It is a fact that even whilst we are cocooned in this great city of ours, nature can make her presence felt. A gale shrieked and moaned outside on this particular day that I write of. I looked out of the window and was met with the sight of debris being picked up and hurled down Baker Street as though they were children's playthings. The windows rattled in their casement and the gas dimmed and lowered every few seconds. Holmes was busy continuing research he had undertaken into Early English Charters and appeared to be oblivious to the furious display of nature outside. As I crossed the room to pour myself another coffee, the wind shook the very fabric of the building so much, that it felt like we were in motion. Then, inexplicably, there was silence, followed by what seemed like an explosion. Everything inside the sitting-room that was not held down securely, jumped into the air.
"Good Heavens Holmes, what on earth was that?" I asked.
"I think, perhaps dear fellow, we should investigate and make sure no one outside has come to any harm."
The wind had died completely as had the normal street sounds we associated with this busy thoroughfare. We descended the seventeen steps, opened the front door to be met with quite an unbelievable sight. The house was surrounded by a great deal of what I thought were children, but then I recognised them as adults suffering from a form of Dwarfism. They were pointing at us and gesticulating wildly and peering at the very foundation of the house with looks of wonder and amazement. I feel I cannot do justice to what we observed, everything we now saw. The road, houses and indeed these little people were cloaked in the most vibrant hues; reds, oranges, yellows, greens. The surface of the road was a garish yellow and radiated out from a central point.
Holmes whispered to me, "Watson, I have a feeling we are not in Baker Street anymore."
Before I could answer we were approached by a most beautiful creature, who seemed somehow illuminated from within. She pointed at Holmes.
"My name is Glinda. Are you a good wizard or a bad wizard?" she asked of him.
Holmes took all this in his stride as though it was the most commonplace of dialogue, "I am not a Wizard of any kind, my name is Sherlock Holmes and this......"
"Oh well, is he the Wizard then " she asked, now turning her attention to me.
"I assure you, madam, that neither of us is a wizard, why on earth would you think such a thing?" Holmes asked her.
"The Munchkins called me and said a new wizard had just dropped a house on the Wicked Witch."
"Munchkins," I asked, "who or what are Munchkins?"
"Why, these are Munchkins," she answered, indicating the throng of little people surrounding us," and there is the Witch, under your house."
"My dear we owe you a thousand apologies, we had no intention of harming anyone."
"There is no need of an apology; the Munchkins have declared you both national heroes."
One of the little people, the Munchkins as she called them, stepped forward to me, "we'd like to thank you sweetly for doing it so neatly."
I stammered a reply and looked to Holmes, "how on earth do we get out of here, Holmes?"
"We will possess our souls in patience until we have gathered sufficient data to enable us to make good our return," he replied.
A piercing scream filled the air and an ugly looking witch, straight out of a child’s story book descended on a broomstick. There were cries of, " Oh no, the Wicked Witch," all around.
I turned to Glinda, "Have we not destroyed the Wicked Witch?"
"This is her sister, and she's worse than the other one was."
"Who killed my sister? Was it you?" she screamed, fixing her eyes upon me.
"I assure you, madam, it was a complete and utter accident."
"Well," she said, looking even more threatening, "I can cause accidents too."
She walked over to all that was left of her sister, "where are the ruby slippers? Who has them? Give them back to me," she cried, working herself into a veritable frenzy.
"There they are," answered Glinda, pointing at me, "and there they will stay."
I looked down at my feet to find that instead of my normal footwear, my feet were now adorned with these ruby slippers; not a shade that best suits me it has to be said.
The Wicked Witch became hysterical at this point screaming over and over, "Give me back my slippers."
Holmes said to me, "Keep tight inside them, Watson, their magic must be very powerful or she would not want them so badly."
After issuing yet more threats of dreadful violence against our persons, she mounted her broomstick and was gone. Holmes took me to one side as the Munchkins continued their unrestrained celebrations.
"I am of the opinion, Watson that these slippers with the magic that is undoubtedly contained within them may hold the key to our safe return to dear old Baker Street." He stretched himself out on the ground and examined them for several minutes.
Glinda looked on, bemused, "Mr. Holmes, what are you looking for?"
"I am hopeful of using the magic powers of these slippers to return my friend and me back to our own life."
"Your friend has that power already."
"Those magic ruby slippers will take you home in two seconds. Now then, close your eyes and tap your heels together three times. Look at your friend and think to yourself, 'There's no place like home. There's no place like home.'
"There's no place like home, Holmes. There's no place like home, Holmes. There's no place like home, Holmes."
I awoke to find Holmes standing over me, with a smile on his face.
"My dear Watson, you are especially garrulous in your sleep today and surely only you could sleep with such a storm raging outside."
I stretched my limbs, got to my feet somewhat shakily and glanced out into the street. I was relieved to see normality, no Munchkins, no witches, just a resolutely ordinary Baker Street. Odd how the mind can play tricks on you like that whilst asleep.
"Whatever have you got on your feet?"