Everything was fine until Sherlock showed up for tea.
Penelope Wilde has worked hard to be normal. With an IQ off the charts, her mother forces her to dampen her genius throughout school to avoid unwanted scrutiny. In time it becomes a normal way of life until a man shows up in her living room proclaiming himself to not only be her father, but also the fictional, ingenious character of Sherlock Holmes. Oh and one more thing, he claims to be a time traveler.
Someone has some explaining to do.
Soon Penelope is plunged into her father’s bizarre yet brilliant world where she’s forced to give up her way of life and embrace the danger and intrigue that are her birthright in order to claim her father’s empire as her own. However, you can’t just thrust a girl into high stakes time travel. First, she has to be trained. With the enigmatic John Watson in the picture, Penelope is confused, bruised, enlightened, and pushed to her limit as she tries to rectify the world she once knew with the one she now belongs to.
But Daddy Dearest has another bomb to drop. Due to an error of epic magnitude with an experimental serum, Watson, and everyone in her genetic line is cursed with immortality. And someone wants that serum. Bad.
Penelope has her hands full and, even with immortality on her side, time is running out.
I smiled to myself. He was a handsome, adorable intellect with the body of Bruce Lee. I could work with that. I spied a door off to the left of the living room and walked over to it. I cracked it open and saw a prone figure lying on a large bed in the middle of the room. Not for the first time, I hoped Watson wasn’t lying in wait for someone to attack him. That would be very bad for my continued existence. I crept over to him and put a hand on his bare shoulder. He lay on his stomach, one arm over the side of the bed and his face buried in the pillow. His shoulders rose and fell and I breathed a sigh of relief. He was alive.
That was good. I tried to shake him awake, but there was no movement or stirring. I leaned over, and whispered, “Wake up.”
Nothing. I was apprehensive about using the syringe, especially since I had no idea what was in it, but I figured Watson wouldn’t have given it to me if he didn’t trust the contents. I pulled it out of my pocket, shuddered when I saw, again, how big it was, and uncapped it. I turned on the lamp on his nightstand so I could see better and hovered over Watson, my heart beating about a thousand miles per hour. I really, really, really didn’t want to stick him with this. But I also really, really wanted to live.
Remembering Watson’s instructions, I slid the blanket down to Watson’s ankles and stared at his delicious rear end, covered only in a pair of green cotton pajama pants.
Maybe he did this to me on purpose and he was playing dead. I poked him again with a finger.
Bree Lawrence is a pseudonym for an award-winning, multi-published author. She loves good food and hates artificial banana flavoring. She makes her home with a guy she likes, three kids she doesn’t always understand and a dachshund who likes belly rubs.