Bilbo Baggins was, to all rights and appearances, a perfectly responsible hobbit. He was as his Baggins ancestors were: calm, normal, and wealthy, and never did anything unexpected. He had been a bit strange as a small hobbit, talking of a world of Men with horseless carriages and metal birds that carried them through the skies and out to the stars, but that all settled down once he became the Baggins at Bag End. He had tea with his neighbors when invited and was generous with his money when asked, but for the most part he kept to himself, smoking his pipe and looking off into the distance with longing in his eyes.

Bilbo never told anyone about the dreams that still consumed his sleep, of a world of Men long gone. His head was filled with memories that both melded with and clashed against his own, but day by day he had adjusted. He accepted the world as it had been, and the life he had lived as a Man named John Watson.

But it was another Man who haunted his dreams, a Man with dark curly hair and silvery eyes and a keener mind than ever before they had. A Man named "Sherlock Holmes." He had been close to John Watson, cured him of his limp and taken him on a great many adventures through the city of London, adventures that Bilbo – the reborn John Watson – longed for. He remembered the rush, the "adrenaline" that pulsed through his veins as the pair chased down a variety of criminals: murderers, thieves, criminal masterminds… The hobbit sorely missed it. Yet when Gandalf the Grey turned up at his door with the promise of a similar adventure, he almost didn't see it.

It wasn't until all of the dwarves of Thorin's company were gathered in his hobbit hole that he remembered some strange moving picture that Sherlock had dragged John to see because of a case. A moving picture about this very adventure! But he couldn't yet remember how it ended, only that he made it to the Lonely Mountain with the dwarves and found a way inside. Well, it was better than nothing. Perhaps he would remember more later?

At last an adventure! Bilbo listened closely to the proceedings, though he sorely missed the acerbic words of the Man he had followed. No doubt he could have deduced everything about Thorin Oakenshield from a single button and cut him to the quick with nothing but words. But at last his interest was truly caught when Gandalf pulled out the legendary map. "This was made by Thrór, your grandfather, Thorin," said the wizard, spreading the parchment out on Bilbo's table in the light of a lamp, "It is a plan of the Mountain."

"I don't see that this will help us much," said Thorin, his disappointment clear, "I remember the Mountain well enough and the lands around it. And I know where Mirkwood is, and the Withered Heath where the great dragons bred."

"There is a dragon marked in red on the Mountain," said Balin, "but it will be easy enough to find him without that, if we ever arrive there."

"There is one point that you haven't noticed," Gandalf said over the ensuing muttering, "and that is the secret entrance. You see that rune on the west side, and the hand pointing to it from the other runes? That marks a hidden passage to the lower halls."

"It may have been secret once," the dwarf prince retorted, "but how do we know that it is secret any longer? Old Smaug has lived there long enough now to find out anything there is to know about those caves."

"He may," Gandalf conceded, "but he can't have used it, not for years and years."

"Why?"

"Because it is too small for him. 'Five feet high the door and three may walk abreast,' say the runes, but Smaug could not creep into a hole that size, not even when he was a young dragon, and certainly not after devouring so many of the dwarves and Men of Dale," Gandalf answered.

"It seems large enough to me, small though I am," said Bilbo, moving closer to get a better look at the map, "and if even half of what I've heard of both Erebor and the cleverness of dragons is true, how could the door and tunnels to it be kept secret from both inside and out?"

"In any number of ways," said Gandalf, his eyes gleaming in pride as he looked at the hobbit, "but in what way this one has been hidden we won't know without going to see. From what it says on the map, I should guess that there is a closed door which has been made to look exactly like the side of the mountain. That is the usual dwarves' method; I think that is right, isn't it?"

"Quite right," said Thorin. He was reminding Bilbo more and more of an overly-pompous Sherlock Holmes, or perhaps more of Mycroft, albeit without the near magical powers of deduction.

"Also," the wizard continued, "I forgot to mention that with this map went a key, a small and curious key." He drew it from his sleeve and handed it to Thorin. It was nearly identical to the one from the movie, though considerably more worn, and made of iron. "Keep it safe."

"Indeed I will," said the dwarf prince, and slipped it onto a chain already around his neck. He and Gandalf discussed things at some length with the other dwarves before at last turning to Bilbo. "Supposing the burglar-expert gives us some ideas or suggestions for how best to proceed."

"I'd have to be there," said the hobbit, peering at the parchment to look for any hint of the moon runes, "and see everything as it lies to come up with a reasonable and viable plan, but it seems to me that the best case scenario is to catch Smaug unawares while he sleeps and stab him through the eye with a long spear, or something to that effect. But I suppose if it were that easy, you all would have done so long ago."

"Quite right!" Thorin repeated.

"Well, like I said, we all would have to see everything as it lies, and plan accordingly." There was a murmur of assent from the other dwarves. Bilbo managed to escape the ensuing pomposity and planning session by claiming that he needed to figure out where everyone was going to bed down for the night. After all the dwarves had been cleared places and settled in, Bilbo went outside with his pipe and smoked under the stars. He remembered that Sherlock had been addicted to cigarettes, but now he understood why. Smoking pipeweed helped to settle his mind and relax him, and while hardly the healthiest of habits, at least it was better for him than cocaine.

Gandalf came out of Bag End, carrying his own pipe and narrowly avoiding smacking his head on the low doorframe. "On behalf of Thorin and company, I thank you for your superb hospitality, Bilbo," said the wizard, sitting down next to him on the bench outside the door, "though I cannot deny that I am curious. You have settled down so much in these past decades as compared to when you were a hobbit-boy. Why have you so easily agreed to come on this quest?"

"I told you about my dreams, did I not?" asked the hobbit, "My visions of a world of Men long gone?" When the wizard nodded, he took a short drag on his pipe, then blew a smoke ring. "I have found that I miss that kind of adventure, crave that rush of danger. This quest was aptly timed indeed, for I fear that I would have gone spare if I had to stay in the Shire for another year. It's peaceful here, but to the me that lived in that world, it's dreadfully monotonous."

They puffed on their pipes for a time in comfortable silence. Then the Istari said, "But that is not all, is it? You want to see if there are others like you, who remember this fallen world of Men."

"Correct," said the hobbit, smiling around the stem of his pipe. Sherlock would have deduced as much before speaking a word to him, and much more besides. "I hope that I am not as mad as many would no doubt claim, else I'll be more of a hindrance than a help on this quest."

"I do not believe you are mad, my friend."

"Ah, but you deal in the strange and unexplained every day, Gandalf. Most people do not believe in what they cannot see with their own eyes." Bilbo tapped out his pipe. "Well, I need to get some rest. We have an early start tomorrow, and I'm sure the dwarves would like for me to prepare a hearty breakfast. Good night, Gandalf."

"Good night, Bilbo."

The next morning, the hobbit was up before the sun, cooking a large breakfast for the company. He tried to use up as much of his perishable foodstuffs as possible to prevent them from spoiling in his cupboards while he was gone. When everyone was done eating, Bilbo left messages with his neighbors, explaining where he had gone and why, and left some money with the trustworthy ones to ensure that he still owned Bag End when he returned. He gathered up everything he thought he would need – money, traveling clothes, non-perishable food, and some small toiletries like soap – and set off with the dwarves and wizard.

The first leg of their journey was easy, as they were still passing through the hobbit lands. Like the nature of their inhabitants, they were incredibly tame even in the most unpleasant weather. It was only after they passed beyond the borders of the Shire that the trouble began. The weather took a turn for the worst, but Bilbo much preferred the rain to the unbearable heat of the Afghan desert.

It was his first time out and about in Middle Earth, and though he saw everything through the wary memories of a soldier, he was delighted to have left the Shire behind. He finally understood Sherlock's continuous need to have something to occupy his time. The other hobbits may have been content to stay near Hobbiton for their whole lives, but John had lived life on the edge for far too long to go back to the slow, plodding lifestyle he had before Afghanistan, before Sherlock. It was beyond impossible – he would have eaten his gun before long – almost did. And now Bilbo had his memories, all boxed up inside his head.

At some point, Gandalf moved to scout ahead, leaving them alone by their small fire one night. A scream pierced the darkness, but Bilbo had heard many such cries in John's dreams. He simply turned his head to listen to its echoes, then asked, "What was that?"

"Orcs," answered Kíli, "Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them." Then, grinning a little, having apparently decided to try to scare the hobbit, the dwarf continued, "They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep. No screams, just lots of blood."

Bilbo was not impressed. It was incredibly clear that these dwarves had more combat experience than he, but they had never endured a long, painful war like Afghanistan, never had comrades blown to mincemeat before their very eyes.

Thorin had. "You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?" he demanded.

"We didn't mean anything by it," Kíli protested, but the dwarf prince cut him off before he could add any more.

"No, you didn't," he growled, turning away from them, "You know nothing of the world."

"Don't mind him, laddie," said Balin, walking over as the dwarf prince stalked away, "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs. After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy got there first. Moria had been taken by legions of orcs," he explained, "led by the most vile of their race, Azog the Defiler. The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began by beheading the king.

"Thráin, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing, taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us.

"That is when I saw him," Balin continued, going practically starry eyed with awe and wonder at the memory, "A young dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe, his armor rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken." He sighed, faintly dreamy. "Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated, but there was no feast, no song that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived."

Bilbo could easily sympathize. Though time and distance and rebirth had eased the pain of his loss, he still knew what it was like to see comrades die on the battlefield, and survivor's guilt wasn't easy to shake. "And the Pale Orc?" he asked when Balin was done waxing eloquent about the company's leader, "What happened to him?"

"He slunk back into the hole from whence he came." Thorin had returned to the story time circle, drawn by the talk of battle. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."

The hobbit watched the dwarf prince lie back down on his bedroll. Though he had confidence in Thorin's skills – more so than his own, at any rate – he couldn't help but think, 'Now that's just asking for trouble.'

The company continued on their journey. Once, it rained all day and left them soaking wet and chilled to the bone. However, by the next day, the sun was out, leaving them all warm and dry. It also dried up the ground, making it easier to ride on than mud.

The road they followed led them to the ruins of a farmhouse. It was still standing, but two of the walls and a fair portion of a third had been torn away, leaving only the main support posts in place. Bilbo eyed the place with increasing trepidation, noting a number of old – but large – tracks leading to and from the farmhouse.

"We'll camp here for the night, "Thorin declared, "Fíli, Kíli, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them."

Gandalf ducked into the ruins of the house, stopping to examine a piece of broken crockery. Sherlock would have been able to tell exactly where the clay for the pot came from and how long ago it was made and who made it, but all the wizard could say was, "A farmer and his family used to live here."

Thorin ignored him, calling for Oin and Gloin to start a fire.

"I think it would be wiser to move on," said the wizard, "We could make for the Hidden Valley."

"I have told you already," the dwarf prince stated under no uncertain terms, "I will not go near that place."

"Why not? The elves could help us," Gandalf protested, "We could get food, rest, advice."

"I do not need their advice."

Bilbo listened to the argument in silence until Gandalf stormed off, muttering about the stubbornness of dwarves. He had learned the value of silence while running around London's underbelly and while the detective was thinking. He smiled at John's memory of Sherlock in their flat shouting, "Anderson, face the other way! You're putting me off!" Eru above and Morgoth below, he missed the man and all of their adventures, even the debacle with Moriarty.

Against the wizard's advice, the company settled down for the night. The former army doctor had a quick bite to eat, then scooped up two bowls to take to Fíli and Kíli. The brothers were minding the ponies a short distance from the fire, but when he came over with their food, Bilbo found them peering over a fallen log. There was a flickering light off in the trees, another campfire – with three trolls around it. They had two of the company's ponies tide up off to one side in their camp.

At Fíli and Kíli's insistence, the hobbit slipped over to the pack animals quiet as a mouse, attempting to set them free without the trolls noticing. Unfortunately, the knots were too tight for even his clever fingers to undo at speed. Bilbo looked around for a knife, and spotted an ill-cared for blade on the hip of one of the trolls. He sneaked over to lift the weapon, but his attempt could not have been more poorly-timed. The troll with the knife reached for his handkerchief to cover his sneeze and grabbed the hobbit by mistake, sneezing into the back of his coat. It was far from the worst thing that had happened to him, running around with Sherlock – he didn't even flinch.

It all happened pretty quickly after that. Bilbo was captured, and the troll holding him threatened to tear him limb from limb if the dwarves didn't surrender their weapons. Thorin was furious, but Gandalf would be even more so if their burglar perished before the quest had even truly begun, and the wrath of a wizard was fearsome indeed. The dwarf prince dropped his weapon with a growl and signaled for the others to do the same. The trolls bound half of the company in sacks and tied the rest to a spit, which they turned over the fire, ignoring the dwarves' protests.

Bilbo stayed quiet and listened to the trolls discuss how to season the company, but it was another statement that truly caught his attention – "Dawn ain't far away, so let's get a move on. I don't fancy being turned to stone."

'That's right!' he thought quickly, 'They turned to stone in daylight. I need to buy time until sunrise. Can I get them distracted with talk? Trolls weren't bred for intelligence.' "Wait!" he called to the creatures, "You are making a terrible mistake!" Ignoring the protests of the dwarves, he thought fast. "With the, uh, seasoning, I mean."

"What about it?" one of the beasts demanded, the other two leaning in, "What's wrong with it?"

"Well, have you smelt them?" the hobbit responding, "You're going to need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up." The dwarves continued to shout at him, sometimes cursing in their native tongue, but Bilbo remained focused.

"Well, what do you know about cooking dwarf?" another troll asked.

"Well first off, don't eat the ones with parasites!" the former doctor sputtered, pushing himself to his feet while trying to remember the movie and the rules of hunting wild game, "Otherwise, you'll get infected!" The dwarves shouted some more. "And you should probably skin them first. A few of them have this really nasty infection that doesn't belong anywhere near your mouth, much less your innards, no matter what race you are."

"What a load of rubbish!" said the first troll, "I've eaten plenty with their skins on. Scuff 'em, I say, boots and infectimacation and all."

Bilbo could have cried when he spotted Gandalf slipping out of the cover of the trees. The wizard clambered up onto the rock that was shielding the clearing from the faint rosy light of daybreak beyond. "The dawn will take you all!" he roared, and slammed the butt of his staff down onto the stone, splitting in two and sending light spilling into the clearing. The trolls tried to run, but it was already too late. Whenever the light hit them, their flesh turned to stone.

At last, they were still, their yells silenced. Gandalf hopped down from his rock. He tapped one of the new statues, looking pleased. "Excellent idea of stalling for time, Bilbo," said the Istari, "Get them to talk of their stomachs, and they will forget everything else."

"Thank you," said Bilbo, letting himself sink to the ground, "And I pray I never have to do it again!"

"At this rate," the Istari responded, "that will be a futile prayer. Come, let's get you all out of there." He put out the fire and helped the dwarves off the spit first, then loosened the ropes on the sacks so the others could squirm free. "They must have come down from the Ettenmoors," said Gandalf to Thorin as the prince came to stand next to him, examining the statues.

"Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?" Oakenshield asked.

"Oh, not for an age," was the reply, "not since a darker power ruled these lands." They exchanged a meaningful glance. "They could not have moved in daylight."

"There must be a cave nearby," the prince declared, and gathered the company together to search for it. Bilbo found it first, following the trolls' stench to their cavern – and their hoard. The hobbit opted to remain outside, away from the smell. He knew the stench would cling to his clothes like smoke no matter how many times he washed them. He had no desire to stink of troll for the rest of the journey.

He was surprised when Gandalf emerged with a weapon for him: an Elvish dagger, which fit him more like a short sword. He named it "Sting," if he remembered correctly. The hobbit admired the make of the blade, finer than anything from his world of Men, and gave the wizard his thanks, though he added on, "But I have never used a sword in my life."

"And I hope you never have to," the Istari said, "but if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one."

Their attention was drawn away by the arrival of Radagast the Brown, another wizard like Gandalf. He brought ill news: a necromancer had taken up residence in Dol Guldur, Sauron's old fortress from ages past, and was spreading darkness in the Greenwood. The wizards discussed what Radagast had seen in the ruined castle – until a Warg charged out of the brush. Thorin cut it down with his own Elvish blade, only for another to attack Fíli. He shot it with an arrow. stunning it, and Dwalin slew it with his weapon.

"Warg scouts," the dwarf prince called, "which means an Orc pack is not far behind!"

"No shit," Bilbo muttered to himself before he rushed off after the dwarves. Radagast drew the bulk of them away for a time, until the party murdered one rather noisily. The hobbit, at least, had the sense to stab the orc through the neck so it couldn't alert its followers. Its Warg, however, howled and thrashed under the dwarves' blows, giving away their position.

Gandalf led them away at top speed, darting amongst heavy rocks on a plain adjacent to the forest. Bilbo spotted a distinctive rock amidst all the dull ones at the same moment the wizard did, and began making for it even before Gandalf shouted for them to follow him. Out of all of them, the wizard's strides were the longest; he reached the stone first and disappeared. Bilbo reached it next, but could not immediately see where the wizard vanished to. He pulled Sting from its sheath and comforted himself with the fact that a blade was not viewed as an inferior now – it did not have to compete with guns, for no one had any.

At least, not yet. And Bilbo found that he greatly feared the day someone developed the technology.

"This way, you fools!" Gandalf reappeared from a crack between the rocks. The dwarves and hobbit all quickly slid down into it, the wizard counting them all before sliding back down himself. As they all righted themselves, a horn sounded above them, followed by the twang of bowstrings, the clash of swords, the pounding of hoof beats. An Orc fell through after them, an Elvish arrow through its eye. Bilbo picked it up after Thorin tossed it aside, and examined it thoroughly as the company followed the narrow path. He already knew where it led.

Rivendell was even more magnificent than the motion pictures had depicted, more than he'd ever imagined. Now he understood why the Bilbo from the books and movies had chosen to come to Rivendell after leaving the Shire for good. Doubtless he would do the same, when the time came. That brought to mind the One Ring.

Bilbo followed the dwarves down into the valley, considerably paler than before. He remembered well the way the Ring had begun poisoning that Bilbo's mind the same way it had Sméagol's, and he feared what it would do to him when he acquired it in the goblin tunnels. He needed to tell Gandalf about it before he could no longer tell friend from foe and knew nothing but lust for the Ring. He waited until after their dinner was finished, but before Gandalf was called to answer Saruman. "Gandalf," he said quietly, unsure how to approach the wizard and elves, "I would speak to you and Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel, if you have the time."

If the two elves were surprised that he knew the Lady of Light was there, they did not show it. They four of them gathered in Elrond's private rooms, and there the hobbit explained about his dreams, the books, and the motion pictures. "I only saw the movies," said Bilbo sadly, "I never read the books. And the movies were made in reverse order, with the Quest to destroy the One Ring being made before the journey on which it was found."

Gandalf puffed on his pipe, contemplating the hobbit's words. The elves seemed to be thinking on it, too. "I understand if it seems unbelievable," said the former doctor, "but can we at least reserve judgment until after we finished this quest?"

"We believe you, Bilbo," Galadriel answered, "truly we do. But if our world does indeed follow the path laid out in these stories, it does not seem that there is much we can do, aside from oust this Necromancer and wait."

"You said that you found the One Ring – or will find it – in the goblin tunnels of the Misty Mountains," said Elrond.

"Yes. Gollum – Sméagol – dropped it."

"Once you have it, we can begin gathering allies. We might believe you, but there are others who will not be so easily persuaded."

"If that is indeed the case, we should not waste this opportunity," puffed the wizard, "Bilbo. Once Erebor is retaken – if it is indeed retaken – will you make an attempt to carry the Ring directly to Mordor?"

Bilbo tilted his head. "You don't want to wait for the Fellowship?"

"I would prefer to save that as a contingency plan," Gandalf answered, "for both you and Frodo would suffer under the Ring's long influence. It would change you, and I believe that the benefits are not worth the curse." He lowered his pipe. "Will you do it?"

"Yes," said the hobbit, "Gladly. I don't even have it, and already I wish myself rid of it. And that," he nodded to the wizard, "is why I spoke now. I didn't want to wait, and then have it be too late, with the Ring's sway already over me." He went with the blessing of the elves and wizard, returning to the company's rooms, only to depart again almost immediately while the elves and wizard joined in conference with Saruman the White, the traitor, about their very quest.

Bilbo knew that Gandalf would be unavoidably detained for a number of days, providing cover for their escape, and informed the dwarves. The quest proceeded relatively smoothly even without him – at least until the company entered the Misty Mountains. The peaks loomed above them, creating strange shadows in the thick fog that gave the range its name.

The mist gave way to storms – but the storms weren't actually storms at all. "Well, bless me!" Bofur shouted over the crashing, "The legends are true! Stone giants!"

The living masses of rock were pitching boulders at one another between the mountains, causing and even greater clamor than the thunder overhead. The rocks smashed against the ridges above the company, their splintered remains falling towards them and forcing them to press close to the cliff side to protect themselves.

The giants abandoned their boulders to throw fists instead. Their impacts broke apart the cliff path they were on, separating the party. Bilbo felt the rock under his feet weakening, and barely managed to fling himself over and get his upper body on firm ground before that part of the path fell away. Ori and Dwalin noticed him struggling for purchase and rushed over to help him to safety.

Because of the broken path, the company was forced to seek shelter in a cave elsewhere in the mountains – at least until sunrise. Things should have settled down by then. Thorin shot Bilbo dirty looks the entire time, clearly blaming him for almost plunging to his death. When they finally found a narrow, shallow cave to bed down in for the rest of the night, the former doctor was tempted to turn back for Rivendell while he still could. But then he would go right back to his dull old boring life.

'Ugh, breathing. Breathing's boring.'

His lips pulled up into a smile, remembering his flat mate's opinions about his "transport." The hobbit had chosen to sit up rather than sleep. One night wasn't going to kill him or affect him detrimentally, especially considering what was going to happen later that night.

Bofur, who was on watch, came over to sit on the end of his bedroll. "You all right there, Bilbo?" he asked, giving him a once over, "You've been quiet ever since we left Rivendell."

"I'm fine, Bofur," he replied, "Thank you. Thorin's just seemed a bit more irritable than usual, so I thought I'd keep my trap shut, give him one less thing to be snappish about."

"Hm." The dwarf nodded in understanding. "What were you talking to Gandalf and that elf about?"

Bilbo's eyebrows rose for a second. His mind was nowhere near as sharp as Sherlock's, but given what he knew about the dwarrows and their prince, it wasn't a difficult deduction to make. He chuckled a little. "I wasn't trying to convince them to let me stay in Rivendell, if that's what you're thinking," he responded, pretending he didn't hear a few soft sighs of relief from the not-sleeping dwarves, "I've just been having very, very strange dreams lately, almost prophetic, but I had no frame of reference for them, and difficulty remembering them when I woke. I thought I'd ask Gandalf and Lord Elrond for their wisdom."

"Prophecy, huh?" said the dwarf, scratching his chin, "Anything useful?"

"I thought – I thought – I saw the Lonely Mountain at one point," he lied easily, "but I've never been there, so I can't be sure. And…" Bilbo cast his mind around for images from the movies. "Spiders. Barrels in a river. A dwarf made of stone. Fire."

"Think furnace with wings," said Bofur, repeating his words from the night the company piled into Bag End. Hobbit and dwarf grinned at one another.

"Yes," said the former doctor, "Probably dragonfire. But there's a bit more I'm not sure about. I'm not sure it relates to the quest at all."

Bofur hummed again. "Maybe you're right. But if you're seeing the Lonely Mountain and dragonfire in your dreams, that has to mean we'll at least get there, right?"

"I suppose that's one way to look at it," the hobbit confirmed, "The correct one, I hope. But getting there won't mean anything if Smaug isn't defeated." He shot a glance at Sting, by pure coincidence, then did a double take. He lunged for the blade and pulled it partway out of its sheath. The blade was glowing blue, though not brightly enough to be orcs. That meant – "Goblins!" he shouted as the floor began to shake, "Up! Everybody up, quick!"

They all barely had time to scramble to their feet before the ground dropped out from under them. They fell through a series of tunnels and chutes before landing in a wooden cage. Bilbo immediately made himself as small and subtle as possible while the dwarves railed and shouted. Like their distant orc kin, goblins were stupid and slow, and so failed to notice him in the shadow of the dwarves. He slipped out of the cage and hid as the rest of the company was carted away by the little blighters.

When at last they were gone, the hobbit drew his sword, still glowing, and crept into the tunnels after them. As be padded quickly and quietly across a rope bridge and onto another platform, a goblin rushed him out of the darkness, sword drawn. While in Rivendell, however briefly, one of the elves had given him a few tips on handling a blade, so he wasn't completely hopeless in battle. Even so, he barely managed to disarm the goblin. Both of them lost their footing in the process, and tumbled over the edge.

Air rushed past him as he fell, and stupid though it was, he thought two things before blacking out: 'Jesus, take the wheel!' and 'Such fall. Much fast.'

Bilbo woke up half-concealed in a pile of broken mushrooms, sore but alive and uninjured. He held himself very still when he heard shuffling nearby, knowing that if Gollum found him, he would be killed. The twisted Stoor (a kind of hobbit ancestor) was pulling the goblin Bilbo had fought out of the chamber. The goblin woke up and began to struggle, flailing about in Gollum's grasp. In a fit of rage, the Ring's creature snatched up a rock and smashed it repeatedly against the goblin's head until it was knocked unconscious again.

The hobbit cringed when the One Ring fell from Gollum's loincloth. "Nasty goblinses," the Stoor was hissing, tugging the limp body along, "Better than old bones, Precious; better than nothing." He didn't notice that the Ring was gone when he disappeared into the dark. The hobbit skirted the place where the Ring had fallen, retrieving Sting before creeping closer to the One Ring.

It was cold when he picked it up, but it warmed with unnatural swiftness on his palm. Bilbo cringed again and dumped it in his pocket before moving after Gollum. The Stoor was beating the goblin to death with another rock. If Bilbo had not been a soldier in his other life, he would have flinched from the sight. As it was, he forgot that Sting was glowing, and Gollum swathe light from the blade. The Ring's creature jumped into his little boat and paddled over to the shore of the underground lake, leaving the small rock island behind. Bilbo was ready for him, and had Sting pointed at the Stoor's throat when he tried to surprise him.

The twisted creature recoiled from the Elven blade, hissing. "Ahh! Gollum, gollum, ack!"

"Back," Bilbo commanded, poking the creature with the tip of the sword, "Stay back! I'm warning you, don't come any closer!" He struggled to remember what had happened in the stories. He knew that Gollum had essentially a split personality, but the Bilbo from the books and movies hadn't. He had to be extremely careful moving forward, so that things didn't change too much.

"It's got an elfish blade, but it's not an elfs," hissed the creature, "Not an elfs, no. What is it, Precious? What is it?"

"My name is Bilbo Baggins," he said, careful to keep Sting between them, "I'm a hobbit from the Shire."

"Oh!" exclaimed Gollum, "We like goblinses, batses, and fishes, but we hasn't tried hobbitses before. Is it soft? Is it juicy?" He circled closer.

Bilbo remembered that identifying himself to the creature before him was what led the Ringwraiths to Hobbiton, but it needed to be done if he couldn't go straight to Mount Doom from Erebor. "Keep your distance!" he warned, giving the Stoor another poke, "I'll use this if I have to!" Gollum recoiled, snarling, but the ex-soldier held his ground. "I don't want any trouble, do you understand?" he declared, "Just show me the way to get out of here, and my sword and I will be on our way."

"Why?" the creature asked, "Is it lost?"

"Yes, yes," Bilbo said hurriedly, unsure of how much time he had, "and I want to get un-lost as soon as possible."

"Ooh! We knows!" crowed Gollum cheerfully, "We knows safe paths for hobbitses! Safe paths in the dark." And there was the alternate personality, Sméagol.

The Gollum side took over and snarled, "Shut up!"

Reflexively, Bilbo answered, "I didn't say anything."

"Wasn't talking to you," Gollum snapped, before the cheerful self came back.

"But yes, we was, Precious," chirped Sméagol, "We was!"

"Look, uh, I don't know what your game is," said Bilbo, shifting his grip on Sting, "but I-"

"Games?" bubbled Sméagol, "We love games, doesn't we, Precious? Does it like games? Does it? Does it? Does it like to play?"

Gollum seemed less and less like a particularly dangerous mental patient and more and more like a particularly obnoxious child. Bilbo refused to let his guard down, remembering both the movies and "Jim from IT." "Maybe?" he responded.

Sméagol looked delighted. "What has roots nobody sees, is taller than trees? Up, up, up it goes and yet – never grows?"

Fortunately, Bilbo remembered this part quite well. Sherlock had become obsessed with riddles for weeks after seeing the movie, leading John to memorize the ones in it and all others he could find. "The mountain," he answered.

Sméagol began laughing uproariously. "Yes, yes," he gasped between guffaws, "let's have another one, eh? Yes, come on! Do it again, do it, do it again! Ask us!"

The Gollum personality came out in force. "No!" he roared, "No more riddles! Finish him off. Finish him now! Gollum, gollum!" He charged Bilbo, but the hobbit quickly stopped him.

"No!" he cried, "No, no, no – I want to play, I do. I want to play. I can see that you are very good at this. So why don't we have a game of riddles? Yes – just you and me." Though he kept his sword in hand, Bilbo crouched near the Stoor to make himself seem less threatening.

"Yes!" Sméagol had returned. "Just, just – just us."

"Yes, yes," said Bilbo, nodding, "And if I win, you'll show me the way out?"

"Yes, yes-" Then Gollum burst out again. "And if it loses? What then? – Well, if it loses, Precious, we will eats it!" He laughed unpleasantly. "If Baggins loses, we eats it whole."

The hobbit winced, but as he'd set his reward, Gollum had the right to choose his own. "Fair enough." He straightened and lowered Sting, though he didn't sheathe the blade.

"Well, Baggins first," said the Stoor.

"Thirty white horses on a red hill," Bilbo recited, "First they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still."

Gollum thought for a few minutes, opening his mouth several times before changing his mind and closing it again. At last, he asked, "Teeth?" Bilbo frowned but nodded, and Gollum crowed. "Teeth! Yes, my Precious, but we – we – we only have nine." He opened his mouth to show the hobbit, making him cringe yet again. "Our turn. Voiceless it cries, wingless flutters, toothless bites, mouthless mutters."

"Wind," answered the hobbit after a moment, making the Stoor snarl. "A box without hinges, key, or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid." How Bilbo was able to keep his voice from trembling, he didn't know, but he was glad of it. It kept him from showing weakness.

"A box," the creature muttered, waving his hands in front of him as he thought out loud, "and a lid… then a key… It's nasty. Uh, box, uh…" He smacked his forehead many times, then shouted, "Eggses! Eggses!" He danced a little and laughed. "What crunchy little eggses, yes. Grandmother taught us to suck them, yes."

A bat made a noise in the darkness, but the former doctor kept his gaze locked firmly on the Ring's creature. "Ah," said Gollum, "We have one for you: all things it devours, birds, beasts, trees, flowers. Gnaws iron, bites steel, grinds hard stone down to meal."

It took a minute for the hobbit to recall that one. At last, he said, "Time."

Gollum hissed angrily, making as if to jump at him. The ex-soldier lifted Sting, reminding him of the blade, and the creature settled, fuming. "Last question," he snapped, "last chance. Ask us a question. ASK US!"

"All right, all right!" the hobbit snarled in reply, "What have I got in my pocket?"

"That's not fair," the Stoor pouted, "That's not fair! It's against the rules!" He threw down the rock he'd been hiding behind his back, intending to bludgeon the former doctor to death. "Ask us another one."

For a moment, Bilbo flipped through all the riddles he knew, seriously considering giving him a different one to avoid the inevitable confrontation – but then he felt ghostly touch of familiar hands gripping his shoulders, a familiar long coat brushing his back. 'Sherlock.' Hallucination or no, it firmed his resolve. "You said 'ask me a question,'" he said, and the phantom hands gave him a squeeze, "Well, that is my question. What have I got in my pocket?"

"Three guesses, Precious," the creature pleaded, "It must give us three!" He held up two fingers.

"I can be generous," said Bilbo, clutching Sting close and wishing for a gun, "Take four."

Sméagol resurfaced and look delighted. "Handses!" he shouted, but both of the hobbit's hands were on Sting, out of his pockets. The Stoor pouted and turned away to mutter to himself. "Fish bones, goblin's teeth, wet shells, bat's wings… Knife!" This last he shouted back at the hobbit. Gollum took control once more and snarled, "Shut up!"

Bilbo smiled sheepishly and held up Sting, which was distinctly too large to fit in his pocket. "Two more."

Sméagol returned and whined unhappily, shuffling about and muttering. Finally, he said, "String!" Gollum came back and added, "Or nothing!"

The hobbit winced, knowing what was about to happen. "Two guesses at once, wrong both times." Gollum fell to the floor, sobbing. Bilbo cringed and let him weep for a minute, then said, "I won the game. Won't you show me the way out?"

"Did we say so, Precious? Did we say so?" Like a switch had been flipped, Gollum stopped crying and peered at him. "What has it got in its pocketses?"

"Air," said Bilbo.

"Air?" the Ring's creature, "Air? It's nothing!"

"Air is something!" the ex-soldier argued, "Can you breathe under water?"

Gollum hesitated. "Uh… No?"

"See? Air is something! Wind is moving air!"

The Stoor scowled and reached for his side. No doubt it was where the Ring had been hidden, but there it was no longer. When he did not find it, the creature panicked, searching all over himself for it. "Where is it?!" Gollum cried, scuttling through the cave, turning stones and bones and splashing through the shallows of the lake as he sought the Ring. "Where is it?! No! Noo! Where is it!?" He scampered past the hobbit, and though Bilbo wanted nothing more than to leave the Ring with the Stoor, that was something he couldn't afford to do. "Lost!" Gollum wailed, "Curses and splashes, my precious is lost!"

"What have you lost?"

"Mustn't ask us!" the creature snapped, "Not its business!"

"Well – well, maybe I can help you find it."

"No!" Gollum whirled to face him. Then suspicion flared. "What has it got it its nasty little pocketses?" he hissed.

"Are you accusing me of being a thief?!" Bilbo demanded, but nothing would have dissuaded Gollum at that point, possibly not even Eru himself.

The Ring's creature charged him, shouting, "He stole it! HE STOLE IT!" and Bilbo turned and fled. He had made an effort to keep himself in shape, even in the easy hamlet of the Shire, and so was able to keep out of the other's reach. But as he ran, he could have sworn he heard familiar footsteps on the stone floor and saw a familiar coat whipping around corners ahead of him. The hobbit dug in his pocket for the Ring and held it tight in his fist, trying to use his fear of it to keep its mental powers at bay until he reached Gandalf.

There was an explosive noise somewhere overhead, and he knew that the wizard had at last caught up with them. The sound echoed through the caverns, but Bilbo could tell where it had come from. He slipped through a crack, then put the Ring on, cringing as he did so.

The filmmakers had gotten that right, at least. The world was washed out with the Ring on, gray and phantasmal, the hobbit's surroundings smeared and twisted and warped by invisible winds. Gollum raced past the unseen hobbit, unintentionally leading the way to the exit just as he'd promised.

Bilbo didn't even consider killing Gollum when he saw his companions race by through the exit. He simply waited for them to pass, then gathered himself and leapt over the Ring's creature, following them out into the fading day.

The dwarves were still much faster than the hobbit, despite keeping himself in shape. He wasn't able to keep up with their pace and soon fell behind. When they stopped ahead of him, he slipped off the Ring and drew close enough to hear Thorin shout, "I'll tell you what happened! Master Baggins saw his chance, and he took it! He's thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since he first stepped out of his door. He'd been lost ever since he left home. He should never have come and had no place amongst us! We will not be seeing our hobbit again. He is long gone."

"Someone has abandonment issues," said Bilbo, scrambling over a log. "Oof!" He fell, landed on his bum, then pushed himself up and brushed himself off. "It appears Óin isn't the only one who's hard of hearing – I was almost right behind you."

"Bilbo Baggins," boomed Gandalf, "I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life!" But his eyes were worried, searching.

"Bilbo!" cried Kíli, "We'd given you up!"

"How on earth did you get past the goblins?" Fíli asked.

"How indeed," said Dwalin.

This time, he had an answer. "I followed you all, but got attacked by a goblin," he answered honestly, "and we fell off a platform. I landed on some soft mushrooms, but the goblin wasn't so lucky, luckily enough for me. I got lost in the tunnels, but I heard an explosion and the sounds of battle, and I was able to follow them out." He gave Gandalf a pointed look and a small nod, which the wizard returned.

"Good to have you back," said the Istari, patting his shoulder.

"I want to know," Thorin demanded, "why you came back."

"Look," Bilbo said to the dwarf prince, "I know you doubt me, I know you always have. And you're right, I often think of Bag End. I miss my books. And my armchair. And my garden." He didn't say anything about London or Baker Street or Sherlock. "See, that's where I belong. That's home. And that's why I came back – 'cause you don't have one. A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you get it back, if I can." He smiled faintly at the dwarf prince, then froze as howling filled the air, the smile dropping from his face.

"Out of the frying pan…" Thorin began.

"…and into the fire," finished Gandalf, "Run! RUN!"

The company began running down the mountain as fast as they could to keep ahead of the Wargs pursuing them. One of them caught up with Bilbo, but the hobbit pulled Sting from its sheath and ducked as it snapped at him, shoving the blade up through the soft part of its throat and into its brain. He jerked the sword free and raced after the dwarves.

"Up into the trees!" Gandalf shouted as they were driven onto an outcrop where tall pines grew, "All of you, climb!"

Bilbo scrambled up the tree nearest him, clinging tight to the highest branch he could safely reach. He briefly looked around to make sure that the others made it into their own trees before focusing on the Wargs. When he spotted a white orc astride an equally pale Warg, he wanted to shout, "I told you so!" at Thorin. Watching the color drain from his face felt like vindication enough.

At Azog's command, the Wargs leapt as high as they could, scrabbling for purchase on the bark and snapping at the dwarves' heels. The trees began to tilt and fall under the weight of the wolves, but fortunately, the members of the company had the sense and skill to jump to new trees as theirs fell. On and on it went, trees falling one after another, until they were all hemmed in up in one tree at the very edge of the cliff. This one didn't fall, but not because it was stronger than the others – not enough Wargs could get close enough to topple it.

Bilbo collected an armful of pinecones and brought them to Gandalf. The wizard set them alight with his staff, and the dwarves furled them down on the Wargs. More than one raced away with its fur ablaze.

The hobbit heard the creaking of the tree over the crackling flames before anyone else and warned the others as the pine began to tilt, then fall. They managed to hang on despite the sharp jolt as it landed, jutting out into the open air. Fortunately, it did not go tumbling over the edge, sending them to their deaths on the mountain below. Bilbo stared down into the darkness in fright, but he still felt more alive than while he lived in the Shire.

Thorin's yell of pain made him look away from the abyss. The dwarf prince had been seized by Azog's white Warg, which was on the verge of delivering a killing blow. The hobbit snatched Sting up and lunged to his defense, holding the blade steady as he faced down the orc. Another orc, far more impatient, charge him with an axe, but he ducked the beast's swing and decapitated it with one of his own. The ex-soldier stabbed its Warg in the nose, then went for its sensitive ears and toes, driving it away from the injured prince.

Then the Great Eagles began dropping out of the night. Some snatched up the orcs and Wargs and threw them over the cliff edge. Others knocked at the fallen trees, making them creak and roll down the slope, crushing more of the creatures under their weight. One created a whirlwind of fire by beating its wings over the flames.

More Eagles swooped in and began scooping up the other dwarves, carrying them away. One of them fluttered down to carefully pick up Thorin. Bilbo found Orcrist and scooped it up, then moved further into the open for the Eagle who came for him. The Eagles caught Gandalf up, too, and bore them all away, leaving the orcs and Wargs to burn.

The Great Eagles landed at the Carrock, settling their burdens down on the bear-shaped rock. Gandalf rushed over to Thorin, but Bilbo got there first, pulling open the prince's eyes to check for a concussion. The dwarf quickly proved that he was perfectly healthy, given the circumstances. "You!" he shouted after he came to, scrambling to his feet without so much as a wobble, "What were you doing?! You nearly got yourself killed! Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild and that you had no place amongst us?!" He advanced on Bilbo, whose hand dropped to Sting.

"I've never been so wrong in all my life!"

The hobbit was shocked when he was swept up into a tight embrace, so much so that he failed to return it until the last minute. "I am sorry I doubted you," said the dwarf.

"No, I would have doubted me, too. I'm not a hero or a warrior… not even a burglar," he replied.

"Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."

'Where are you, Sherlock?' he thought to himself as the dwarves exclaimed over the sight of the Lonely Mountain in the distance, 'I can't be alone here. And heroes do exist – does this mean that you're on the side of Mordor? Please don't be. I don't want you to die. Where are you?'