When Sherlock Holmes Discovered the U.S.S. Enterprise

I was intrigued by Geraldine Brooks' choice of taking a classic, although somewhat blank character and putting them in a completely different genre from whence they came. Why not just create a brand new character? I decided to take a somewhat liberal cue from author Geraldine Brooks, and put one of my favorite characters, Sherlock Holmes, into one of my favorite settings, the starship Enterprise. (This will be 1701-D, commanded by Captain Picard, not Captain Kirk.)

I know it's a far cry from what Brooks did, but I liked the idea of filling in the blanks for a character that never really got to have their say. Sherlock Holmes stories were a part of Trek canon. The android Data frequently used the holodeck to play the role of Sherlock Holmes in a simulated 19^th century London. HInted at as well, first in, "Undiscovered Country" is the notion that Spock and Holmes are intertwined in a more...interesting way. So this is not an origianl idea.

The stories were there, as was Dr. Moriarty, but Holmes himself was always played by Data and never got to participate. Ever since I was a child, I wondered how it would've gone for him, and taking a cue from the novel, "March" I decided to stop waiting and just work it out for myself.

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It only took Holmes a matter of mere minutes to realize that he was not at all in London. Yes, it was 221 Baker Street and indeed, the view from his apartment window showed those old familiar streets. The clip clop of horses' hooves could be heard and a delicate frost had formed around the window panes. But using his brilliant powers of deduction, it only took him a few minutes after he woke to create a hypothetical scenario with which to experiment.

It all started when Holmes noticed that this was a day that felt remarkably similar to one he had experienced years before, the day of his first meeting with Dr. Watson in fact, he hypothesized something aloud to himself, "What if life is indeed cyclical, perhaps performed in some manner of routine? Even Shakespeare himself said, 'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.'"

After lighting a pipe and spending only an hour pacing in thought and running a few simple tests, he had discovered an invisible doorway leading to a mysterious corridor, on what he could only conclude to be some type of giant military machine. When he encountered two of her officers in this corridor, he was asked some questions, escorted away and told to wait. Just before the officers left him, they touched a symbol on their left breast and spoke to the air, which then spoke back. A sophisticated communication system of some form.

Holmes now stood in what appeared to be some kind of meeting room. There was a long table and many chairs, the décor was positively Spartan, beige carpeted floors and walls. But then, there was the view from the long thin window running the length of the room. It was the night sky, but not as Holmes had ever seen it before. There was depth and dimension, as if he were suspended in the very sky above.

Holmes was reminded of a cheap cabaret he had once chased a thief into at the tail end of one of his famous investigations. The theater was small and dark, and on the creaking wooden stage, there sat a portly lady songstress, perched on a wooden cutout of a waning moon. At the time, he thought it a tacky and preposterous display. He smirked, seeing his own hawk-like expression in the reflected glass window. Just then, a whooshing sound, one he heard for the first time when he had cracked the code of this living illusion. It was the sound of a door opening. Holmes turned to greet the strangers.

"Mr. Holmes," said a tall bald man with an English accent as he extended a hand, "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." Holmes glanced at the man's hand and extended his own for a firm shake.

"A fellow Englishmen, I trust I am not too far from the Queen's country after all." Holmes kept his signature cool, but his mind was working a mile a minute. Faster than anyone could discern underneath his icy pallor and steely gray eyes. Before him stood the distinguished looking Englishman, who was most definitely the head in some militaristic regime. Holmes could deduce this by the small circular buttons on his uniform's collar. He had more than the two people with him. Also by the fact that the two people who accompanied him stood just behind him, in a mute symbol of respect.

One was a woman in a purple uniform with long dark hair, who seemed to be assessing him as much as he was scanning them for details. The other was something like a man, appearing entirely human apart from his deformed ears that drew into a sharp point and a strange way of wearing his dark straight hair, short with a blunt edge across the forehead.

"Indeed, you are very far from London Mr. Holmes. My name is Captain Picard, this is Ambassador Spock and Counselor Deanna Troi. I'll be happy to explain everything to you. Please, have a seat." The Captain gestured toward a chair with strength and reason and seemed to be perfectly calm. Holmes however, was not. He was not panicked; it was not in his nature to lose control in any way. But he was excited. His eyes were beginning to light, the way they did anytime he was presented with an unsolvable problem. He knew that whatever details were about to follow, they would surely be fascinating and challenge him beyond any problem Dr. Moriarty himself could ever produce. If only Watson could be here to document the occasion. Everyone took a seat.

Holmes didn't waste a moment as he settled in his chair, "I'm grateful for the hospitality Captain, but your explanations won't be necessary." The Captain looked puzzled and the other two simply looked on, Counselor Troi looked almost amused and the one they called Spock did not seem to be feeling anything at all. "I've worked up quite a hypothesis, and the events leading up until this moment have told me all that I need to know. Would you like me to explain?"

Before the Captain could speak, Spock began to talk. "Mr. Holmes, your reputation precedes you. Your intellect is well-known to all of us, but in particular to me. What you may not have discerned for yourself is that I am, in effect, your descendent or rather, a descendent of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, on my mother's side. Perhaps this phrase will seem familiar to you, "If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains however improbable, must be the truth."

For only the second time in his life, Holmes was completely taken aback. Not since he had been bested by that most remarkable lady, Irene Adler, had he felt so utterly confounded. Holmes could only muster two questions, "How on Earth, if you'll pardon the expression, can that be possible?" and "who is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?"