Following Sherlock's instructions, Crank carefully lowers Simone to a small cot in one corner of the warehouse. He kneels beside her and clasps one of her trembling hands. Simone smiles up at him and places a hand on his chest. Crank removes her hand from his chest and caresses it tenderly, kissing the palm.

“You must eat something,” Crank insists.

Worry is etched on Crank's brow, and he examines Simone's face with wary eyes. A deep sense of guilt causes him to lower his voice.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize how weak you were becoming," Crank says.

Simone shakes her head and continues to smile. The last thing she wants to be is a burden.

“It’s not your fault, Crank. I should have said something sooner,” Simone reassures him. “I didn’t think it was that bad. So, I didn't want to worry you. You’ve done so much for me already. For all of us. Watching over me when I was too drunk to know my own name. Saving my life. Braving a dust storm to find us some water. Building that prosthesis for Paul. I didn’t want to put you at risk again. Not for me.”

Crank kisses Simone’s hand before placing it gently on her stomach and rising to his feet. Sherlock Holmes meets him halfway, with a plate of biscuits and a piping hot cup of tea. He studies the disguise on Crank’s face very carefully as he passes him the plate.

“That disguise is quite good,” Sherlock intones.

A smile builds on the detective's lips, and his eyebrows arch almost menacingly. He retrieves a wooden smoking pipe from his front pocket and taps it against his chin.

“However, the rest of your body betrays you," Sherlock continues. "Based on the coloration and texture of your epithelium...I surmise you are of a classification similar to that of the American Alligator…Alligator mississippiensis… A descendant of the ancient crocodylomorph. Furthermore, I'm certain that a thorough examination of your—”

“While that is very interesting…,” Crank interrupts. “I’d like to take this plate of food to my friend now. We can discuss the intricacies of my origins later. Much later."

With that, his final word, Crank turns on his heels with the plate of food. Were he not wearing a disguise, his mandibles would be clicking furiously with his agitation. Yet another irritating ooman to deal with.

How he wishes to collect this ooman’s skull. If only to keep its noisy tongue from wagging. He has never claimed the head of a detective. It would look good mounted on a pedestal.

Crank takes a knee beside Simone and hands her the plate of food. Simone devours what is on her plate with a hunger Crank would have never believed possible. Only during certain times, do females eat so much--so quickly. Crank looks Simone over from head to toe, with one arched faux-human eyebrow.

When Simone is finished eating, she uses a slender finger to wipe the remaining jam from a small container. Noticing Crank's careful observation, Simone peers at him sheepishly.

“Sorry,” she says. “I was hungry.”

“I can see that,” Crank says and reaches for the plate. “Would you like more?”

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Simone firmly grips the hand withdrawing the plate. Crank eyes her questioningly.

“No,” Simone whispers. “We should save what we have. But, thank you anyway.”

Crank nods and bends forward to kiss her forehead. Paul Bunyan chooses this moment to rejoin them. He plops down about a foot from Crank, on a bale of hay, and stares at the young yautja.

“So, have you got anything useful out of the strange Englishman over there?” Paul inquires.

“Useful? No,” Crank admits. “Stupid…Most certainly.”

Across the room, Sherlock straightens and places a hand on his hip.

“I’ll beg your pardon?” Sherlock exclaims with righteous indignation. “I will have you know that I am one of the most learned men in all of Europe.”

Sherlock pronounces the word: ‘learned’ like ‘Learn-Ed’. Paul and Crank exchange a puzzled look, wondering how in the world he heard their hushed voices from clear across the room.

“Intelligence is not measured by how much you know…But how much you can derive, decipher, and comprehend about your environment. For instance…” Sherlock continues. “I can deduce…Simply by your treatment of the young lady…That you are both not only romantically involved…But have already formed very strong love attachments.”

Sherlock’s observations, while not exactly Earth-shattering, cause Crank and Simone to stare at him in utter shock. Sherlock smiles slyly and continues his speech, twirling a large stick in the air as he approaches.

“I can further deduce…From your rigid posture. That you, my reptilian friend…Would like nothing more than to follow your ancient traditions…And mount my insolent head on a wall. Would I be correct in my deductions?” Sherlock says, planting the stick firmly on the floor and leaning upon it.

Crank narrows his eyes dangerously and growls. This is enough answer for Sherlock, who turns on his heels and strolls away. Crank watches Sherlock go with murderous thoughts coursing through his brain.

Flopping down on an arranged collection of hay bales, Sherlock lies down on his back. The gloating detective folds one leg over the other, and rests both hands behind his head. He glances at the rest of the group, who are still staring at him. Removing one hand from beneath his head, Sherlock plucks a straw from the bale directly under his back and places it in the corner of his mouth. Afterwards, he shoves the hand back underneath his head and closes both eyes. A satisfied smile dances across his lips.

“Mr. Holmes,” Simone begins. “How did you get here? It’s not exactly a hop, skip, and jump across the pond?”

Sherlock’s eyes remain shut as he answers, chewing the end of the straw intermittently.

“That…I do not know. One moment I was in a battle to the death with my arch-nemesis, Professor Moriarty. The next moment, I was plummeting over a waterfall. Then, I woke up here. Besides Jane…You three, that vile goat, and that blue ox…Are the first signs of life I’ve seen in over seven years.”

Paul Bunyan’s eyes widen and he leans forward on his bale of hay. His heart nearly beats out of his chest with excitement.

“Jane? Mr. Holmes, who’s Jane?” Paul asks. He's sure he already knows the answer.

“Oh…Jane? Calamity Jane. She’s in charge of the stagecoach which runs through here every three weeks or so. In fact, she’s due in four days. She brings me supplies from the ghost towns along her route. A few bags of flour here, some lard or vegetable shortening there, dried goods, even a pouch of opium a few times. Great stuff that opium.” Sherlock says with no small measure of pride.

Holmes continues chewing on the straw in his mouth without looking at his guests. A pleasant smile is cemented on the famous detective's lips.

Paul Bunyan rises to his feet, a pained expression on his face. Readjusting, to put limited weight on his prosthesis, Paul strides out of the warehouse without saying a word. Crank leans close to Simone and whispers into her ear.

“I know a Jane as well, Simone,” Crank whispers. “The woman who dropped me off at the diner said her name was Jane Calamity. Do you think there’s a connection?”

Simone bites down on her lip as she tries to think of what this could all mean. She shakes her head and meets Crank’s gaze.

“I’m sure there is,” Simone says. “But...I’ll be damned if I know what it is!”

Across the room, Sherlock Holmes’ cryptic smile grows even larger.