Chronicles of the Lost Years (The Sherlock Holmes Series) by Tracy Cooper-Posey

return there to watch my rooms. As long as I am not seen there, Watson will be safe.”
    Elizabeth held out her left hand.
    “I will need a ring if I am to pose as your wife. I cannot forever encase my hands in gloves.”
    Holmes put down his glass and tugged at a slender gold ring on his little finger. He tossed it into Elizabeth’s lap. “Try that,” he suggested.
    Elizabeth slipped the ring onto the appropriate finger. “It fits.” She looked at him. “Should I disguise my hair, do you think?”
    “No. If it does put Moran on your trail, I will be there to deal with him. At least we will know where he is.” He lit another cigarette with the butt of his first. “Besides, if I must have a wife,” he muttered with acute irritation, “I can at least take pride in her outstanding beauty.”
    Elizabeth smiled to herself as she related this to me. “I believe, even then, it was too late for him, but he didn’t realize it. I didn’t realize it. We were just two companions on a race for our lives and we didn’t really stop running until we reached Constantinople. But once we had stopped running and paused long enough to catch our breath and look around us….”
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    Constantinople, capital of the Ottoman Empire, was the gateway into another world and they both sensed it. They stayed in an inn on the European side of the Bosphorus, but spent a part of each day on the Asian side, soaking up the contrasts and strangeness. Holmes found himself truly relaxing for the first time in more than a few months. With the knowledge that they could disappear almost instantly in the unknown and unguessed-at human subways that moved about this most ancient of cities, he could afford the time to sit back and think of his next step.
    Elizabeth felt the same horizon-broadening possibilities.
    They stayed in Constantinople for three weeks, while they savored the many possibilities open to them and tried to choose which option appealed the most. The advantages of being technically dead to the rest of the world were many....
    During one of their excursions to the Hagia Sophia, Elizabeth ran into trouble. Womankind in that part of the world was a second class with fewer rights than our civilized country. Sometimes they are considered as little more than walking pleasure objects and Muslim men in particular are quick to gratify their desires when the yearning is upon them.
    Elizabeth had already discovered her coloring was a beacon in Florence and now she found that it attracted attention she would rather do without. For a while her European dress and Holmes’ company kept her safe, but it was merely a matter of time before a fellow with more than the usual boldness attempted something.
    They were walking down the long colonnaded avenue that ran the length of the mosque when Elizabeth felt a brazen hand on her waist, which slid quickly upwards.
    She clutched at the hand, an involuntary outraged shriek escaping her. Holmes, alerted, pivoted around to intervene. He stepped toward the man and around Elizabeth. She turned quickly to see what action Holmes intended but not quickly enough, for the Muslim was already sprawled on the paving, hands clutched to his stomach and his eyes rolling up into their sockets.
    Holmes caught her arm and pulled her along into the crowd, putting distance between them and the scene.
    It was a mild fracas that caused almost no sensation in a busy street that witnessed at least one murder a week but they both took the warning to heart and Holmes began teaching her his self-defense tricks.
    He was knowledgeable in Baritsu, the Japanese system, and his grounding in the fundamentals of defense was supplemented by his boxing, fencing and singlestick interests. From his years of confrontations with the criminals and desperados that were the raw material of his profession, he had acquired a broad catalogue of techniques drawn from almost every type of self-defense