I felt as though I had fallen into a dream. With my eyes tightly shut, I could hear a soft humming, rhythmic and slow. Gingerly I opened my eyes, with some difficulty, trying to adjust to the near darkness of the space. I looked around, cautiously scanning the area, and noticing that the only light in the room was coming from a series of  doors. They were all different in shape, size and color. Each door had a small, wooden, nightstand sized desk or chest next to it. All of the tables were made in different styles, designs and all used different types of wood, to match their respective doors. On every table there was a drawer or cabinet, and on top of each one, was a plain white envelope. I rose unsteadily, legs shaking a bit. I must have hit my head falling down....here was my first thought. But where exactly was here? How had I gotten here? Who am I? I couldn't remember anything before I opened my eyes in this strange place. My confusion and panic began to grow. I wanted to find a way out and I began looking desperately at all of  the doors. They all looked so different, and yet, each one held an inviting appeal. I began to feel a calm come over me, as if something was trying to tell me everything would be alright. The door directly in front of me was a dark midnight blue with golden lettering that read "Enter". I rose and walked towards it, drawn in by the beautiful soft blue glow coming from around it. Standing in front of the glowing entryway, I could hear the faint strains of the violin. I felt at peace. The violin.......something.......I struggled to remember what was so important about it or the sound but couldn't. I looked down at the small table, which was Victorian in style. It had a solid wooden base with very little detail, a simple circular design going up the legs, and a white marble top. I first tried to open the drawer, expecting to find a clue or information inside of it, however it was to no avail. The drawer was firmly locked and in looking around the space, I found no key. I then focused my attentions to the table top. I picked up the envelope, feeling the cool marble slide against my fingers, and opened it. There was a note inside that read;

Greetings Lost One,

Welcome to the hall of doors

Each door will take you to a different place and time.

You will take on any role you choose.

Each choice you make will set you on a path to become either a Hero or Villain.

You will control the outcome of the story.

You must go through at least four of the doors and unlock the secrets of their tables before you will be allowed to enter through the Final Door.

Each door you enter must be completed before you can leave.

Enter at your own risk!

This door leads to Baker St.

Join Sherlock on this latest case.

The handle holds power.

Turn to the right and you will be in modern London.

Turn to the left and Victorian London will be your destination.

The decisions are all yours

Choose wisely!

Use caution!



My mind raced in excitement as I reread the note, written in elegant cursive. Could all of this be true? Do I risk trying the door? Would I turn left or right? Was I too be evil or good? My heart pounded as I tried to reason with myself. I knew I couldn't stay here in this darkness. I searched again and apparently these doors were my only way out. I had nothing to lose. I stepped forward, closed my eyes, placed my hand on the knob of the door and turned.

" Ms.? Oi......you alright?"

Blinking a few times my eyes began to adjust to the brightness of sunlight. When I focused, once again, I could see I was sitting in a cab with the cabbie staring at me strangely.

"Yes.......yes I am. Please forgive my rudeness sir. I must have dozed off for a moment," I answered in a surprisingly cultured British accent. I must be British, I thought smiling to myself as I stepped out of the cab. I felt a gentle breeze blow and in the whisper of the wind I thought I could hear it saying NO. I looked around quickly to see if someone had leaned in and whispered to me but I saw no one. I faced the cabbie again, asking how much he was owed. I glanced down and saw that I was now clutching a medium sized purse. I reached inside and searched for the appropriate fare. I was unsure where the purse had come from, how the money had come to be there and still had no idea what was going on. Forgetting my confusion for the moment,  I took out the pounds and paid him. As he drove off, I turned and saw I was standing before the same door I had gone through in that dark hall. I looked down at myself to see I was no longer in the stark white hospital scrubs I had been wearing and was now dressed in a long, pretty navy blue sundress with short sleeves and a gold chevron design. I carried a blue and gold purse and wore golden ballet flats. I searched further inside the handbag, but there was no ID to help me identify who I was. I closed my bag and ran my hands from my waist, down my sides, all the way to nearly the bottom of the dress, stopping at my thighs. This suits me, I thought happily to myself. Looking up, I refocused my attentions on the door. I took a deep breath and then approached the entryway. Nervously, I knocked twice and the blue door swung open. Standing there was a kindly looking older woman, who smiled warmly at me.

"It's about time you showed up dear. The boys have been expecting you," she said as she ushered me inside and directed me to the stairs. The hall we stood in was dark indeed, as there was only one small window next to the front entrance. I could smell the warm, rich aroma of vanilla and baking. Peeking around the corner, I glanced at a tray of fresh scones sitting temptingly on the table. I turned back to the staircase, slowly making my assent into the unknown. Soon the warm, homey, baking smells were replaced by the stench of acidic chemicals and gunpowder. As I reached the top of the steps, I was just about to turn the corner, when I nearly ran into a man of average height, with slightly graying brown hair. He wore a short sleeved button up shirt and khaki pants that were both pristinely ironed.  The expression on his face was serious, only becoming startled when he saw me.

"Oh......hello," he said in surprise. "I was just on my way to ask Mrs. Hudson if you had arrived yet. Still waiting on Lestrade to show up, but you know how his job can be. Well, you better go in. Oh and by the way, I'd try to stay pretty quiet in there if I were you. He's been brooding all morning." I nodded and he passed me to go downstairs.

As I entered the room, the acrid odor and gunpowder smell hung heavily in the air. I looked around and saw no one. I turned to the right and saw the stacks of papers, case work, and clues. I continued to scan the room while listening to the faint sound of rushing traffic outside through the closed windows. Looking down, I finally saw him, laying on the couch near the back wall. He lay there, eyes closed and in watching his chest rise and fall, it seemed as if he was barely breathing. His pale skin appeared nearly translucent in the darkness of the room and against his mess of brown curls. I said nothing. I didn't dare move or breathe. This wasn't a dream. I was really here, at 221 B Baker St! My heart pounded and I heard him inhale sharply.

"So you've finally decided to show up, " he murmured slowly and distinctly, almost like a man struggling to come out of a deep sleep. His eyes opened with a surprising quickness, revealing his ice blue irises. Before I could utter a word, he shot up from the Chesterfield sofa and stood in front of me.

"Dare I ask how you even knew I was in the room?"

"Foot pattern, toe to heel revealing a background in dance, creaking floorboards, light though it was, indicating that you walk on your toes often, another practice from years of ballet. There were no heel taps or sounds, which indicated that you were wearing flat shoes, as you normally do when not working and of course, there was the dead give away of your signature vanilla perfume."

I blinked in disbelief.

"Well.......yes I..." was all I got out.

"Not important how I knew. What's important is that you are here now." He rushed past me towards the hallway and yelled downstairs.

"Watson! Where is Lestrade!"

"He's just arrived," Watson answered calmly as he and a flustered looking man entered. Sherlock had turned from the door and hurried into the kitchen where he stood staring at a box wrapped in brown butcher paper. It was rather large and appeared slightly wet on the bottom. I turned back to the door to get a better look at the man. He was wrinkled, as I supposed most detectives are, with a growing 5 o'clock shadow that made him ruggedly handsome. His eyes were brown, not dull and lifeless, but alert and searching. You could tell he had some.......knowledge about him. Not brilliant like Sherlock, but with a street smarts that gave him an air of astuteness. At the moment he wore a look of extreme annoyance, making it clear he had not wanted to come.

"This had better be good," he said in an irritated tone. "You have no idea the trouble I had to..."

"Believe me Lestrade. This will be of great interest to you," Sherlock said stroking the top of the large box in an absent minded manner. He then turned and left the room. Lestrade rolled his eyes in exasperation before glancing in my direction, noticing me for the first time. He did a double take and I watched a slow smile spread across his face.

"Bella. Always a pleasure. Wonderful to see you again. Haven't seen you around Baker St. since that vanishing art case we worked together." I returned his smile with my own and a slight nod of my head. The name Bella. It was the first time I'd heard any name. Is this who I am, I wondered. He flushed, rather unexpectedly, and then turned back angrily to John.

"What's this all about Watson?"

"I haven't a clue," Watson shrugged as he walked over to the table where the box sat. He went slowly around the table carefully examining the package until Sherlock burst back into the room.

"Of course you don't! I've revealed nothing as of yet," Sherlock announced loudly as he re-entered the room holding two new boxes. He placed both of them carefully on the table.

"What the devil is going on here Sherlock? If this is one of your....," Lestrade growled.

"If you spent more time listening than you do talking Lestrade, then maybe, just maybe, you'd learn something," Sherlock interrupted Lestrade rudely. He then paused and looked pointedly at each of us before he spoke again.

"Five days ago this box arrived," he said tapping the smallest of the three. It was old and authentic looking, made of dark, shiny wood that appeared as though it had been polished often. The brass fixtures were decorated with an almost vine like pattern encircling the box, with a flower on the top of the lid.

"The second one came three days ago." This box was jet black and oriental in style. On the sides there were painted pictures of an ancient Chinese court drawn in gold and decorated in soapstone and mother of pearl. The women's dresses were painted in delicate pastel colors, emulating an eternal spring. Their faces were painted so well they were almost life like. The clean, lacquered finish made it shine, even in the dim light. I could have stared at the scene for hours but Sherlock drew my attention away, as he moved the largest box into my line of sight.

"This last package arrived yesterday," Sherlock finished, tapping the top of the largest box. He tore back the brown wrapping to reveal an ornate wooden chest. It was covered in lavish brass paneling revealing a garden scene. Beautiful, statuesque women stood frozen in time, in momentary splendor. Two were smelling flowers, possibly laughing at some unknown  joke. One seemed as if she were sitting in quiet reflection, perhaps thinking of her love for a young man. The last two women sat contentedly among  the grass and flowers, happily petting a lamb. I was trying to decide which of the three boxes intrigued me more, when Sherlock, unceremoniously, flipped the latch on the first box and opened it slowly. At first I thought it was fake, but when the slight stench of decomposition began to fill the air, it made it clear that the finger inside was all too real. My eyes widened in shock but I made no sound. The second box contained a foot, cut off at the ankle, sickly and dark grey in color. The smell was beginning to grow worse and my head began to swim, as feelings of nausea started to set in. I gritted my teeth hard, forcing myself to distract my mind with thoughts of other things and not make a mess on the table. Sadly, with my head blank as it was, there was not much else I could focus on. The last of the boxes of horror, I was in no way prepared for. Inside was a jar that contained a woman's head swimming in formaldehyde. It had a sickly yellow hue and the hair floated around inside the jar like a mass of wriggling brown snakes. One of her eyes was open, too swollen to close, showing us the cornflower blue of her iris. You could see, even through the distortions of liquid and glass, the horror and terror she must have endured before she met her grisly ending. Bruises and swelling were all around her temples and eyes shown in vivid colors of green, black, purple and blue.

"Good God," Lestrade gasped in horror. Only Watson went nearer to the body parts, as if intrigued by the carnage. The formaldehyde mixed with the smells of the decomposing flesh made my stomach do back flips and I knew I needed an escape. My legs felt weak, as if they had been turned into rubber. I knew I needed to get out of there and fast! I did not want to look foolish in front of them all, especially Sherlock. I leaned heavily on the table hoping to steady myself, not daring to speak. Lestrade glanced my way and we made eye contact. He, must have seen the desperation in my eyes, for he gave me a gentle smile of understanding before he spoke.

"Isabella, would you mind popping downstairs to see if Mrs. Hudson has tea ready. After this I sure could do with a cuppa." I nodded slowly and carefully made my way from the room. I could hear Sherlock raise his voice at Lestrade in annoyance.

"Why did you send her from the room? I needed her to see...."

"For God's sake man! The poor thing looked as if she was going to be sick everywhere or faint at any moment. Not all have quite your stomach for this sort of thing, Sherlock. It isn't as though she sees things of this nature on a daily basis. And I only sent her downstairs not to bloody Essex!" All I heard was Sherlock snort before I finally reached the bottom stair and went into the kitchen. I didn't care about what he thought at that moment. All I cared about was getting away from the horrific smell! I just wanted to make it into the kitchen to sit, without vomiting.

"Almost done dear. I do hope you... Oh my!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed as she saw my face. " you look as if you've seen a ghost. Sit girl, sit!" She gently pushed me down, for which I was grateful and put a cup of chamomile tea in my hands. After a few sips, I was thankful that I was able to keep the tea down. My nerves began to settle as I breathed deeply the warm baking scents and vanilla. Vanilla...... I wasn't sure what it was but, for some reason I felt drawn to it and soothed by it. Did I like it before I came here? I wasn't sure. All I knew was if I didn't like it then, I certainly did now.

After about five minutes Lestrade appeared at the kitchen door sheepishly.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson. Might I steal Bella and the tea tray away from you." I smiled and thanked Mrs. Hudson before I rose, picked up the tray and followed him. Half way up the stairs, Lestrade stopped and said in a low voice,

"Sorry you had to go through all that. The smell of death is never something you can get accustom to."

"Thank you detective, I'm quite alright now. This isn't the first surprise our dear Sherlock has sprung on us. I have much more strength than what I exhibited in there," I said resolutely tossing my hair. He gave me a tight-lipped smile.

"Good. Something is telling me you're going to need it."

As we walked back into the room, I could see John had closed the boxes and Sherlock was pacing, impatiently, waiting for us to return.

"Well, now that that unnecessary pause is over, perhaps we will be able to continue without any further interruptions," he said turning to face the cases of death once more. "What do you notice about these chests," he asked as he stared intently at the smallest coffer. No one spoke for a moment, each of us taking the time to truly study the boxes.

"They are all wooden," Lestrade said breaking the silence and causing Sherlock to sigh heavily and roll his eyes.

"Watson an educated guess if you please," Sherlock said. Lestrade's face grew red in embarrassment as he sputtered indignantly. I cast my eyes downward, trying not to smile in amusement. Watson walked around the table, staring deliberately at each coffer.

"Each is hand crafted and extremely ornate."

"More," shouted Sherlock as he turned to the stacks of case work and papers and began to root through them all. John and Lestrade began to talk about the differences of the boxes but something was bothering me. I stared at the three chests intently.

"They all look like they could, perhaps be Victorian or at least Victorian inspired," I muttered quietly to myself. In a mere flash, I suddenly recalled a show, one I had possibly seen long ago. It was based on decorating with Victorian furniture and artifacts. It was so clear to me. I feel that.....maybe.....I used to like Victorian things, I thought to myself but, to be honest, I still wasn't quite sure. For some reason I was having such a strong emotional reaction to these boxes that I felt the need to struggle even harder to make something, ANYTHING, come to mind. If only I could remember. Sherlock had stopped pacing and searching through stacks of papers and was now looking directly at me, as Lestrade and Watson continued talking.

"Watson, Lestrade shut up...please," he said loudly, adding the "please" as a complete afterthought. He came close to me, so close I could smell the gunpowder wafting from his clothes.

"What did you say," he asked pointedly

" I.......ummmm......." My nerves got the better of me and I began to stammer.

"Come now! Don't feign total stupidity now, although I know some of it you can't exactly help it's just who you are. Now, what did you say?" I gathered myself together and stood as tall as my 5'4 frame would allow me.

"I said the boxes all look Victorian or at least Victorian inspired. The styles, shapes and designs of  every single one of these chests, depict that era. Everything, down to even the hinges on these two," I pointed to the smallest and largest boxes "every last little detail points directly to that time period. During the Victorian period, design was riddled with a revamp of natural and lace inspired designs. These you can clearly see on the small box with the vines etched into the hinges and flower adorning the box top. To add to that, the empire was expanding into the far east and wanted anything eastern they could find, thus this box with Chinese design. Although based on its newness I would guess this one was bought and made more recently  than the other two. Finally, the other popular revival came from Greek and Egyptian  influences. This is why the wooden box is overlaid bronze to give it a more ancient appearance. Even the figures on it depict Ancient Greece in their actions. All of them in nature, all women and everyone having an air of serenity." I looked around at Watson and Lestrade's faces as they stared at me open mouthed and wide-eyed. I had surprised everyone, but no one was more surprised than I was. I had absolutely no idea exactly how I knew this or what had triggered this strange memory, but based on the almost respectful way Sherlock looked at me I was glad it had.

"Well...yes. Bravo, you're not entirely stupid." He turned quickly from me and went back to his search. I shook my head and grinned, as I went over to the tea and poured two cups for Watson and Lestrade. It was apparent, from the way Sherlock was racing around the room that he was not interested in having any tea. The smell of decay still permeated the air and my stomach began to grow queasy again. I went to crack the window and allow a fresher breeze to drive the smell of death from the room.

"I'll need to call for a team to come out here. Can't bloody believe this. All of the work on my desk and now random body parts," Lestrade muttered.

John nodded and quietly sipped his tea as Sherlock whizzed around the room creating a whirlwind of mess in his wake.

"Ummmm Sherlock......what on earth are you looking for?" John asked as he almost lost his tea,to Sherlock's frenzied search, for the second time.

"Ah ha!" Sherlock exclaimed thrusting a newspaper clipping straight into John's face.

"Henrietta Wheeler Missing?"  John read from the headline.

"Name isn't important. Look at the photograph," Sherlock commanded. We passed the paper around, searching for the clue that was so obvious to Sherlock, but it eluded us, as we saw nothing.

"The ring!" Sherlock exclaimed impatiently. He went straight to the small box that held the finger, opened it and removed a ring, tossing it at John.

"What are you doing man?" Lestrade exclaimed. "You could be destroying key evidence right now! Why would...."

"Lestrade you should know me better than that! I checked each box thoroughly when it arrived. They had all been wiped clean of any prints. No physical evidence remains to connect any of this to a specific killer. You know me well enough to be assured that I am thorough in all my investigating," Sherlock stated as he came over to Watson's side to gaze at the ring. Watson held the ring up to the light and then to the picture in the newspaper.

"It certainly appears similar. Can you be truly sure just from the slightly grainy photograph?"

"Both stones are emerald cut diamond solitaires set in a white gold ring. Both have nicks near the base of the stone. There should be an engraving on the inside of the ring that reads 'Diamonds are a girls best friend' a clear indication that this was a gift she bought for herself."  Sherlock turned his back to us and scoured other piles. I watched him walk away in astonishment. Watson looked on the inside of the ring and nodded.

"It's there," he said handing the ring to Lestrade who also looked inside to confirm the obvious, that Sherlock was right. Holding the ring in his hand, Lestrade glanced in my direction and smiled again. His eyes were soft and compassionate as he looked at me. He rose to come over, his mouth poised to speak, when at that moment Sherlock tossed two newspapers. They flew through the air in Lestrade's direction. Deftly, Lestrade caught them and scanned the front page of the second paper. His face grew hard and he dropped the other newspaper he had caught as he read the headline.

"This article is about the disappearance of Alexa Romanov-Nelson," Lestrade's eyes grew big and he dropped onto the couch heavily. I took the paper from his hand and scanned through it. The woman's face looked strangely familiar, though I didn't feel anything other than a slight recognition. It was almost as though I'd seen her on the street or in line at a store and exchanged pleasantries before we both went our separate ways.

"Who is she," Watson asked taking the paper from my hands.

"She's the wife of cabinet member Henry Nelson and daughter of Sergei Romanov, a Russian attaché. She's been missing for almost three weeks. This was the exact reason I was so reluctant to leave headquarters. Her case has been top priority. Both her father and husband have called non-stop, everyday demanding results."

"Didn't you think her disappearance might have had something to do with her father's 'underground' connections?" John asked. Lestrade shook his head.

" We have been looking at every angle and so far have turned up nothing in regards to that. From what we were able to learn, her father kept her and the rest of his family out of any of his....dealings. If...if this IS her...."

Sherlock scoffed. He marched over to the table and pulled the jar with the head out of the large box. He released it onto the table with a loud thump.

"Don't be dense Lestrade! Of course it's her."

Lestrade blinked dumbly at Sherlock, who in turn let out an exasperated sigh as he went over to the jar and practically shoved it into Lestrade’s face.

"Even you can't be stupid enough not to see the obvious. Moles in the corner of her mouth and eye. They are real or they would have been washed away by the formaldehyde. She has a hairline thin scar on the upper left side of her lip, old injury probably from childhood play, and the undeniable flower pattern in the blue of her iris. Come on Lestrade it can't be anyone else." Lestrade stared at the head in sad disbelief.

"Whoever did this needs to hope that we find them before her father gets a hold of them," Lestrade said shaking his head, pick up his phone and leaving the room to make a call into, I assumed, the morgue and forensics. Sherlock turned, set the jar back on the table, quickly sat in his favorite chair and closed his eyes. Rhythmically he tapped his fingers together in deep thought. I looked down on the floor, at the third article that had been forgotten and gasped at what I saw. I picked it up and read.

"Wait! Justine McKinnon is missing as well?" I asked in a surprise I didn't quite understand. I knew I had never heard that name before, for some reason my subconscious was making that abundantly clear. But the picture of Justine's face was so familiar. I knew something was wrong by the way my heart raced in worry and fear.

"You know her?" Lestrade asked me.

"Yes! Very well in fact,” I began slowly, the words simply tumbling from my mouth. “She..........we are best friends. I thought she had gone out of town with her boyfriend. We were supposed to be working on a new show together. She..........no....no this can't be her," I whispered slumping down on the couch. I felt so forlorn. It didn't occur to me at that time to question my feelings or to wonder how I knew any of the things I had just said. All I knew and was concerned with, was the fear I now felt for this poor woman. John came over and knelt before me.

"We don't know that it's her Bella," he said gently. Sherlock sniffed loudly but before he could speak, Lestrade cleared his throat as he reentered the room.

"I've called this in. Forensics should be here momentarily." We waited in near silence. I was too lost and confused to speak. Who was I and why was I feeling this deeply for Justine? How were we connected?  Why was I this worried and fearful? I had said she was my best friend and now based on the fear that gripped my heart I wondered how much truth there was to that statement. My mind was so clouded with questions that I didn't even hear Watson and Lestrade conversing, or take notice when the forensic team arrived.

When they finally showed up, the team swiftly did their job, gathered evidence and left, taking everything with them.

"We should have the results of the DNA in 24 hours detective. We'll put a rush on it," said one of the forensic experts. Lestrade simply nodded as they continued to collect the body parts and any evidence left on the boxes. Sherlock made them promise to return the chests, minus their content, in the exact manner in which they left and made John take, what seemed to be, hundreds of pictures of all of the evidence. After things calmed down Lestrade took his leave and Sherlock grabbed his coat.

"Hold on. Where are you off too?" I inquired, wondering why I'd been brought here in the first place. Was this the end of the adventure? No, no it couldn't be I reasoned with myself.

"Oh yes that's right....you're still here aren't you? John give her the letter and explain. I'll be back later," and with that he was gone. I looked at Watson, who looked back at me sheepishly.

"Sorry about that but you know how he can be. Here," he apologized as he handed me a white gold embossed envelope. I opened it and inside was an invitation to a ball.

"Sherlock is on a few other pressing cases. Queen, country and all that. I'm sure you understand. Alexa's father came a few days ago and asked Sherlock for his help, which he promised that he would give. That's where you come in. He sees something in you Bella, so, he wants you to do some of the major investigating and footwork on your own to save him the time so he can focus on........other pressing matters. Don't worry, Lestrade and I will assist you and of course we will be reporting all of our findings to Sherlock. Be sure to always text us and let us know immediately of any thing you might discover. Your first order of business will be to attend this ball. Lord and Lady Davis-Smith will be having their annual charity ball this weekend. As you well know, Justine is their only daughter. Because of their position it's a well known fact they never speak to police, always choosing to handle any legal issues through their solicitor. Sherlock was hoping that with your family connections, that you could perchance learn something about Justine's movements and possible whereabouts from them." I looked down in dismay as  I wondered what he meant by "family connections." How can I know these people and I don't even know who I am yet? However when I thought of Justine, my anxiety spiked a bit making me feel as though, even if I didn't truly know them, I needed to attend and find out about her. I read the invitation and saw it was fancy dress. Something about the idea of dressing up appealed to me and I smiled slowly.

"No, it won't be a problem at all."