Okay, for those who found problems, were confused, had complaints in certain areas, or just wanted scenes added in – my BST fan fic has been reorganized. Every chapter has been touched up or changed in one way or another, so it might be an idea to go over them all. I have erased all reviews, so hopefully everyone can leave me some messages. If that does not work, please feel free to email me.

SURGEON GENERAL WARNING: The following fan fiction off of a piece of fan fiction contains EXTREMELY HIGH levels of BST – which has been proven to cause severe addiction in low doses. Read at your own risk. If you feel you are addicted it is too late – pray for new chapters and ease withdraw symptoms with re-reading past chapters from start to finish, or get allowance to write your own fan fiction from March Hare. You all who have yet to read any of it have been warned.

DISCLAIMER: Sherlock Holmes and all Cannonal Characters do not belong to me – in the US they belong to the estate of Dame Jean Conan Doyle (at least the casebook does). All BST characters not seen in the Cannon or other Sherlockian works belong to either March Hare or their perspective owners. All other characters belong to me, and cannot be used without my permission. ^_^

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BST Chapter 13

In Which I See the Dead Rise, and Lose my Mind

By Bonnie S.

~~

Nona –

A twig snapped, stopping me. Someone was approaching. I turned to Virgil. "You didn't forget to clean your room again, did you?" He shook his head and another twig snapped, nearer. And who should appear from behind a tree but the object of my worse nightmares and the author of one of the reasons for my heartbreak, Darby Edwards!

"Oh God, no. Virgil, run! Get help!" I yelled as I shoved the little boy I adored out of the way. Virgil got far out of harms reach and seemed to be gone in no time, but I wasn't that lucky. Darby grabbed hold of me, and put a knife hard to my throat.

"Now, you are going to be some pleasant company for me while we walk back to my estate. After all, you screaming my make my tense muscles twitch and put a new permanent smile on you." He snapped as he pressed the blade harder against my neck for added emphasis.

What Darby didn't see, but I saw clearly, was a little detective hidden behind some near by bushes. Virgil looked at me with teary eyes and nodded much like his insensitive uncle before rushing away quietly. He must have known that I was in deep trouble when I hadn't followed him and came back to find me. I could tell that he had heard where I was being dragged off to. So, that meant I had to hold off as long as I could to let him get to the manor for help. I refocused on Darby once I saw my little hero run off for help. "In your company, that would be the only way to make me smile, Edwards."

"Oh, you were enjoying being with me not too long ago. It was during that cab ride last Christmas that gave me the idea of how to get back at Sherlock. Yes, what better way to outclass him than to make him look like the bumbling, spurious detective that he is?" He chuckled as he brushed his fingers down my side a moment. I thought that I felt disgusted at his kissing my hand at Christmas, that was nothing compared to this.

That jeer and touch made me angrier than Sir Siger ever had. "Holmes knew that you were trouble from the start. As for that interview, I was luring you in by acting the part of an air-headed woman that most men of this country expect me to be! And that cab ride last Christmas was the worst one of my life. I scrubbed off that kiss you placed on my hand onto my skirt the second the cab rolled on. I suspected you as well from the start, and helped every step I could to bring you down."

"And now I shall reward you for all of that, Miss Brown, in ways that pale in comparison to what I did to Sylvia Pittston. And then I will send your body back to Sherlock a piece at a time. That should crush the no-good, pompous, egotistical epitome of what all men in North Riding should aspire to." Edwards growled in my ear.

Did I hear this right? Darby Edwards was jealous of my Sherlock? And did he just call Holmes an epitome? Boy, was Darby in need of a serious reality check! If he had only seen the Sherlock Holmes I left in London, he wouldn't be so resentful. Still I had to buy Virgil time to get help and for the rescue party to arrive, so I bit back the sardonic remark I so wanted to retort at this pathetic piece of trash. The last thing I wanted to do was return to Sherlock in pieces – literally.

Most of the way I was silent, noting every marker I saw to give me an idea of how to escape if I was able to get myself out of this. Darby however kept on rattling about how much better than Holmes he was, and how he'd show me such in due time. Adding on the unwanted touch earlier, I didn't like the sound of that and wasn't ready to find out what this guy had planned for me. I started trying to slow down our pace, in the hopes that the rescue party I hoped Virgil had already called together was on their way. Stumbling over a rock and root here, struggling there, all the while being careful of the blade that was still pressed against my neck. Darby kept swearing about my being the damn clumsy woman he should have expected me to be.

Unfortunately, my stalling didn't work nearly well enough. We ended up at his manor about twenty minutes later, just as the sun set. To say that his father was irate would be the biggest understatement the world has ever and will ever know. Sir Roger Edwards was seething with rage at the sight of me in Darby's arms.

I had only caught a glance of the man leaving the last time Sherlock and I had visited, but now I saw him in full view and fought between laughing and spitting at the sleaze. Sir Roger was only slightly taller but significantly thinner than Sherlock, obviously with poverty comes fewer and smaller meals. His blue eyes echoed the steel I had seen in his son's that fateful day we both reached for the same cab door. And they showed all of his emotions (including the fact that he and his son shared the same sick mind when it came to me). His blond hair was still golden but woefully thinning, despite his attempt to comb it in a fashion to hide his still showing scalp. If it weren't for that, and the few wrinkles on his clean-shaven face, he could have passed himself off as a much younger man. I couldn't help but think that he should ask Sherlock for tips on stage make-up. The bags next to the door told me what he had planned – escape. Oh well, no time for those lessons I guess. "What do you think you're doing with her? We should get out of here now, before the police come looking for you."

Darby glared hotly at the older man. "We will not leave until I have my revenge!"

Sir Roger, on the other hand, seemed to be smarter than his son. "Unlike you, I am not going to stay here and find myself hanging from the gallows! You are on your own, boy!"

And with that he was gone. I had no time to contemplate it though, because Darby vehemently jerked me into his library in his anger. "I'll show him. I'll have more fun than him and not get caught. Then we'll just see who is the boy of this family!"

What did he mean by that? Before I could hazard a guess, I tripped through the doorway in a true accident. What a time to have that happen! Darby angrily slammed me hard against the wall. That sent me to the ground winded, and several books rained down on my head to rattle me some more.  I was so startled and confused for a moment that I didn't take my chance to escape! Before I could figure out what way was up, Darby grabbed my shoulders and flung me into a small room before slamming the door shut. I hadn't noticed a doorway near me, so I guessed that like the hidden passage at Oakstaff Manor, there was a hidden door in this library. And that meant there was little hope of anyone finding me, so I would have to find my own escape.

Stiffly, I got to my feet and began to let my eyes adjust to the limited light in the room. Really, I couldn't call it a room because it was more like a prison cell in a cold, damp dungeon. There was a small barred window at the bottom of the far wall that even if I could get rid of the bars was too small for me to get through – it only came up to my mid-calf and was a little more than that wide in the shape of an arch. A small amount of light came in from a cave far below (giving me one more reason for that to not be my means of escape), along with a cold, damp, and awful breeze from what I supposed was stagnate water below.

Fighting the urge to gag, I felt around the walls for any handholds or ladders or other openings, but there was nothing but slimy wall. Near the end of my examination of the room I tripped over something that groaned hard. God, I recognize that voice, but it just couldn't be! No, I saw his body myself! "Is that you, Sir Siger?"

"You!" His normally rough smoker's voice was harsher with obvious pain and exhaustion.

"Oh God, we thought that you were dead!" I gasped out, not sure how to handle this situation. Now I wished that I had Sherlock there, if only to certify me crazy or that this man was truly his father. "How did you get here?"

Sir Siger chuckled, one that was eerily similar to Sherlock's. Or was it that I wanted it to be? Shacking that thought from my head I scooted closer to try and check him for injuries, but there wasn't enough light to really see his face, much less check for injuries that I was certain he had with as stiff as he was holding his body. "I have been wishing that I was. And as to how I came here it is none of YOUR concern. What are YOU doing here in any case woman? Got lost on your way to London?"

My first thought to that was this man had to be the real Sir Siger. Only he could be so annoying and cruel in a situation like this. Well, at least I know that Sherlock did get some of his father's traits – thought they were traits I'd rather his brute of a father had kept to himself. "I was kidnapped, you irritating jerk! God, you're as bad as Sherlock! No, in fact I think that you are worse than him!"

"Actually, it is that he is as bad as me; after all, he is my son." The old man raucously chuckled at my shocked gasp. If I weren't already on the ground, I would have collapsed in shock.

I seriously began to wonder if this really was Sir Siger Holmes as I leaned back against the nearby slimy, wet wall. After all, the Siger I knew refused to acknowledge my Sherlock, outside of putting him down that is. But here he was saying without argument that the man was his son! I couldn't help but think that if it had only taken a major beating to get it in the man's head, I would have been the first in line to give it.  At least Sherlock and I wouldn't have … I again shook my head to clear away that memory. This was not the time or place to start thinking about that again. Still I couldn't let the comment slide. "So, now you admit that he's your son?"

"How did you know?"

"It doesn't matter. Damn you, if you only knew what you have put that wonderful man through! Even when he thought you were dead, you haunted him! He wouldn't accept mine or Watson's help on the next case; he got as if …" I couldn't understand why Sherlock had been so gruff and cross with us. I had brushed it off as his grief, but now it felt different. There was something more to it.

Sir Siger's chuckling brought me out of my memories of the past few weeks. "So, because of what I said about him being a fraud, he refuses the help of those he is supposed to care so much about. Damn boy is too busy thinking with his pride and not his head. But I suppose that he got that from me. Don't be too angry with him, woman, he has gone through too much in these past weeks and needs to work it through."

This stunned me. Sir Siger Holmes was actually speaking kindly and respectfully towards me and about Sherlock? Maybe this wasn't him. Or maybe it was his near death experience. "He and I can talk later about our problems. Why are you being so nice to me, and why are you only now acknowledging Sherlock for what he is?"

For a long while he was quiet. A foul draft wrapped around and chilled me to the core. For a moment I thought he had either died or passed out from his obvious pain, and that I was alone in a hidden room with a corpse. But finally he sighed, he had only been thinking. "It is a long story, young woman."

I wanted the truth out of this old man, and that line was not going to stop me from getting it. "Looks like we have plenty of time, Sir Siger."

He snorted at that (I swear he did!). "Seeing as you are as good as family as it is, I will tell you. It all began just after my sweet Violet died."

***

Sixteen Years Earlier …

The normally gregarious Siger Holmes withdrew from all, including all three of his dearly loved sons, for the ache that the death of his beloved wife had left him heartbroken. If he had only gone with them, she would still be alive. That meeting hadn't been all that important, and Sherlock rarely saw any children his own age. Violet had always spoilt the poor boy a little, but then Siger couldn't fault her – he knew that his youngest son was destined for great things. And little Sherlock … oh how it hurt to look at the boy now. Siger didn't blame the child for Violet's death; it was just that the boy was his dead mother made over. At least in some way Violet still remained alive through their son. That was a thought that made the old man smile, if only for a moment now and then. Yet, it was too soon for him to look upon the young boy for any given length of time without suffering agony. So, Siger would lock himself away for days with pictures of his beloved wife, her mementos, and his memories.

It was during this time of grief that a neighbor came to visit Siger and change the household, as well as that boy's life forever. The neighbor was Sir Roger Edwards. "Siger, please accept my condolences. Violet was such a beautiful and vivacious woman. It was far too soon for her to go."

"Thank you Sir Roger. Normally I would like a visit from you, but now I am not in the mood for company." Siger just wanted to remember those sweet times he had alone with his beloved Violet. At least right at that moment he did. Sir Roger's words however changed that within the span of a heartbeat or so.

"Can I ask a favor? I'd like it if my sons could play together for a little while. After all they are going to need time to grown accustomed to one another before William comes to live with me on a full time basis. Also would it be too much to have him over for the weekend?"

Siger's eye grew cold and hard. "Where do you get the nerve to say such things about my youngest son?"

Roger's eyes too grew cold and sharp. "Didn't Violet ever … no, of course she wouldn't. Not with as frightened as you always made her. She and have been lovers for years now. In fact William was created our first night together. Violet told me that if anything happened to her that I was to take custody of our only son."

"William is mine and Violet's son, and you are a licentious liar!" Siger shouted at the top of his lungs.

Roger continued his assault. "If that is so, then how do I know that sweet Violet had a birthmark if light brown freckles gathered together in a oblong stroke on the lower edge of her left breast where it connected to her still firm body down about two inches on her abdomen?"

That left Siger's already broken heart shattered into dust. None could have known of his wife's birthmark. She disliked it so that she never wore gowns cut so low that she was in danger of revealing it to any but her husband. He had been so certain that the two of them had created William before he left for a business trip to Town – both would grin at how he had left a part of himself with her during that separation. But perhaps now it had been that she grinned at how well she had hidden her unfaithfulness from him and given her bastard son her lawful husband's name instead of her lover's. The boy did look so much like her, and nothing like him at all. Siger looked over at Sir Roger and growled threateningly. "Get out of my house and never return to darken my door again! Her William stays here!"

**

Back in the Present …

"After that I destroyed or sold all of my wife's things and I never looked at Sherlock the same. I called him a bastard to his face, never accepted anything he did as good enough, and even went so far as to make him defy me so that I could honorably be rid of him. I didn't care what he became in life. And now it is too late to undo all that I have done to him." Siger finished his sad tale with a sigh.

So, that was what happened to break up this family? I now hated Sir Roger even more than before. He had wrecked this man, hurt my only love, and now thought that he could get away? Not as long as Nona Brown lived. I knew what I had to do. Tell this all to Sherlock and remember all that I could to help him find this monster and bring him to justice! But that was for after I got Sir Siger and myself out of this trap. "You can't help the past because it is over with. All we can do now is fight to get back to Sherlock and hopefully mend this family after far too long."

I was livid with anger at that moment, but there was nothing I could imagine to try. Seeing I needed focus Sir Siger spoke up. "You are very much like my sweet Violet. Stubborn, determined, and you fight for those you love with all of your heart. She would have approved of you, despite all of your distinctive attitudes and tastes."

As he hoarsely chuckled with tears running down his face, I was stunned. He was very different and I think that something had to have happened for him to have done so. I wanted to understand what I was now up against when it came to the father of the man I loved so much. "What happened to you, Sir Siger? How is it that we found your body from a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head, and you are here with me in the flesh?"

"As to how I got here. Darby Edwards and some accomplice broke in to grab me. I shot the collaborator in the face – disfiguring him badly – but Darby knocked me unconscious before I could react." For a moment Sir Siger broke down into coughs again. But he waved me back when I moved to help him. "I have to say this. Darby brought me here. Roger threw in my face that no one knew I was still alive, so there would be none coming for me. He told me of how he walked in on my wife bathing one day … that was how he had seen her birthmark. That I had done just as he had planned. The only thing he had wished I had done was denounced my wife openly and disown Sherlock. But, I loved my wife too much to ever harm her name … even after death. And Sherlock was her favorite son, so it would hurt her to disown him. I merely tolerated him until I could rid myself of him. Roger told me that he would have killed Sherlock if I had turn custody of him over, and then he would have told me the truth the day he was buried in the Edward's cemetery as a bastard so that I could do nothing to regain the boy. After that he and his son beat me and threw me in this place."

This tore my heart. That one man would be so cruel to a child. I had been in the nineteenth century far too long. I forgot about all the news stories I watched and shook my head at. This I think would have been one of those 'fact is stranger than fiction' stories. "I, for one, am thankful that you loved Mrs. Holmes so much."

"She would have wanted you to call her by her given name child. She would have been pushing Sherlock into proposing to you by now if she were alive. Violet would have agreed with me that you are perfect for our son. Don't give up on him child." He took my left hand and brushed a kiss on it. I hoped that he could hold on until I could get him to a doctor.

In my mind I could see Violet urging Sherlock to take time alone with me to ask me that sweet question. It was impossible to hold back the smile that image brought to my face. Yes, even with our fight, I still loved William Sherlock Scott Holmes. "I can only hope he misses me, Sir Siger. I've been gone a week already. And even if he is here in North Riding, will Virgil get him to come after me in time?"

"This old house might be falling apart child, but it will hold up until the boy comes for you. And I want you to call me by my given name for now at the least. It will be up to my stubborn son to give you the right to call me father." He sighed hard again.

Had he just gave me the okay to marry his son? This had been the worse near month in my entire life, but in a few words the man who once annoyed me to all ends made it all better somewhat. "Or dad."

At that he chuckled hard. I obviously had a sister-in-law and a father-in-law. Now if only Sherlock would ask me to marry him! But I knew he wouldn't … he hated me.

**

Sherlock -

Virgil raced so hard and fast that I doubt he saw me until after he ran into me at full speed. Holding him back so I could see his eyes, I knew that something was wrong. Given that Sherrinford had informed me of Nona taking him down to the tree line to teach him to play the violin, it wasn't hard to deduce that something was wrong with Nona. After a beat, the boy saw whom it was that held his shoulders. "Uncle Sherlock, come on! Hurry, Miss Nona's in trouble!"

As he started to wrench hard on my arm back in the direction that he had just appeared from, I felt my heart stop. Nona. He said she was in trouble! "Tell me what has happened Virgil, every detail."

"Miss Nona was teaching me to play violin down by the woods. We were taking a rest when we heard someone coming. About a minute later he came and grabbed her! She pushed me to get away and I thought she was behind me. I turned around and she wasn't there. So I went back and saw him holding a knife at her throat! He's going to hurt her! Hurry!" Again the boy began to furiously pull me. Not enough information. I needed more data.

"Who has Nona, Virgil?" I stopped the boy's pulls and made him face me. However, his answer was not one I had expected or was prepared for.

"Uncle Darby!"

This made my blood run cold. What did that scoundrel want with Nona? It was a question I didn't want the answer to. It was my fault that Nona had returned here, placing herself at risk for just this sort of event. I shook it off and forced myself to keep the situation in check. I wouldn't be able to save her if I lost all reins on my feelings. Still … "Do you know where he has taken her?"

"Yes, his manor. I heard him clear, Uncle Sherlock. Hurry!"

Virgil obviously cared for Nona nearly as much as I. "Virgil, go in and explain the situation to your mother and help her get things ready in case of the worst. Watson, Mycroft, Sherrinford, time we settled things with Darby Edwards once and for all."

I didn't even look to see if my directions were being followed. Virgil wanted to be like me, it seemed, so I knew that he would do as I say to the letter. My brothers and Watson had supported me without fail in the past, and there was no sign of that fact ever changing. In fact I could feel them right behind me as we charged towards the cart to ride to Darby's ill-gotten estate. All I could do was hope that Nona could hold the situation out long enough for us to arrive, and that one day she would forgive me for putting her through all of this.

It took so long to race the horse towards what had been the Richardson Estate. All the while I thought out every possible punishment I could give Edwards for simply putting my dearest Nona through all of this. Most were illegal, while others would have not have been as satisfactory. Then her face came to my mind hard, and I could nearly see the tears in her eyes that Watson had described Nona wearing the morning she left. I still could not remember what it was I had said to her that drove her off, but I was willing to do anything to get her to return with me to Baker Street. Now that this vivacious and spirited woman had engrained herself so deeply into my life, I knew that I couldn't function half as well without her with me. It would be as if I had lost Watson or Mrs. Hudson, I could muddle through but my life wouldn't have been the same due to the empty space created by my lost. That past week told me that clearly.

I spent all of my time, favors, and resources searching for her – and I would have done it all again to bring Nona back and refill that hole in my life. I might not show or say such to her, but neither did I to Watson or Mrs. Hudson. Why did this woman have to be so difficult to understand? How could this woman love me? She knew the truth about my darkest secret, one that Watson didn't know. And still she loved me? I had no true name to give her … when did I begin to think of such things? And why did she matter to me so?

Then the truth came to me. Suppose that the way to return to her own time came; could I really bind her to me by vow and hold her here with a clear conscience? She had told me herself that she missed her family, and here all she had was my family, our friends, and myself. And did she not have a part in life to play out? Holding her here could jeopardize something that is to happen in the future.

And Watson had claimed to love her as well. He was more stable, had a career that didn't have its dry spells of no cases, and he had a name – Watson was not a bastard as I was. Why had she not fallen for him instead? And why did I have to fall in love with her just as deeply as my friend?

**

Nona –

'Please hurry, Sherlock,' I thought to myself. I wasn't sure why I thought of him coming to my rescue, but right then it was almost as if I could feel his arms wrapping around me. I knew that it was a trick of my mind, but I could have sworn that I smelled his scent – shag tobacco, sandalwood soap, and him. For the first time in a week, I felt nearly whole. Honestly, I felt safe, loved, and missed all at the same time. I wondered if Watson had shown Sherlock my telegram? Would he have even cared, or had his hate-filled words had only been the alcohol talking? I so hoped with all of my heart that he was on his way. Honestly I never thought that I would ever miss that egotistical, wonderful man this badly … but I did.

His groaning quickly arrested my attentions solely on Sir Siger as he twisted where he could look at me. His next words about made me faint. "I was right before you know. He wants to marry you."

"No, he doesn't. If he could, he would have thrown me out at the start like he first planned." I don't know why, but I explained it all to Sir Siger, who simply lay there and listened. How I was from the future, how I found myself in the nineteenth century, what happened that literally knocked me into Watson. I did skip Holmes and my first meeting, but I did explain how I used that library book to bargain my way into living at 221B. And then I explained about how we all thought he had killed himself, the note, how it affected Holmes. Finally, I told him about Holmes' and my fight, my leaving Baker Street, and how Darby Edwards kidnapped me.

For a few minutes, he said nothing. I guessed that the start of my story didn't seem to make much sense. In fact, I worried that I shouldn't have told him at all. When we got out of this place, was he going to reserve me a bed at Bedlam? Finally, he wheezed a bit, telling me that he was getting worse. "Quite a story, young lady, but it does explain your behavior. As for my foolish son, I'm sure that he is using all of his so-called skills to track you. However, I believe that it will be too late for me by the time he arrives." Then he broke down into brutal coughing and wheezing. I had to get us out of there and fast.

"We'll just find a way out until he does. You hold on, dad. If it weren't for your son, I would be a different person before I was hiccupped into this century, and I would probably be dead by now. He is the world's greatest detective, because he knows how to take the facts and set them straight, as well as knowing when he himself can't get the facts, but another might." I got up and pressed my back against the door. I prayed that I was right about what I suspected.

Sir Siger was right, the rest of the manor was in disrepair; maybe this part of the house was as well. There was only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, I slammed all of my weight against the door – nothing. Again I shoved against it … was that a slight shift I felt? Who cared, it gave me hope. Again I heaved against the door, but the shift this time became more of a jarring. Suddenly the door opened and Edwards caught me in one arm. The good news was that he couldn't close it back – I had knocked it off of its hinges. The bad news was I had royally pissed off an already volatile Darby. I still had no plan of how to go about knocking him out and getting Sir Siger to safety.

"Got that much energy in you, Miss Brown? Maybe I can wear you down nicely." He chuckled in my ear before shoving me face first into the solid bookcase. He wasn't thinking of doing what I thought he was! No way was I letting this jerk do that! As hard as I could I connected my elbow with his mouth, or tried to only make contact with the side of his head. That made the situation worse. I could only think 'Where are you, Sherlock, when I need you?' But I knew he was probably still at Baker Street killing himself.

Darby swung me around. I felt a couple of sharp pains in the back of my head. Then all was dark.

**

Sherlock –

We moved around to the back of the house to hopefully get into the library through a secret passage I remembered from my youth. So far we hadn't been discovered, but I wasn't taking any chances with my Nona's life. It was hard to open, but with all four of us heaving at it the secret door quickly relented to our demands for entrance. Quietly we made our way through the short tunnel to the door that led into the library. We made it to the wall and removed enough books to see that across the room the center of the wall was jerking out hard. I remembered that had been a cell for prisoners once long before. It had to be Nona. I felt a swell of pride towards her that moment; she hadn't given up. Before she could get the door open or we could get to her, Darby slammed the hidden door open and wedged it to where he couldn't close it back.

I couldn't hear what he was saying, but when he so rudely smashed Nona into the bookcase facing away from him I knew what the aberrant fool had planned for her, and would never allow him to do that to Nona. She too seemed to know what was happening, because she caught the side of his head with her elbow, hard, before he could begin disrobing her. Right then we opened our door and entered the room, ready to grab Darby before he could escape. I was too slow to react. I saw him grab the heavy book, and the rest seemed to slow down. He slammed Nona on the back of her head with the top of the volume, she spun as she fell and that same area of her head struck the nearby table. Finally she and the table collapsed to the ground and she did not move.

I saw red and do not remember what happened the next few minutes clearly. Darby Edwards had hurt my dear Nona!

**

Watson –

I had never before or since seen my friend Sherlock Holmes' face grow so dark with hate. Though I shared his anger at the appalling treatment of the woman I knew by then without question we both dearly loved, Holmes had also suffered the loss of his father all too recently because of this Darby Edwards … which only added to his detestation.

Holmes ripped across the room with speed that I never dared guess him capable of and began to beat Darby Edwards with all the rage and anguish that was in his soul. I rushed to Nona's side and soon found that she was only unconscious. I was grateful, for if she had died I knew Edwards would be dead and Holmes would be sent to the scaffolds for the crime … of that I was certain. I had no wish to lose two of my friends in such violent ways so quickly.

Sherrinford and Mycroft both had to pull Holmes off of the equally unconscious, but more seriously wounded, Darby Edwards. "Holmes." I called out to calm him and remind him of Nona.

That did the trick. He wrenched free of his brothers and dropped to his knees near her head – worry covering his face. His voice was tight as he spoke, telling me this was hard on him. "Is she. . . ?"

"She alive, but unconscious. I won't know how much damage was done until she wakes up." I didn't have the heart to tell my friend that there was a chance that our love would never awaken. Tenderly, he pulled her limp body into his arms, focusing solely on the beautiful angel in his arms. It almost looked as if Nona calmed in his embrace and settled deeper into his arms as she slept. I knew then that she truly loved Holmes even with his flaws, and I was not going to come in between them.

The stunned cry and fainting of Mycroft Holmes grabbed all of our attentions, however. Sherrinford too gasped in shock when he looked into the room Nona had been locked in. "Father!"

With a nod from Holmes I rushed into the room to find a badly beaten Sir Siger Holmes, wheezing and groaning in pain. After checking him briefly, I could see that I needed to get him back to Oakstaff to treat him fully. Looking up at the eldest Holmes brother, I could see that this was a great shock. "We have to get him back so I can work with him."

"Work on the girl. I'm fine." The old man croaked out. The man was as stubborn as his youngest son, if not even more so.

"Sir Siger, I checked Nona and she is only unconscious for now. I can't do anything more for her until she wakes." I snapped.

Sherrinford wasn't going to have anything to do with his father's wishes at that moment. "Father, we are taking you home this instant. Dr. Watson, see if you can get Mycroft to wake up. I'll carry my father."

I nodded and in a few moments had the larger brother awake. "Is he. . .?"

"Yes, though we need to get him home as soon as possible." I reported.

**

Sherlock –

I was in shock as I hoisted Nona into my arms. My father was still alive. If she and I hadn't fought, if she hadn't returned to Oakstaff, if Edwards hadn't taken her – I didn't want to explore the possibilities. Yet I went from shock to astonishment when my father came into the room, carried by Sherrinford. "Sherlock."

"Yes, Father?" I was terrified. What did he want to cut me down with now?

The look in his brown eyes was as hard and sharp as ever. "You do right by this girl. She reminds me much of your mother at that age. That makes her a good match for you … my son."

Without holding Nona in my arms, I would have fainted from those two words for certain. Had he really called me his son? Oh Nona, how did you do it? I couldn't confirm his words because he had passed out from the pain.

Nona, on the other hand, slowly came to as we made it out to the cart. As happy as my father's words had made me, her words made me that miserable. "Who are you?"

**

Nona –

I woke up in the arms of some man with no idea of who he or I were.

Yet, the situation didn't upset me. If anything I felt safe, and that the circumstances we were in at that moment was somehow familiar. I remember that before I opened my eyes, his scent filled my nostrils and made me feel calm and safe. In one word I felt like I was at home in his arms. So I didn't struggle against him, but snuggled into his hold more securely. He looked like my not remembering him hurt, but my nestling into his arms somewhat helped.

We got in this cart with the others, including one who slightly annoyed me and one who frightened me. Both were unconscious, but the frightening one still bothered me. The man who had carried me out of the house swore to protect me, so that made things a little easier. So did his wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close to him. It took my mind off of my memory loss.

He told me that I lived with him and one of the gentlemen in someplace called London. He and I had a fight and I came to his family's home to get away for a time so he could cool down. The reason I was afraid of the man across from us was that he had kidnapped me and then hit me, which caused my memory loss. My hero told me that his name was Sherlock Holmes and that he was a consulting detective. Our roommate was a doctor by the name of John H. Watson. I was named Nona Ermingarde Brown; that middle name just made me cringe to the chuckle of the men surrounding me. The other three men were my hero's relatives. The man with the beard and moustache was his eldest brother, Sherrinford. The largest of his elder brothers was Mycroft. And the elderly gentleman who seemed banged up and was unconscious (though still mildly annoyed me) was his father Sir Siger. My attacker was named Darby Edwards. At that name, I harshly rubbed my hand against my dress without knowing why. Was it a memory surfacing? None of the conscious men around me could explain it.

We (Holmes, Watson, and I) left the next day, but promised to return the following month to visit. All hoped that more familiar surroundings would help to jog more memories, but the little boy (Sherlock's nephew named Virgil) was unhappy that Sherlock and I were leaving. Sherlock promising to come with me if there was no case he was working on made the boy somewhat happy. On the train ride towards London we were all silent mostly. I was happy that Sherlock held my hand through nearly the entire trip. He explained at one point, when we were alone for a few minutes, that he had been drunk when we fought so he couldn't remember what he had said that drove me away, but he was glad that I had agreed to return home with him and Watson. At least that was how I interpreted it.

"Nona, I realize that it is disconcerting returning to Baker Street with Watson and I, when we are practically strangers."

I smiled and squeezed the hand that held mine. "It maybe for me as if we all have just met, but returning with the two of you is not distressing in the least. I feel safe with the two of you and it feels almost natural to be going back with you and Watson."

I could see that my words had stunned him, but Sherlock brushed it off and returned to the face I knew was a mask he nearly always wore in public – but how did I know that. "Still, when either of us remembers what our disagreement was about, preferably both, we will discuss it and seek an amity to the situation."

I wanted to huff for some reason at that. "Feels more like we had an all out brawl minus the fist fighting." I used my free hand to cover my mouth as my eye popped wide open. Sherlock's voice gave away his shock. "Do you remember, Nona?"

I shook my head and was terrified he would leave me at the station. But Sherlock just settled back in his seat and gently squeezed my hand. "Must be that intuition of yours. It will come back eventually." At that he lapped into silence and shut his eyes. Yet, I just knew he was tense. If it weren't for how he was holding my hand, I would have gotten up and left. It was as if he was scared that I would do just that.

We arrived at Charing Cross Station in the late afternoon, but it was very hot. I almost wanted to get on the next train going back to Sherlock's family manor. The three of us shared a cab and soon I was taking in all of the sights as we sped towards our flat. People were the first thing that hit me. There were so many people that I felt a little closed in compared to how free and open it was in the country. And the many buildings did little to help me. But this was home. That I was certain of, yet there was something tickling me in the back of my mind. A wall and panicking … but that couldn't mean anything important, so I kept it to myself.

The cab ride home did nothing to jar my memories loose. Once we arrived at the flat we got out and I could see that my friends were hopeful, but I had to shake my head. I hated causing the sorrowful looks that came to their faces. Watson was sure that it would simply be a matter of time before I would begin to remember, but it felt as if my memories were simply waiting for their cue. Now if I could only find out what was the cue so I could remember already!

Walking into the building, I did get a feeling of belonging in that place, but it was only a feeling. Sherlock told me to not worry because I had followed my intuition before and it had more often been the correct choice.  I had a thought hit me as he smirked. "I remember telling you that it has to do with how a woman's brain is wired. And you laughed. Right?"

"Excellent, Nona! See; being home is already calling your memories back. Ah, here comes Watson and Mrs. Hudson now. Have you explained everything, Watson?"

Watson nodded as the sweet woman I felt familiar with came over and pulled me into a hug. "My poor Nona-bird. Well we'll just ease you back into the routine and hope that everyday normalcy brings your memories back."

I couldn't help but smile at that.

I went into my small room and started unpacking my bag. I was surprised to find a scruffy outfit, a pair of cracked glasses, and a second hand violin in the bottom of it. There were also some outfits that I couldn't decide were male or female. Shaking my head, I opened my wardrobe to a shock. Inside was the most beautiful gown I had ever seen in my life! A deep Tuscany-wine red that was alight with the fire of something in my mind. An opera … a card … a watch … and the feeling I got from Sherlock when he had carried me to the carriage the day I awoke without my memories, but it was different. I was being carried into the house. It was all so foggy and I was so intent on pulling these memories together that I didn't notice Holmes standing in the doorway of my room. "What's wrong, Nona?"

"Holmes, you startled me." I explained what I was able to glean from my past. It felt good to know that I put that sweet smile on his face. The smile only brightened with what I had to tell him next. "When I was being carried into the house I felt so safe and loved. It reminded me of when you carried me out of that manor you found me in. Like you wouldn't let anyone take me from you."

When he took me into his arms and hugged me tight, I felt my heart race with joy. Somehow this was a rare happening, but I wasn't sure why. I knew then that I was deeply in love with this man. And, unless I was wrong, he had to care for me in some fashion or another. His words only sealed him in my heart forever. "I'll never let anyone take you from me without your consent, Nona. That I promise you."

**

That night, I tossed and turned in my small bed. In my dreams, a memory surfaced, a horrible one. A man walked up on me, but I was dressed worse than a tramp … no it was something else. The outfit was casual where I came from. But where was it? Not here in England … that was why my accent is so different for most of my friends.

The man . . . he was drunk. He made a move at me and I thrust my knee into his groin. Other men started chasing me! I was running and running. I couldn't get away! I … I …

I woke up with a loud scream. One that was loud enough to wake Holmes and Watson, as well as Mrs. Hudson. All three were in my room in moments.

"Nona-bird?"

"Nona!" Holmes looked as if he had feared the worse, but was grateful I was safe and sound.

Watson too looked relieved. "Are you alright, Nona?"

"No." I sighed before I broke down into tears. Forgetting all rules of etiquette, Holmes sat on the edge of my bed and pulled me into his arms. Mrs. Hudson too sat beside me, rubbing my back to calm me down. Watson stood there looking concerned.

After a beat, he realized what had happened. "Nona, tell us about the nightmare."

This surprised me, but not Holmes. I guessed that he had seen it too. After a few breaths, I went over the various images in my dream. Watson asked me to let the dream go on. I remember more running, feeling like I wanted to give up, wishing for help or a weapon … and then it clicked. I understood why he was smiling and his eyes were shining with such hope. "It's a memory! That was when we first met. You saved me from those scalawags!" That made them all chuckle, but Holmes held a new look for our friend. He didn't know, but I noticed him mouth the words 'thank you' to Watson, who simply nodded with a knowing smile on his face.

By now I was calm, and we were all tired. Even though it felt good when Holmes held me in his arms, he helped me settle back on my bed and tucked me under the blankets like a child – seeing that Mrs. Hudson was speaking to Watson, he winked and kissed my head. "Sleep well, my sweet Nona."

I couldn't hold back my smile. I knew without fear that if I were ever in danger, this man (along with Watson and Mrs. Hudson) would move mountains and oceans to save me. That was enough comfort to get me through the rest of the night.

The next day, I had to practically beg to help Mrs. Hudson in any shape or form. It took an unusual memory coming back to do it. It was lunch, and as with after breakfast, the good woman refused to let me help her with the dishes. Watson and Holmes were no help as they hid behind the papers that did nothing to hide their chuckles. And then it came to me hard.

"Martha Hudson, I've done dishes for nearly a year without breaking any. I think that I would be able to do them safely even if I have whatever this amnesia is called!"

That held everyone silent in shock. Both men had dropped their papers, and poor Mrs. Hudson was near tears. I felt so bad at that moment. Here these people took me into their lives and helped me cope, and now I'm jumping down their throats. "Oh Mrs. Hudson, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"No, dear Nona-bird. Think back to what you said." The now crying woman sputtered out.

For a moment I had no idea what she meant. What had I done to upset her, yet she still used her pet name for me? Seeing my confusion, Holmes smiled warmly at me (and to this day I swear that there were tears in his eyes as well). "Nona dear, what did you call Mrs. Hudson? And remember that we have not told you anything of this near year you have lived with the three of us."

I thought hard for a moment when my eyes went wide in shock. I had another old memory back! "I called her Martha. I had been curious for some reason what your given name was not long after I arrived, and you told me Martha. You couldn't see why you interested me at all. I told you that in my eyes and in the eyes of many of my friends that you are a surrogate mother, grandmother, or aunt to these guys. Watson and Holmes only shook their heads at that, but you gave a long laugh. I remember!"

Now I was the one crying. Martha held me close for a moment while the two men smiled beamingly. It was coming back to me slowly. But it was taking so long! Still I finally got to do a chore for my 'honorary aunt' – polishing the silver. Mrs. Hudson was in the cellar checking on what preserves she was going to teach me to make the next day, and the men were upstairs doing their routines. And then the door sounded just as I finished drying one of the large platters. "I got it!" I knew that no one else was near enough to hear me, but it made me feel happy. I felt alive in this place and was happy to be home, sweet home. I paused at the door when that thought rung in my mind. I knew there was a memory attached to it, one where Holmes was saying it to me in a mixture of pain and grief. I shook it off. I didn't want that kind of memory to surface now, especially when it concerned my Holmes.

Opening the door finally, I met a lovely young woman with blond hair. Her outfit was attractive but inexpensive, telling me that she was not of great wealth, but had enough to get by. She nervously bit on her bottom lip as she looked in her reticule for a calling card. That meant she was unsure about her case and if Holmes would take it, but she truly wanted his help. Obviously Holmes's processes had rubbed off on me in the time I had lived here in 221b, though I had a feeling there was something else about my train of thought. Once she handed it to me I looked at the card. It was plainly printed and simply read "Miss Mary Morstan." For some odd reason I recognized that name, but I somehow knew that we did not have her as a client in the past. How did I know her?

After a beat, I let her into the vestibule and told her that I would see if Mr. Holmes was in. There was this feeling of something important coming about for us all that gnawed on me as I quickly climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. "Come in, Nona."

"Client, Holmes, and she's nervous about talking to you. Maybe it's an unusual one." I said as I handed him the card. I saw that the Moroccan case was open and the little bottle of clear liquid was near it. God, I wish Watson could rid Holmes of that annoying habit!

He looked it over and languidly smiled at me a moment. "Nona, are you busy at the moment?" I loved the intense look Holmes held in his eyes and the smile he was straining to hold back. He only did that when he was going to introduce me as one of his associates rather than a neighbor or servant. That eased my aching heart, even if he hurt me when he drugged himself, and even if that only happened when there was no work to keep him busy.

"I was polishing the silver, but I think that the last three pieces can wait a bit. Shall I bring Miss Morstan up?" I tried hard to hide the pleasure and excitement in my voice so he knew how I felt at that moment, but I could see clearly on his and Watson's faces that it showed plainly. Holmes smiled brighter and nodded. I fought the urge to skip down the stairs, and was happy that Mrs. Hudson was coming up the stairs just as I got to the main floor. "Mrs. Hudson? Holmes wants me to sit in on this interview. I'll finish the last three pieces of silver afterwards."

"No need, Nona dear. They can wait until just before Advent. I only asked so you would have something to do." She said with a smile before walking back into the kitchen. I was stunned. Our landlady was getting to be more like Holmes, and that was a very frightening concept.

Shaking my head, I escorted the young lady up to the future. When she and I walked into the room, Miss Morstan and Watson took one look at one another and I could see they were falling for one another. Holmes introduced Watson and then, when he introduced me, he looked only in my eyes and I saw something there – pride … maybe devotion – that made me feel as if our relationship was taking a turn into new and unexplored areas. I knew that we had feelings for one another, but he wasn't ready to explore them. As the interview began, she acted embarrassed at first by our added presences. Watson and I nearly left for her sake, but Miss Morstan insisted on our remaining.

It was an interesting case. Her father had gone missing sometime before and wanted to find him. Holmes and Watson agreed to go with her to a strange meeting, because the note told her to bring two friends if she was wary. When looking over the notes Miss Morstan had brought with her, Holmes showed me the finer points of why the various handwritings were written by the same person. I went to show her to the door when Holmes called out, "Nona, could you come back up right away?"

That was unusual, but I didn't mind so I agreed. In minutes I returned to see that the men had a disagreement – though not a severe one. Holmes continued his lesson on handwriting for both Watson and myself. And then Holmes left asking me about a book I vaguely remembered reading and thinking it was layered and interesting, which brought out smiles on my roommates. Why, I will never know.

Holmes was back at five-thirty in a bright mood. It seemed that Major Sholto had died a week before Miss Morstan received her first pearl. Not long after explaining why this fact was important, a four-wheeler pulled up. Watson took up one of his heavier walking sticks, and I saw Holmes take his revolver out of his desk. I felt my heart rush with fear. Somehow I knew that normally Holmes never took that with him on a case. This told me he expected some danger I didn't see. "Holmes …"

"It is merely a precaution, Nona. Watson and I will be home as soon as we can. Now, don't wait up for us if it becomes late." Holmes instructed. But it did little to calm my heart. I simply nodded, as Watson squeezed my shoulder before going out the door. Holmes kissed my forehead and smiled for me, which was his way of telling me he would be careful, but I was still scared for them. I watched them climb into that four-wheeler and it drive away. I didn't care how late it became; I was determined to wait up for those two. And so I did.

In the time I finished the last three pieces of silver, cleaned a few dishes, ate dinner with Mrs. Hudson, and retired to the sitting room fire and Holmes' chair. For some reason I got up and began to walk around the room – inspecting things, touching others, and all the time carrying a feeling of déjà vu. The only thing missing was … Watson! The night I first came to Baker street … my nightmare … it all came back – I was amazed at being in this place for some reason or another, but everything was familiar to me even though I had never been here before then.

It was nearly three in the morning when Watson came home with no Holmes. "How is it that I expected you to be awake, Nona?"

"I can be at times predictable. Where's Holmes?" I was near panic by this time. Watson explained that he had left Holmes with orders to escort Miss Morstan home and come retrieve me. Quickly I got ready and climbed into the four-wheeler with Watson. Then the two of us appeared and rudely awoke Mr. Sherman of No. 3 Pinchin Lane and, with my sweet smile and compliments about a certain stuffed owl I saw over his shoulder, procured a dog by the name of Toby. As we rushed to Holmes, Watson explained the early particulars he later would write out in 'The Sign of the Four'.

Before long, we all returned to Baker Street (my please my friends with the news of my new found memory), ate breakfast (with a glaring Mrs. Hudson going on about how I should have stayed home), and each slid into our own beds for what was supposed to be an hour or two's sleep. That might have been how it happened for Holmes and Watson, but I was left to sleep. I had no idea if it was due to Mrs. Hudson's glare or the fact that Holmes held a worried look on his face as I yawned my way through breakfast, but I did not wake until long after lunch.

One item of mention that I had touch my heart happened this particular morning. All of the Irregulars arrived and lined up, the tallest of them (I overheard Holmes call the boy Wiggins as he accepted their report) coming forward to report in. What got me was the lonely sadness in the boys' eyes when they all glanced at me. I supposed that they all knew me well and seemed to adore me. I just wished that I could remember them.

I ate and got caught up on the case by Watson, along with accompanying him on his visit to Miss Morstan and the young woman's employer. I couldn't help but smile and shook my head. I saw the twinkle in the good doctor's eyes. John Watson was very much falling in love with Mary Morstan. Another sleep later gave us no news on the boat or Small or his friend.

Holmes was in his room pacing and muttering to himself, as he had been all that night and the entire day and night before. I dared to knock on his door. I knew it would be a battle, but he had to get something in his stomach. "Holmes, it's Nona."

He opened the door and I stepped into the doorway. "Sleep well?" he asked.

"Yes. Now will you join us for some breakfast so poor Mrs. Hudson can rest her ears for a time?" I grinned. His bangs had fallen and were in his eyes. Unconsciously, I swept them back so that I could see those amazing gray eyes I adored. Holmes caught my hand and pressed it to his cheek. The sensations it sent through my body were like bolts of pleasurable lighting licking up and down my nerves. I could see in his eyes that I had the same effect on him. But then I was feeling such pain and grief at the same time.

"Nona. You know my meals are sporadic at best on a case." His voice was throaty and warm.

I wasn't going to let that excuse put me off. "Holmes, it is time to eat. The facts will come to us in their own time. You pacing and skipping meals will not hurry that. Besides, standing here is painful. Like we have had a fight here … no … not here … but we've had a fight … I'm sure of it."

That surprised Holmes, and it showed on his face. "Do you remember it, Nona?"

I fought with my love? How could I not remember that? I shook my head. "No, it is more a memory of the feelings."

Holmes looked so injured because of my words, but brushed them aside. "It will return to you in its own time as well, my dear Nona. For now I will do as you command and eat. If only to set you at ease, as well as being kind to Mrs. Hudson's ears." With that he smirked mischievously and winked at me. Impishly, I combed my fingers through his hair once again and kissed his cheek before heading back for the sitting room. "Do me a favor and don't dawdle, Holmes. Or else I'll eat your breakfast."

The next morning, after chasing both Watson and myself out of the sitting room with his chemical experiments the day I talked him into eating breakfast, he went out and left Watson and I in charge of the 'office' as he smirked. Mrs. Hudson wanted all of my attention on the case and refused to let me help with the dishes once again – though I believed that she was hoping it would help my memory come back quicker. We were to open all notes and telegrams and decide how to act on them according to our own judgments. I walked over and seated myself in his chair as if it was completely normal, which brought out a chuckle and shake of his head. I myself simply sat there innocently as I looked through the morning paper. In a twist of a vague memory, he rubbed my back and kissed the top of my head before dashing off. I was stunned, while all Watson could do was sit there smirking and laughing heartily at the look of stunned shock on my face. With a sigh I went back to the Standard, only to chuckle myself. "Well, Watson, Sholto was released from custody along with the housemaid yesterday. Can't say we didn't see that one coming."

"No, we cannot, Nona. Anything else?" I read it out to Watson and then chuckled hard.

"Well, reading between the lines we can deduce that the police are really saying 'Oops, sorry, but we made a small blunder.'" That made Watson chuckle as hard as I was. And then I saw an advertisement in the agony column. I handed it over to Watson. "So, this is what Holmes meant by him being sure information would be coming in today sometime." Watson agreed.

I was answering the door all day, but was as disappointed as Watson that no leads or information of any kind came in. About three o'clock, loudmouthed Athelney Jones arrived. He and I went upstairs. At first he (just as LeRat had – though I couldn't remember why I'd call Lestrade by that name or when he had ever disrespected me) assumed that I was a maidservant and tried to dismiss me. That was one thing that Nona E. Brown was not going to go through seemingly a second time. "Excuse me, Inspector Jones, firstly I am an associate of Mr. Holmes' like Dr. Watson. And even if I had been simply hired help, it is exceedingly rude to dismiss another person's help in their own home as if you own the place."

Watson had a dickens of a time keeping himself from bursting with prideful laughter. Even if I keep silent on this, I knew that Holmes would hear all about it from our friendly resident doctor. Why did that phrasing sound almost familiar? I shook it off. Jones huffed and curtly apologized as he sat down on the furthest end of the couch away from me in Holmes' chair under Watson's invitation after explaining that Holmes was out. The poor guy, from my viewpoint, was disheartened and lowly. Obviously he was getting it from his supervisors about the false arrests, and had as many or even fewer new leads as we. I decided to forgive him for the earlier rudeness, only this once though. Watson offered him a cigar and a glass of whiskey and soda. Jones explained that my earlier jab and current observation had both been correct. And then he highly praised Holmes, which I couldn't help but smile at – even if he over did it, which meant he was lying through his teeth. He explained that Holmes sent him a telegram and handed it over to Watson, who gave it to me, and gave it back to the Inspector after reading it.

GO TO BAKER STREET AT ONCE STOP IF I HAVE NOT RETURNED WAIT FOR ME STOP I AM CLOSE ON THE TRACK OF THE SHOLTO GANG STOP YOU CAN COME WITH US TO-NIGHT IF YOU WANT TO BE IN AT THE FINISH STOP HOLMES

After a slight civil conversation, the wheezing mariner appeared as Watson wrote in the adventure. When he scanned the room and spied me, he removed his hat like a gentleman. As it came down, right when it blocked his eyes from the other two, I swore those gray eyes sparkled as he winked at me! Wait … gray eyes? And then he grinned like … oh man, I fell for it too this time! As unperceivable as I could, I nodded with a second span smile – meaning I was ready and willing to help.

It happened very much as Watson wrote it. Simply add on my offering to pay the man for his time, doting on the poor man, offering him the chair that only I and Holmes normally sat in instead of the sofa that Watson had offered (I though that would have given us away to Watson at the least!), and offering him a drink (which he accepted, only brush his fingers down my hand and whisper his thanks with a grin while my back was to Watson and Jones). And then Holmes, in his true voice, mentioned about offering him a cigar before removing his costume. That night (once they returned from the completion of the case that is) I pointed all of this out to Watson who couldn't believe that he hadn't picked up on the chair point.

I excused myself to go help Mrs. Hudson fix dinner … that is, after giving Holmes a smile and a wink. The look in his eyes was enough tease in return, on that I can assure you. Instead of the half hour, it took an easy twenty minutes. I was mildly surprised by the polite treatment I received from Jones as we all sat down to dinner. It seemed that when Holmes found out about his treatment of me he agreed with my observations and made so known semi-gruffly.

Dinner was excellent. And Holmes praised that my new recipe for roasted brace of grouse to be the best he had ever had, along with Watson and Jones' agreements to the same. I blushed because it was my first try at it (with quite a bit of help from Mrs. Hudson). But dessert was saved as reward for the successful completion of the night's mission.

Holmes was excited like a kid on Christmas Eve with a tree overflowing with presents during the impromptu dinner party! He talked about all the subjects Watson had covered. And even hit a few I had a large knowledge of, so I got some time to talk in myself. It almost felt as if we two were a married couple simply entertaining guests – and I overheard Jones even point that out to Watson while Holmes went for his violin to illustrate several of his points about a Stradivarius. It was hard to hide my blush at that, and I could see on his face that he had planned on that from the start. He had wanted to show Jones just how much I meant to him and Watson.

Mrs. Hudson and I cleared the table. I came back to see that the men were getting ready for the adventure. Something in Holmes' eyes told me that I wasn't going along with them. Before I could even say a word he asked me to help him locate something so we would have cover to go to his bedroom door. I was angry, but kept my voice down. "Holmes!"

"Nona, I have come far too close to losing you. I want you here because I know I won't be able to keep my thoughts straight if you are in danger with us." Holmes' lowered voice told me that there was no arguing on it.

Still it hurt. "And I'm going to be sane while you and Watson are out there? Didn't I prove myself at the Goose and Crown? Or had you forgotten that little adventure?"

Holmes was in shock. I didn't understand for a beat. Then I saw it had to be another memory. "Holmes … did I just remember?"

"Yes, you did Nona. We'll go over it when we come back and fill you in on the details of tonight's adventure." Holmes rubbed my arms. It just annoyed me. "Sherlock…!"

"Please stay here, Nona. I won't be able to focus right now without you knowing how this venture ends – as you probably once did. Please …" Holmes' eyes grew dark with such passion, I couldn't help but kiss him passionately. I had been wanting too for so long, long than I dared to suspect.

I was just grateful that he kissed me back, along with holding me tight to his body, his lips brushing and pressing tight to mine. How long we stood there kissing I couldn't say with any certainty. That first kiss broke off only to be followed with several lighter kisses finally diving back into a deep hungered kiss once again. I could have stood there kissing him all night, it felt so good … so right. Still, there was a case to solve, so I broke it with the deepest of regrets and sighs on both sides – but not without a remark. "You owe me big for this, you know that."

"Come October 21st, I'll plan a special night for the two of us. Alright?" Holmes had a gleam in his eyes that told me he was already making up plans.

I nodded, gave him a hug that he returned to me, and we returned to the sitting room (never knowing that Watson had come out into the hall to look for us and just as quickly returned to the sitting room to make an excuse to give us a little more time). All too soon the men were off, and well … it happened just like Watson wrote it. Holmes used the dart in the boat to explain why he had been so afraid to let me come with them. Small pointed out that I would have been seen as a weakness and his friend's dart gun would have been aimed for me. Holmes pointed out firmly (I swear he glared at Small!) that I had never, and nor would I ever, be a weakness. After Watson came back with the empty treasure chest, and Small went mad and tried to break free only to be restrained further, Holmes kept me beside him to protect me (I sat on the arm of his chair to Jones and the other officer's shock – though not Watson's). I knew without a doubt that Sherlock Holmes loved me right at that moment.

After all our guests had left, Watson announced his plans to marry Miss Morstan. We were both overjoyed, but it felt off for me so Holmes joked about how his author could put some nasty words in for him. After it was only himself, Watson, and me Holmes reached once again for the cocaine bottle, and I tested just how much he loved me. "Holmes, please don't. I don't want to lose you to that. Not to an addiction."

"Nona …" He started but I wasn't going to let him off that easily.

"Sherlock, please.  I'm not sure how, but I know that stuff will break down your mind until the drug and the high is the only thing you will start to care about."

For a few minutes Holmes stared blankly at the little vial. Was it too late? Did the seven-per-cent solution have complete control over him? Finally, he let go a hard sigh and I could just see tears brimming his eyes. "My mind …"

Not even that little monologue was going to stop me in this fight. "If you need a puzzle, then help me find my lost memories! I'll create puzzles, for God's sake! Please, anything but that!"

Looking at the vial one last time, he put it in my hand and wrapped my fingers around it. In my hand too was his trust and faith in me. He was trusting that I would remain with him through the time it took his body to rid itself of the toxins and after. I knew that there would be withdrawal symptoms, and it looked as if he and Watson too understood that. "I'm going to see you through this, Holmes. You've helped me so far with my amnesia, so I owe you for that and so much more."

"I think it is I who truly owe the two of you, my dear Nona … Watson." Holmes sighed again and got himself ready for the long hard fight that was ahead of us all.

Remember people, more reviews the more I write. Oh, and I still have 6 weeks before summer break, so chapter 20 might be a time in coming – but I will put it out if asked nicely enough.