."

The question is a demand, hardly a question as he requires information to sort out what's happened. Even if someone had rigged a bomb in his personal lab, there was no explaining the situation until his mind raced to the next conclusion.

"The light. There was a flash. Where am I?" He turns to look at Sherlock with an expression that said he expected a straight answer. Lamont was watching the man for any sort of clue. He could tell he had the investigative sort on hand, but he clearly wouldn't accept more questions.

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Just as Sherlock had suspected, the man had been flung into this mystery unwittingly by the machine that had just been destroyed. He would have to get Watson to analyze the machine once he caught up to them.

"Rigger's Square, the industrial district of New London." He moves slightly as if to stand and help the other before making a noise of discovery and brushing aside some of the rubble. Retrieving his bent handled cane from underneath, a useful tool. One that he sometimes used as a weapon but most of the time just for walking. He stands finally, offering the bewildered man a hand up. "I'm afraid you may have been at the wrong place at the right time." Whoever this person was, he was no confederate of Moriarty, that was plain to see.

Through the crumbled wall, one can see the lights of the city blinking away above the Thames river. Now that Sherlock was standing, his full countenance could be seen. Under his coat was a simple outfit, light brown trousers, red vest, blue tie, and white shirt. Tall and thin with a hawk-like nose, as Watson had grown fond of describing his features before, but with a more youthful appearance than perhaps some would describe Sherlock being.

"I take it you were far away from here when this occurred. Somewhere in America, I should think, in a laboratory." Yes, he deduced all of that already in the five minutes he's met the man.

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Lamont eyes the retrieval of that cane. The look could be mistaken as wary, but Sherlock would be the sort to understand the sharp look is one of quick and thorough inspection. At least the well-dressed man accepts the help to stand and he brings his cloak with him, briefly bothering to dust himself off while his eyes wander to that impromptu window.

He's made his study of Moriarty's lab, filing it under 'curious', but it's what is outside of that hole in the wall that has his attention. He tilts his head slightly as he ignored Sherlock, long strides making short work of the distance and then he's setting his hand expertly on a part of the brick that's not particularly compromised and looking out into this strange new world.

"New London." This time it's a question veiled as a statement, his eyes darting almost wildly as he takes in the vehicles, the lights and the completely different look to London. A flying car zips past and his head tracks its trajectory with fascination. A moment of watching it in sheer awe and he's suddenly turning back to his own situation and he looks back at Sherlock. The man didn't quite fit with the scenery, his look was one that even Lamont would class as 'slightly outdated'.

"New York. But less- new." His gawking had already tipped his hat. With a thoughtful motion, he reaches up to pluck the fedora from his head and gives it a distracted dusting as he turns his back on the sight outside to face Sherlock.

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Sherlock rubs his chin thoughtfully, watching the other man. Here was something familiar, he was perhaps not nearly as awestruck by the future as most would be, but it had been quite a learning curve to get over.

"It's my understanding that New York is similar in some ways," he says, striding over the rubble to join him at the gaping hole in the wall. "Though I haven't had the pleasure of visiting recently."

Holmes! A voice from outside the room as large footsteps were approaching. Watson had finally caught up with them and was aghast at the mess in the room. His joints making curious mechanical noises as he came towards them. While the face looked human, the body was more droid and robot covered only with a black long coat that mimicked Holmes' own somewhat. "Ah, there you are. See what you can make of the computer remains, Watson," he says, indicating the blackened and flickering mess with a wave of his hand.

Turning back to the man in question, he pursues his line of investigation again, "There was a flash of light, you said? Anything else out of the ordinary?"

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Perhaps it is the few decades he has on Sherlock. Living in an era defined by cars, planes and constant scientific advances, taking in a flying metal box is a little easier, though still a bit much to swallow. Lamont is a brilliant mind, of course cars might fly one day, he just never expected to witness it.

Watson, however, earns a more obvious stare. He was beyond any automaton Lamont might have seen at a fair, and the ease with which it moves and interacts with Holmes is uncanny. There's clearly a bulk of metal there but the head is almost alarmingly lifelike. That, and Holmes had called something a computer. Watson's direction immediately pointed out what the man meant, but the metal boxes looked nothing like the devices he knew about.

Again, Lamont is pulled from his awed study of his surroundings. The weight of it all is slowly showing on his face as he tries to catch up to hundreds of years of advancements in a few short minutes. His voice is distracted as he watches Watson scan the wreckage, unable to identify a single familiar item within it, save for switches, buttons and wires.

"My- senses were overwhelmed. There was a flash of light and a loud hum of electricity. Brief sensation of weightlessness, then the explosion."

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Sherlock hums thoughtfully, trying to piece together what it is Moriarty is up to. "And then found yourself to be here instead of where you thought you were. A transporter of some sort perhaps..."

A slot in Watson's arm had opened slightly to let a line connect him to the computer terminal as he sifted through the fragmented data. There is not much left.

"I expected as much," Holmes said, picking up a chair from the wreckage and setting it upright again. "Perhaps you would care to sit down, Mr...?" Him leaving room for the man's name. He has seen the same shock and awe before on Watson's face back when he 'returned' from being dead and the poor man fainted dead away. He rather suspects this man might like to sit before he does the same.

"The bird has flown though, we are only left with the clues he left behind..."

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"Lamont Cranston." He offers, but is nearly oblivious to Holmes' offer of hospitality. Idleness does not suit Lamont, and even though he's still processing facts and observations, he feels compelled to investigate. He will not sit by while there is a chance he can be of use to the situation.

He gives a distracted wave, dismissing the chair as he makes for the nearest remains of the computers. He gives Watson his space to do - whatever it is he's doing by plugging into the system. Communicating with it certainly, but the how can be addressed later.

With purpose in his motions, Lamont pulls thin, black gloves from inside his jacket, putting them on and then running a hand along the metal frame. He doesn't want to contaminate the crime scene much further by getting his fingerprints all over the evidence. His fingers practically dance across the controls, a featherweight touch that disturbs little but tells the scientist much.

"Clues we will find." He locates a seam that doesn't follow the others on the panel and starts to mindfully pry at it. It's been warped in the explosion, but will open if he gives it a little effort. "Obviously you have an insight to the cause of my situation. Not that a name would mean much to me at this juncture."

[solvescases]

"Mr. Cranston." The name was unfamiliar but one mystery at a time. Watson could look it up later.

Sherlock seems to not mind the extra hands on the situation, pleased that Mr. Cranston was taking an interest. He paces the room with distracted thoughts of his own, stopping now and again to crouch to the floor and follow a clue with his magnifying glass. "I have my suspicions but nothing more at this point."

Are you familiar with detective work, Mr. Cranston? Watson asks, sounding genuinely interested. While he is a robot, it is easy to think of him as more than that. Whatever glitch had turned the compu-droid into Watson had humanized him.

Sherlock had walked over closer to observe and answers before Lamont can, "He is a scientist from New York that was pulled here by forces unknown...and, I suspect like myself, he has been pulled away from his own time." A stretch of a deduction perhaps even for Sherlock, but he has had a bit of time to catch up on modern science fiction. Time travel, while it was still in the realm of fiction was not entirely un-attainable.

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Lamont gives an amused glance back at Holmes, finding his actions almost quaint but he can relate to using a similar spyglass for many of his own investigations when a microscope is overpowered for the task.

"Actually, I'm a good friend of Commissioner Weston. I have an outstanding invitation to the police force to bring evidence to my research laboratories when they find particularly vexing cases." He pauses as the panel creaks and gives a brief chuckle at his statement.

"Had." With a deft reassessment of the panel, he taps a corner of it gently, and then pulls on it again, and it pops open with ease. Taking a knee, and clearly not caring about the fact that his expensive suit will get dirty, he starts to look around inside of the system. There's an almost boyish glee to his smile as he starts to take it in at close range. The technology is incredible. And small.

"I hope I'm not disturbing your investigations, Mr. Watson." When in Rome. If Holmes is addressing the automaton as a living being, he will extend the same courtesy. He doesn't know if his poking about will affect whatever the robot is doing.

From somewhere deep within the system, there's a faint glow. Lamont peers closely to the panel he's opened and then satisfied that he doesn't see any obvious electrical terminals on which to shock himself, he slides into the control cabinet, right up to his waist.

[solvescases]

What a coincidence! Sherlock is also retained by the police of New Scotland Yard as a consultant. Watson retracts his computer line back into his arm. Not at all, I thank you for your concern. He's very polite, even for a compu-droid.

Sherlock abandons his stop-and-look inspection of the floor in frustration. "Bah, there are only Moriarty's footprints here," he says, rising and going over to the curious black ring impressed on what's left of the back wall. He runs a finger through the corroded substance, rubbing it between his fingers. "Carbon scoring...curious."


It's then that his attention is caught by what Mr. Cranston is doing to the computer console. "Do be careful, I would hate to have Watson pull you out of there."

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"I'll be fine, Mr. Holmes." There's a light, pleasant ring as Lamont's voice echoes from within the metal cabinet. It's tone might be described as decidedly 'Yankee' in its assuredness that Lamont knows he won't get stuck.

"Though I think you'll find your Moriarty left more behind than his footprints." With near-surgical precision, Lamont is in the process of detaching a brilliant, pinkish orb from within the tangle of wires, plastics and metals of the console. There are a few moments where the lights on the console blink on and off, as if by design. That would be Lamont poking about the connections, testing to see what they might do. As far as he can determine, he seems to have found some sort of energy source that's beyond his knowledge.

Finally, a single gloved hand comes out and holds onto the edge of the console as he leverages himself free of the tangle of wires within. His head pops into view and he's clearly grinning out of delight from his excursion.

"Lovely machine. But even this seems out of place in all this technology." Now that he's out, Lamont brings the orb from within the console, holding it carefully. There's a clear shell of some protective material surrounding it, with a few electrical ports on it and a socket on the bottom to fasten it in place. "Quite beyond me, really. But very elegant nonetheless."

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Sherlock approves of the methodology, getting hands on with the machine, but machines could only tell you so much. He leaned against the side wall, waiting for Lamont to extricate himself. "He is careful about what he leaves behind." Moriarty was not a man to be underestimated. In this or any other timeline.

Watson seems very interested with the orb, putting out a hand, palm first, to it to analyze it. Scanning....curious, I'm reading silicon, plastics, an rare isotope of plutonium with faint background radiation. An energy source but not one I'm familiar with.

"A very specific energy source, but for powering what, I wonder..." Sherlock muses, his magnifying glass searching out any details to be found on the orb. "Ah, here. A serial number. Can you trace it, Watson?"

The compu-droid straightens slightly. Accessing New Scotland Yard database...

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Lamont gives a concerned look at that comment about plutonium. He knows enough about radioactive isotopes to recognize their dangers even though the element hasn't been discovered in his time yet. He carefully settles it onto a flat, stable part of the console and watches Watson curiously. There must be some radio frequency with which the android was accessing this information. He doesn't want to be rude but he'd be very curious to learn more about how he goes about such things at some point.

Watson's query returns with some information about a research lab in New London, and notes that there are only two in existence, and they were fabricated some years back as part of a space program initiative. The project fell through, but the sources couldn't be deactivated so they had been put into storage. Clearly, Moriarty has acquired one somehow, but the locations were never kept secret. They were easily located so that researchers could try to find new uses for them. The other, is kept on the far Western side of New London.

"It's a shame to see research abused like that." He shakes his head, though there's still a levity to the way Lamont speaks. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to accompany the two of you to the facility."

Lamont felt it was obvious that would be the next step. They would need to head off any action from Moriarty, and since they already had one source, he would need another if he intended to attempt the same actions again. Considering the explosion, Lamont feels certain that there will be another attempt to succeed at whatever task Moriarty's set himself to, even if he's never met the man.

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Sherlock nods agreement, a pleased smile across his face. "The more eyes and brains on this case, the better." He already has taken a liking to the other's investigative skills. A much better assistant than Lestrade ever was.

"Watson, bring the car around to the side, we will meet you there and guard the energy orb." The compu-droid goes off to get one of the police cars nearby. Leaving Sherlock with Lamont and the glowing orb.

"If there are only two, Moriarty will be in need of the other one if he is to try again." Sherlock regards the other man before asking his question. "If I may satisfy a personal curiosity. The year where you were before, would it be the 1930's?" Judging that from the cut of his suit, but Sherlock cannot be certain he is correct in his deduction.

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When Watson walks off to retrieve the car, Lamont gives a cursory look around, finding a metal box for them to move the orb inside. He makes a nest of insulated wire to keep it from rolling around and settles it inside. The less hands-on he is with the orb, the less risk to his person.

He doesn't pause in his task while Holmes asks the question and he nods with a friendly smile.

"1935. Quite an impressive deduction for a man who dresses like it's the 1890s." Quid-pro-quo, though Lamont tends to be a bit more lighthearted about his inquiries. Satisfied with his task, he caps the box and stands while removing his gloves and putting them back into a pocket.

"If he tries again, we will want to secure this one, rather than bring it to the site of the other and double his chances of acquiring either." There's a coy smile as he thinks on a rather successful tactic he's used in the past, though it's questionable is a man of Moriarty's ilk would fall as easily for it. It's better to speak his mind though, than hold a potential plan to himself in this case.

"Unless you think there's a chance we could lure him into taking a device we could track." The technology he knew was old compared to this, but Lamont had still managed to plant a bug in a radio system which allowed him to listen in to the plans of his adversary until they caught on that he was too many steps ahead.

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Sherlock looks amused at the comment about his own clothes. "You observe where others do not. I am not easily impressed." He glances down at his long coat and cane. "Nor am I easily taken in by what's termed 'modern fashion'." Just because it was modern did not make it infallible, this Sherlock knew for a fact.

"Might I suggest, as I'm sure you were as well, a substitute energy source?" A decoy would be most effective. Sherlock hunts in the rubble before finding a light fixture and unscrewing the round glass from it's moorings. Watson may be able to make something of it for later.

The car is hovering just outside the broken wall as a woman with a badge hanging around her neck is running up. "Ah, Lestrade. Would you be so good as to take this back to the yard for safekeeping?" He hands her the box as she's obviously angry at him for going in before backup had arrived and letting him know that in so many words. Words that Sherlock does not fancy hearing right now. "Coming, Mr. Cranston?" he asks, stepping into the hover car.

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Lamont nods his approval of Holmes' idea, though he will need to rely on the man's resources to make the idea happen. He could certainly try to make a glass bulb glow, but it will not be the same as the one in his box. He doesn't know what he might have access to, or if he'll even know how to use it. The room with its wrecked computers is impressive enough, and disconnecting a few cables was hardly operating a complex machine.

The female officer amuses Lamont, but only because of the looks she gives Holmes. It honestly pleases him to see a woman serving, she certainly looks the part and since she clearly associates with Holmes, she must be quite capable. With a pleasant doff of his cap and a polite Officer, he follows Holmes and sits in the car where he can see Watson at the wheel. The less he dallies, the less likely that the officer will have a chance to notice he's armed and carrying a permit for a city a thousand miles away and a few centuries expired.

He's not certain what he was expecting for controls, but they're more airplane than car in design. At least the stick, the dash panel is far more simplified and he's almost disappointed it's missing many of the dials and gauges he's used to seeing. He imagines most of that must be controlled by something like the computer he saw earlier, it would be the only explanation in this strange future. He'll need to watch one in action, and fully functional at some point so he can better understand the challenges he'll be up against. As he sits in the back, closely watching their heading and Watson's actions, he finally speaks up.

"Officer Lestrade works with you often?"

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Holmes tents his fingers under his nose in deep thought, his reverie broken by the question. "When it suits my needs. Lestrade's methods leave something to be desired, deliberate at best, but she does help when something needs to be kicked down or shot at."

That is quite unfair to her, Holmes. Without her insistence, you would not be around to help Scotland Yard after all. Watson reminds him as he turns a corner and merges into a line of air traffic.

"Mm, I suppose not," Sherlock conceeds the point. "Ever since the return of Moriarty, Scotland Yard has been in need of my help on more than one occasion."

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"A recurring adversary." Lamont states with a nod. He's not quite been around the 'vigilante' circuit back home to really gain any of those, and there's a certain part of him that's a little glad for it. Still, is speaks volumes to Moriarty's cunning and intellect that he's at large, and been a regular problem for a man like Holmes.

Lamont pauses in his conversation to carefully mind how Watson accomplishes the merging maneuver, and then returns his attention to Holmes.

"Seems to me she has a good measure of foresight to solicit your help." Lamont works regularly with Margo, and though she doesn't run his lab, she's one of the best on his staff and a good friend. He trusts her implicitly, and knows she does the best work. She's clever and spirited, and not afraid of danger when he calls for her. She doesn't know it yet, but in case of something happening to him, he's left the lab to her. At the thought, he wonders how being pulled to the future has affected his own time.

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"Or desperate, depending on how you look at it." Beth Lestrade could be as stubborn as her ancestors had been, but she was the best New Scotland Yard had, in Sherlock's opinion. Not that he would freely give it.

"New London will sleep better if Moriarty was finally put away where he belongs." Sherlock shifts in his seat as if deciding something. "Now, as to you my friend, its debatable that Moriarty had intended on bringing you here. But in the case that it was his plan all along...Watson, can you access any data on one Lamont Cranston from the year 1935?"

Accessing now...

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Lamont looks a little perturbed that Holmes would blatantly ask Watson to research him right there, but in a way it's also polite. Whatever information there is on Lamont, they will both be aware, and also know how much Moriarty might know about him if it was intentional.

Lamont keeps his eyes on the skyway, and an ear to Watson when he finally seems to return, though the whole while he seemed rather undistracted from his task of flying them safely. Quite a feat within itself.

Lamont Cranston, founder and owner of Cranston Research Laboratories. Specializing in chemical research for pharmaceutics, government and early forensic methods. Cranston was also the lead chemist. Hobbies included radio communications and he was a certified pilot. Member of American Chemical Society, and the Manhattan Cobalt Club. Officially listed Forensics Consultant for New York Police with reference as professional witness in multiple cases. Only police report details an unexplained disappearance in 1935, with no signs of foul play or intent to abscond. Presumed dead.

Lamont tears his gaze from the trip to look at Watson with a deep frown, clearly bothered by this news. Whatever Moriarty had done to bring him to the future, had left a scar on the past in the form of his disappearance. His expression darkens as he sits back in his seat at last, crossing his arms as he takes in the news. It doesn't bode well, for him or Moriarty. He's left friends behind and to think about Margo or Vincent worrying while trying to find him, and simultaneously keep his secret, leaves him troubled. He sits with his thoughts, preferring to keep them to himself.

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It does corroborate the man's story and the deductions Sherlock made about him. But it did not shed much light on the mystery itself.

Sherlock looks to the other man, being in the rare position of knowing exactly what he might be thinking at the moment. "Cheer up, Mr. Cranston," he says encouragingly. "There may be hope yet, if we can discover the method you were pulled from time, there may be a way to reverse it." The game was not over yet.

Since there were no obvious or not-so-obvious ties between Cranston and Moriarty, Sherlock can only conclude that the resulting time dilation was not part of his plan. "He may not even know you are here."

ugh short post sorry

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Lamont stays in his pensive state for only a moment longer before nodding. In that short moment he wonders how he might be able to take advantage of the situation to turn it in their favor. If Moriarty doesn't know he was brought here, or is at least unaware of his identity, he might have a card to play. Until then, he simply nods and adopts his usually pleasant nature again with a gentle smile.

"Quite right, Mr. Holmes. We should try to make the best of what's been presented to us. I will be interested to see the state of the next device, and it's protections. If we can keep it from this Moriarty, I would like to study it."

I can do shorter ha.....wait...

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Next device? Watson asks from the driver's seat.

"Of course, Watson. His first attempt failed, there's more than a good chance he will try again." Holmes commends Lamont for deducing that already.