Now There's Drama

Epilogue

Three years later...

Marc held out his passport for customs at Heathrow airport, to stamp it before he moved forward. After a twenty-two hour flight he was planning to crash at the closest youth hostel.

Turning his phone on, the screen lit up simultaneously blinding him, the ping of received a text message went off, it was from an unknown number.

221B Baker Street :)

Another mystery, coming to London was a risk, mystery followed Christina-Alenka Claythorne and he'd carefully avoided all types of mystery for the last six months.

Wheeling his bag out of the airport, he hailed a taxi and climbed in directing them towards Baker Street. Rubbing his eyes, he checked the message, trying to work out the number.

After knocking his head against the window of the taxi, in a vain attempt to sleep, the driver stopped leaving Marc to pay his fare before climbing out and taking his bags out of the boot.

I really need to stop doing things text messages tell me to do, he thought, pulling up the handle on his bag and standing there fidgeting in an attempt to stay awake. Tourists pushed him from left and right in an attempt to get in the line for the Sherlock Holmes Museum. Maybe he'd come back later.

"Marc!"

That voice he'd know anywhere even if it had the tint of an English accent. Stifling a yawn, he turned around to find Christie dressed as a 19th century maid running at him. She launched at him and he caught her in his arms. Laughing as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I can't believe you're here. It feels like forever since I've seen you," she said.

"It's only been six months, Christie. Why are you dressed so...Regency-like?"

"I work here as a tour guide three days a week."

"I thought you were a private detective."

"Not officially but I do that on the side from uni. Criminology's great but I still want to be out there while I can. I've signed up for a forensic psych class purely because it reminded me of you."

"Yeah, I did that last semester."

"I know and as much as I hate counsellors you'll be a good one...If you put me down, I'll get changed and you can come crash at my apartment."

Marc put her down and watched as she gathered up her skirts and ran down the stairs and into the gift shop. Nobody could ever compare to Christie Claythorne.

Christie ran back out, her long blonde hair flying behind her, hitting her back. She pulled it around her shoulder as she ground to a halt. It travelled down to her stomach.

"You've changed so much," he said, unable to take his eyes off her.

"Not that much," she protested.

"Well your hair's grown so long, you wear heeled boots now and at the moment you look like Chrissie Amphlett threw up on you."

Christie put an arm around his neck pulling him into a headlock. "Come here you psycho, give me something to carry."

Marc shrugged off his backpack and handed it to her, she put it on, before he could change his mind and protest in the name of masculinity. Reaching out she took his hand and pulled him close. Her hand was cold but the touch was comforting. Marc wouldn't deny that coming to London he secretly wished to track down Christie, everyone was asking about her, sure they all Skyped her every week but physical contact was welcome.