"We will begin with the beginning, as is the tradition of dénouement interrogations. I'll start." Holmes motioned for Miss Glinda to take a seat in a purple velvet chair in the corner of the room. I kept my revolver locked on her, though somewhat half-heartedly. One normally didn't have too much to worry about until the end of Holmes's speeches – where the accusations started to roll around.

"Watson and I were drawn to Brighton because my attention had been caught by a series of reports on the unusual weather occurrences. But where did these reports come from? Various publications and telegrams from the weather office had been stuffed into large envelopes and delivered to our Baker Street address every morning shortly after breakfast…"

"Oh!" I said, suddenly correcting an earlier assumption that Holmes had subscribed to a magazine of questionable character.

"I knew at once that someone was trying to get me to Brighton, and my curiosity was piqued. That someone was you, Miss Glinda."

"You're absolutely right, Mr. Holmes. I brought you to Brighton so that I might bring you to Oz," Miss Glinda said, removing her black lace gloves, "The weather was something I knew would fascinate you, and I decided to be obvious about things and let you know that I wanted you here."

"The second point was the house of Auntie Em. Once more this was you, though far more directly. You disguised yourself as the old woman and waited for me to approach the house; perhaps more fortunate than you had hoped in catching both Watson and I in the unexpected storm."

"Both fortunate and misfortunate," She explained, "The storm swept you up several days before I had intended. There were many things I had to move quickly on, including compensating for the presence of Doctor Watson. Oh, I knew well enough that he was bound to you like a cairn terrier, but I had hoped to separate him from our games. It would have been simpler for me."

"Of course! This explains the ramshackle assembly of the false house! You had expected more time to prepare, and yet one wonders how long Oz has been here…"

"Oz is older than I am. My grandfather, Rudiger Ozma, began construction on a fairy kingdom after the death of his wife in childbirth. He was a man devoted to invention and the progress of modern civilization, but as tragedy after tragedy fell upon his life, he grew dependant of the answers of magic in place of the answers of science.

"He drew up plans for marvelous land of sunshine and butterflies, where nothing evil would ever touch and things could be saved and savoured. It consumed him and took his attentions away from the rearing of his only child – my father. Father rebelled against all notions of purity and goodness when he was a young man, seeking instead the rich tapestry of temptation and… more temptation. I don't really know what he was seeking, actually. But he knew how to have a good time."

"I was aware that Ozma had a son, from the highly publicized nature of your father's death, but I had never heard of him having a granddaughter." Holmes seemed intrigued. And quite rightly, the story promised to be unlike any we had heard outside of the realms of fiction.

"If you aware of the dubious circumstances surrounding my father's death, then it will not surprise you to learn that he lived all of his short life the same recklessness and stupidity. I was born before either my father or mother reached the age of twenty – my mother, a young woman of society, was sequestered and chose to deny my existence altogether. Grandfather took me in, though he struggled to divide his attentions between the development of Oz and the rearing of another child."

"I suppose, though, that Ozma must've slowed the development of his bizarre projects to care for you properly." I said, becoming more and more engaged by the tale.

"To an extent. Many of my early years were spent frolicking in half-finished glass gardens, and as I grew older I learned the finer details of Grandfather's earlier work. I read every paper he had ever written, plucked every idea from his mind and set to work learning to surpass him as a figure of Science."

"But you're a girl."

"Thank you, Doctor; I'm sure nobody else noticed that one." Miss Glinda sneered.

"Well, it doesn't bother me in the slightest," I clarified, "it's just uncommon for a woman to be… scientific."

"I agree with Watson. You may be very keen at invention and the laying of traps, but there is such an overly-emotional fervor that prevents you from doing things properly. It is, perhaps, no real fault of yours – but I must say I don't think a boy scientist would have dressed up like a medieval sprite and sent us on a wild quest for nothing in particular." Holmes nodded.

"Nothing! You call the most flawless bloody ruby in the world bloody nothing!"

"Language, Miss Glinda!"

"Oh, you're both so very blind. When I was at finishing school in Geneva, I devised a method of creating synthetic rubies by melting a finely powdered substance of alumina using an oxyhydrogen flame, and crystallizing the melted droplets into a boule – or single crystal ingot. I sold these rubies through a local merchant of a foolishness so grand, that he advertised them as the finest fake stones. They were real by every sense, every inspection. No one would've have thought otherwise if he hadn't told them.

"It was a fine endeavor from the technical standpoint, and I was making excellent headway with my electrical projects. Grandfather was calling upon me to send him solutions to problems in the construction of Oz, and he had hired a team of little people to manage construction and maintenance in his subterranean kingdom…"

"Ah-ha! So we are underground!" Holmes snapped his fingers triumphantly.

"Yes. All of this is a compound constructed beneath an unmapped island in the North Atlantic Ocean. We're near to Ireland. The climate, light, sounds, smells, everything is controlled and structured. The main base of operations is the Emerald City, but the individual sectors have control towers. Like this one." She indicated the castle we currently found ourselves in, and stood up.

"There are all sorts of effects and tricks in this place, Mr. Holmes. I doubt I'll have time to explain them all you – though I'm sure you would appreciate them." Miss Glinda began moving in the manner of someone who was about to do something. The coy twisting of the head, the little reptilian smile. The girl was up to no good.

"Don't forget that Watson has his revolver on you, Miss Glinda." Holmes warned sternly. There was no messing about; I was willing to wound her if the situation called for it.

"I just thought I'd demonstrate this," Miss Glinda said innocently, pulling the top of her start scepter from beneath her belt, "An invention that, sadly, can be credited as Grandfather's and not mine."

And suddenly, an abrasive pink flash and a loud twinkling noise. Just a when she had first appeared.

When our eyes recovered, she was gone and both rubies with her.

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A/N: I really hope nobody's disappointed – except for the disappointment you should be sharing with Holmes and Watson that they have to once more journey to the Emerald City and face Glinda once and for all.

Anyway, I've been having trouble finding the time to write (it's always something with this story, isn't it?) and so am warning you fairly that it might be awhile until the next update. It might also be tomorrow.

Suspense and guessing are fun though, right?

Thanks for reading!