A/N:Can I please get at least one more review than I got for my other story here? even if its to tell me that these stories suck, drop me a line. I use well written flames for dart practice.

Disclaimer:I don't own anything that is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's. Can I claim my original characters though?

The Case of the Dead Men's Cards

In the years since the deaths of my dear father and Dr. Watson, I have found solitude more and more my friend. Though for me this does not mean locking myself away from society. For me it mean immersing myself in it. Going somewhere where no one could possible recognise me, like a busy marketplace, and simply standing there. Not participating in life, only observing it. For I have found that a woman with a unique career (in fact a woman of my station even having a career) such as mine can often be hassled and harassed, even in our supposedly enlightened times, and that solitude and thought are necessary to keep going.

For some reason, unknownst to me, the Duchess Christine of Albany, of whom you may learn about in The Case of the Victorian Closet, had deeply disturbed me. So I decided to go back to India (the long way by land) for a time. Although Indian society can be far more restrictive than the English society, I am far more familiar and comfortable with it, so it is for those reasons that I found myself at one of the many train stations in Paris, France observing the crowds and doing my best not to be noticed. This was because I had chanced upon seeing someone whom I knew very well from London, in fact it was a very particular member of Scotland Yard, Nathan Smith.

Because of many twists in our relationship and the fact that I was for all intents and purposes fleeing London and everyone whom I knew in connection to that fog ridden city, I naturally did not want him to see me. I had been traveling through France and the Netherlands for three months and I wished my slow journey to India to continue. And I thought I had succeeded, after all, I did manage to board my own train to Marseilles without bumping into him. However, Nathan is one of the quickest and brightest that the Yard has ever had, and he is an avid student of both mine and my father's methods. I was reminded of this fact when a knock came on the door to my compartment.

When I opened the door, Nathan stood there with a look that could have taught sheep a few things about looking sheepish.

"Hello Kate. Look before you shut the door in my face, can I please come in and explain why I am here and not back in London?" He got it all out very quickly and the look in his eyes suggested that he was not following me to win my hand, or my heart, as he has tried and failed to do before.

"All right, come in. But please Nathan is you are here on Yard business, I've no wish to be involved. I'm taking an extended holiday, and have no desire to have that very well deserved holiday disrupted or even cancelled because Scotland Yard cannot keep the solve the many crimes of the English without me." I stepped aside, let him into the private compartment and shut the door. I then sat on the middling comfortable bench which faced the one on which he promptly sat.

"Well?" I was not in a very good mood, and at these times I can be quite testy.

"It all starts in London, at least I think it does, shortly after you left. A man was brought to trial for the murder of a good many people, including his wife. At the scenes where each body was found, and presumably where these people had died, a card was found. Now each of these cards had one word printed on it. And when put together the message runs 'I want Holmes. He killed and destroyed my father.' Now the man arrested and accused was acquitted based on the fact that his father is still very much alive and testified that he had never met Sherlock Holmes, the he had admired him. The case seemed quite unsolvable until there were more killings and cards left. This time though they were in the Netherlands, Belgium, and France. This new message reads 'If I cannot have him, the daughter will do.' I had been in charge of the case in London and the Dutch police altered us when they found bodies with cards. I have tracked him here, and I assume he has been following you, and I had hoped I could contact you before he made his move."

Finishing his tale he looked at me anxiously, as if praying that I would believe him. He knows that although I value him as a friend, I understand that his devotion to me runs quite deeper than friendship.

"How were the cards printed?"

"What? Kate, does that matter? We have to get you off this train without anyone realising that you are gone!"

"It does matter if we are to catch this villain. Now, how were the cards printed? And would you have any of them on you?"

At that he smiled, only a small one though, not the full grin that I will admit is rather heart stopping, "I'll do you one better. I've all of them on me." With that he pulled out an envelop out of an inside pocket of his coat, and handed it to me.

On opening it, I found eighteen cards, three inches by five inches, that were blank and plain, except for the one word one each. None had a watermark.

"If your going to say that none have a watermark, I already know that," Nathan quipped.

"Good, well at least you noticed that, you did not however, seem to have noticed the writing itself. This person handwrote these cards. The boldness of the stroke and how hard he pressed his pen into each card shows that he was angry, very angry about how his father died. Also they all seem to have been written with the same pen, a blood red one for all that tells us, and one all of the cards the press of the pen is the same."

"And what does that tell us Kate?"

"That all the cards were written at approximately the same time. If they were written at different times, the press would be different."

"But that only shows that the same surface was used each time. How hard he pressed cannot possibly tell you when he wrote them."

"When you are angry about something and happen to be writing you press harder than normal into the paper. Now I have to assume this person was angry because with these card he is plotting revenge, and it is quite normal to be angry when plotting the revenge of one's father's death. Now at different times you have been angry about something and then later were angry about the same thing, can you say that both times were equal levels of anger? Or were you angrier one than the other?"

"Different levels I'd say. Every time you turn down my marriage proposal I get angrier than the time before. But the anger never lasts long."

This shocked me. I hadn't thought the he would use that example. Nor did I realise that my turning him down made him so angry or hurt. I could see the pain in his normally clear eyes.

"I'm sorry Nathan, but you do realise why I cant marry you. Don't you?"

"You cant marry a man you don't love, I know Kate. But it doesn't make the hurt go away, and it certainly doesn't help that you won't even let me take care of you as a policeman does a civilian in danger. Please will you let me get you off this train? This madman is very specific, he wants you Kate, and he's already killed 18 people just to get what he wants."

"I'm not leaving Nathan, this case is far too interesting for me to just drop it now. Besides, I'm nearly certain, at least as certain as I can be without viewing the bodies and the scenes of the murders, that he did not actually kill any of his messengers. He probably found 18 murder victims, and since you never said what the time frame was between each discovery, a fact that I am definitely going to hold against you for a very long time, or at least as long as I can manage, there is the definite chance that he is simply using bodies he finds to deliver his messages."

"So he found 18 victims of a stabbing?"

"Were the bodies found in so-called 'good' or 'bad' parts of town?"

"Bad. All of them."

"So in London, there are never any deaths caused by stabbing that his mysterious person is not the cause of?"

"No, but…"

"But what! Why is it not possible that this person did in fact not kill those 18 people, but simply planted the appropriate card and then summoned the police? Thus, insuring that the body and more importantly the card was discovered, and at some point brought to my, or rather my father/s attention, since the first message seems to indicate that this person did not know he had passed on."

"It is entirely possible, but until we catch him there is no way to know for certain that he did not kill those people. And why have you suddenly taken to calling hi 'this person'?"

"Because you have no evidence that the writer of the cards was a man. Women can plot revenge just as well, if not better then most men. And although I cannot tell if the writing on these cards belongs to a man or woman, I have never been as good at graphology as my father, I cannot guess at a gender, there would be no logic or science behind such a guess. So until we know for certain whom my future assailant is, we cannot call this person 'he' out of convenience!"

I have to admit, I was tired and not in any mood to receive visitors when Nathan arrived, and by then my Scottish temper had flared and I kicked him out. Truth be told, I was scared and I dearly wished I was back in the safety of my home at 221B Baker Street, playing the violin and arguing about something, anything, with James. But I wasn't, so I did the next best thing, I locked the door and quickly, with the skill that comes fro constant travel, changed the compartment over to a sleeping compartment. I then took a nap.

I have often found sleeping to be the best way to clear my mind and put things into perspective. After all, after a nap it is easier to think clearly because you are not caught up in the fear of the moment, And as always, it worked. I awoke the next morning refreshed, able to face Nathan, without blowing up at him, and not as afraid of my stalker, if that is what this person was. I also awoke to a banging on the door. Quickly I got up and dressed for the day, and opened the door.

"Hello Nathan, you're here early."

"Kate, you didn't even check to see who was at the door before you opened it! What if I had been the person out to get you?"

"I knew it was you because you a singular way of pounding on a door. One that I should know by now, seeing as how practically every other week or so you are doing it at Baker Street. I take it another body has been found?"

"I won't ask, it's really not worth the trouble. Two bodies have been found, an older couple. A doctor on board confirmed that they died in their sleep, what are the odds that both would die on the same night?"

"Not likely, but possible. What did the cards say?"

"They were their own message. And before I tell you what that message is, I have to tell you that you were right."

"About what? We talked about a lot yesterday."

"This…person probably didn't kill the 'messengers' as you call them. This villain is too smart for that."

"Will you just give me the card and be done with it Nathan!" Silently he handed over too cards, identical to the other 18. And the message did scare me a bit, though it thrilled me even more.

"Come on Nathan. We're getting off this train and going back to London."

"Not that I don't like the idea, but why?"

"The message has been delivered. And the game is back in London, not here."

With that he left to fetch his luggage. I don't believe it was luck that the next large station was only another 15 minutes or so down the line. When he had gone, I looked down again at the two cards in my hands. The message was written in that same blood-red pen, was clear Moriarty's daughter, was what was written, and as I gazed at the message felt myself smiling. Yes the game was back in London and it was a continuance of the game our fathers had played, and I felt sure that the professor's daughter and I would make this match into our very own game.

Taking a pen in hand, I wrote out on a bit of stationary,

"See you in London. May the best woman win.

Signed,

K. Holmes"

Before Nathan and I got off the train I asked the conductor to give my message to Miss Moriarty. She will get it, of that I am certain.