A/N: First of all, apologies for the late update. I've been busy pulling little innocent children out of the paths of speeding buses and stuff, and in no way wasting all my time playing tetris. Nuh-uh. Not me.

Thanks so much to you awesome reviewers! You guys are so supportive! I really love this fandom! -happy tears-
This next chapter gave me a lot of trouble. First, I just couldn't motivate myself to write it (although I DID get into the top 200 on the online tetris game! (I was number 200). Then I was trying to avoid cliches, but they just seemed to keep on coming :P I had thought out the plot ahead of time, and was really getting into it, with big dramatic fight scenes and rooftop chases and damsels in distress; then I rememberd that this wasn't Zorro, which totally broke my flow. In the end I think I managed to keep the story from running away with me, but... there are still some holes in the plot. If you happen to see a big one, tell me. Chances are I didn't notice it, and if I know how to fix it I will do so. If I don't know how to deal with it I will find a way to deal with it, but it will probably involve aliens.
Again, I took a couple names from BBC. The characters' personalities, however, are of my own creation.

Disclaimer: Is not necessary, because I AM ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE! THESE CHARACTERS ARE MINE, AND I CAN USE THEM WHENEVER I WANT TO! SO THERE! I'm also kind of a liar...

It was near ten o'clock that night when we found ourselves once again outside the grounds of the late Charles Augustus Milverton. I was more than a little apprehensive, for it was likely that Lestrade had left a man in the house, and in any case the servants were suspicious of Escott as it was. However, Holmes himself seemed confident enough that our presence would be brief and undetected.

He had explained his plan to me earlier, as we prepared for the night's ventures. "I plan to inform my former fiancee that I did not kill Milverton," he had said, when I had asked him how he was going to set Lestrade on the wrong track. "However, I was sent by a noble family to gain access to the grounds, so that when the time was right, I could lead my associate with a certain talent for locks into the house."

"And if she doesn't tell Lestrade?"

"Then I am a worse judge of her nature than I had suspected. But I think she will tell him. She is honest in nature, and would not wish to see me accused of a crime I did not commit--regardless of her feelings towards me once my true purposes have been revealed."

"I should certainly hope so."

"She will quite likely be ill disposed towards me, it is true, but she would not want to see an innocent man accused of murder. Of this I am certain. In any case, if Lestrade hears of our presence at all it will certainly throw him, for he would be expecting us to lie low."

It sounded to me like a terribly risky plan all around, but Holmes was correct in thinking that Lestrade would never let go of what he had without some new evidence to chase after. And I could tell that my friend was intent upon his mission, not only to clear our names, but to offer some sort of explaination to Miss Smith. I doubt that he would ever admit to it, but I was sure that it was more difficult for him to be the cause of a young lady's grief than to be a suspect for murder.

In what felt like no time at all we had made our way to the garden wall which we had scrambled over so frantically just a night or two ago. Holmes sprung to the top with feline grace and peered about. "All clear, Watson," he said, turning to look down at me. "I'll probably only be a few minutes."

"Holmes, how are you going to get the attention of the girl?"

"I shall wait. She always comes by this way at nights; I met her here often enough when--anyway, she'll be this way."

I couldn't supress a grin at his discomfort. "Very well, Holmes. But for heaven's sake be careful!"

"I shall be fine, Watson. If you need to get in for some reason there's a foothold about halfway up; it's easier. And if a policeman or someone happens along, run for it. Don't bother about me."

"Forget it, Holmes."

"Yes, I daresay I thought you'd say that," he muttered, but I could tell he was smiling. Then he stiffened suddenly. "I do believe this is her."

For a moment I wondered if he would lose his nerve, for he seemed more inclined to flee from the approaching footsteps than to go to them. But a moment later he had leapt lightly to the other side.

I heard him hit the ground, and a startled gasp from the girl.

"Billy? Billy, what are--"

"Shush, Aggie, please--"

"But Billy, what--Why are you--"

"For heaven's sake, Aggie, they'll all come runnin'!" I smiled to myself upon hearing the Cockney drawl he'd adopted as Escott, so unlike his usual voice.

She lowered her voice, and their words faded to a dull murmur. To this day I do not know exactly what Holmes said to her, nor what her reaction was. I considered asking him once, but thought better of it; he may never have had true feelings for her, but that did not change the fact that they had had a relationship, and whatever he said to her was to remain between them. Once in the conversation she raised her voice again, to say: "But did you kill him, Billy?"

"Oi didn't, Aggie, oi swear oi never did! Listen--" His voice lowered again.

I leaned against the wall and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Somehow, for some reason, luck was with us tonight.

And then I heard a man's voice shout: "What the devil?"

For a moment I was paralyzed--that was it, we were caught--and then I heard the girl shout "Harry!" and I realized that it wasn't one of Lestrade's men but another workman. In another moment I was over the wall.

I landed somewhat unceremoniously on the lawn and scrambled to my feet. I first saw the girl, standing with he back against the wall, her eyes wide. Holmes was grappling with another man, who had apparently stumbled upon the scene. "You snake," the man was shoutinng, "you steal my Aggie away from me, you use her to kill her boss, and now you're coming back?"

Holmes hit him solidly across the jaw, sending him sprawling, but before I could move he was on his feet again. He grasped a rock and with a cry of "You bloody snake!" crashed it into my friend's skull. I came from behind and was upon him in an instant, knocking the stone from his grasp, and I saw the girl run to Holmes' side. The man I was struggling with drove his elbow into my stomach, forcing me to loosen my grasp; I quickly turned my face away--thank heaven for a moonless night!--but he was already gone, running across the grounds for reinforcements, no doubt. The girl was helping Holmes to his feet, pulling him towards the wall. "Go on, Billy, get on out of here quick, before he brings the others!"

He glanced behind and saw me hurrying to join them. I saw blood running down his face from where the rock had connected with his head, but he seemed to be relatively unhurt. He turned back to the girl and looked directly into her eyes.

"Aggie--I am truly sorry," he said, sincerely and without a trace of cockney.

She gave him a small, sad half-smile. "I know, Billy." Then she motioned towards the wall. "Now go on, get out of here, both of you!"

I could already hear the sounds of voices from the darkness--confound the swiftness of their alarm! Holmes jumped for the wall, and I quickly boosted him over. I heard him crash into the bushes as I scrambled up after him, over that same grass-strewn coping which I'd crossed so frantically before, and landed once more in the bushes on the other side. Holmes pulled me to my feet and we ran once more.

We paused only after we were certain we had shaken off any pursuit, and I immediately pulled out my handkerchief and pressed it to Holmes' head where he had been struck. It was not a bad cut, and there seemed to be no concussion, to my great relief. "Who on earth was that, Holmes?" I asked.

"You'll recall I mentioned to you a certain hated rival?" he asked, smirking. "That was he. Apparently he had come to see Ag--the girl. I don't suppose he ever expected to see Escott again."

"Well, he certainly seemed ill-disposed towards you. You're lucky you don't have a concussion."

"We managed what we set out to do, at any rate," he said cheerfully. "Now stop that dratted fussing, Watson, I'm perfectly all right."

"You're still bleeding, Holmes," I pointed out, and did not remove my handkerchief.

He smiled at some private thought. "I wonder what Lestrade will make of this?"

"I daresay he'll come to tell us."

The next morning was dismal and wet. I stared out the window, looking down at the passers-by hurrying through the rain. Holmes was playing a melancholy tune on his violin, doing nothing to lighten the mood. At least it was real music this time. The cut on his head was healing nicely, to my relief, and his hair concealed it well enough that we needn't worry about explainations.

"Is that one of your own?" I asked after a while, partially to make him stop. As fond as I was of his playing, this was downright depressing.

"Yes it is," he said, with a quick half-smile. "Fits the mood of the day, does it not?"

"A bit too well, I think, Holmes," I said. "What abysmal weather... I'd hoped for some sign of the sun, but it doesn't look promising."

"I'm afraid it doesn't. I've heard that tomorrow promises fine, though. Perhaps you'll have your sun then." He started up again on his violin, this time playing a lighter melody, to my relief. I resumed my observation of the outside world, and was not the least bit surprised when a cab pulled up outside the house.

"Lestrade's here."

Holmes did not answer, nor did he pause in his playing. A moment later Mrs. Hudson arrived to tell us that the inspector was here for us, and I bade her show him in.

Lestrade entered nervously, spinning his hat in his hands, the water sliding along the brim and dripping to the floor. He cleared his throat anxiously and waited for Holmes, who had his back to him, to stop playing.

"Holmes--perhaps you should put the violin down for a moment?" I suggested sharply, once this had gone on a bit too long.

He desisted, and turned. "Ah, Lestrade," he said, as if just noticing the inspector's presence. "Any news?"

"Of a sort, Mr. Holmes, of a sort..." He cleared his throat again. "It would seem that I owe the two of you an apology, Mr. Holmes, Doctor. About the Hampstead case, I mean."

"I take it you have some new information," said Holmes, with a fleeting smile. "Any word on the identity of the elusive Escott?"

"Well, yes and no. The fact is, he visited the late Milverton's house last night. Apparently he wanted to see the housemaid to whom he was engaged."

"He went back to the house? Interesting. One would think he'd be keeping his distance."

"Yes, well, that's what I would have expected. A certain Mr. Harry Logan swears Escott was there last night trying to convince Miss Smith--the housemaid--to run off with him. She says he was there to see her one last time, nothing more, but it does seem that Mr. Logan interrupted them before he was done speaking with her. He had an accomplice, too, but apparently they didn't get so much as a look at his face." Lestrade shook his head. "It was a deucedly dark night, after all, and when the other fellow arrived Logan ran to get reinforcements. If he'd brought my man around from the house in the first place they might not've gotten away."

"Instead he tried to apprehend Escott on his own?" Holmes asked, all curiosity.

"Yes, he did. Apparently he was engaged to Miss Smith before Escott came along; he was a bit sore about it. I brought them both in for questioning--Logan says he came upon Escott talking with Miss Smith and attacked him, but when Escott's accomplice came at him he ran to the house for backup, during which time they got away. Miss Smith told us what he said to her--that he was bribed by an unnamed noble family to learn his way around the house and grounds, so he could lead the lock-picker in later to steal the papers. She says they didn't kill Milverton, but he seemed to have omitted the little detail of who did. The footprints in the room where he was killed were too vague to make much of, but we did manage to match one of them to one from last night, before this blasted rain came down, so we're still certain it was him. The question is, who is he?"

"Of course, if you knew that, there would be no case," I said with a smile.

"Very true, Doctor, very true," Lestrade laughed. "I questioned both Logan and Miss Smith about him--Logan went on for a while about how he'd stolen the girl he loved, but as descriptions went his was lacking. All he could tell me was that Escott was tall and lanky, with brown hair. Miss Smith seemed reluctant to tell us anything at first, but then Logan intervened. 'He used you, Aggie,' he said to her, 'you've no need to protect him, he don't deserve it.' And I think he convinced her, because her master was dead, and she certainly wasn't Mrs. William Escott. Poor girl was right furious with him when she finally aknowledged that he'd lied to her--so upset she was, I think she wanted to see him caught. Gave us some details--perhaps they'll lead somewhere, perhaps not. Tall and lanky, like Logan had said, with brown hair. And apparently he has a birthmark on his throat, just above the left shoulder, and a tattoo in black ink on his right wrist. And one gold tooth, near the back of his mouth. Unfortunately, those characteristics aren't particularly helpful in finding him, but we have an accurate description--if he keeps on with his life of crime there's a chance he'll be caught someday." He cleared his throat again, and looked away. "So, ah, as I said, I fear I may have been--overly hasty in my conclusions..."

Holmes laughed and stood, reaching towards the mantle for his pipe. "Think nothing of it, Lestrade. I confess I myself was surprised by the remarkable coincidences provided by that case. Unfortunately, I am tattooless, and all my teeth are my own."

"Do you have any other leads?" I asked.

"No, I'm afraid not, Doctor," he replied. "The man had so many enemies, we'd never be able to question them all. His staff hated him too--Logan seemed almost as furious at Milverton for his treatment of Miss Smith as he was at Escott." He was quiet for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Would you like to hear what convinced me beyond a doubt of your innocence, Mr. Holmes?" he asked.

"Do tell, Inspector."

"Well, I was asking Logan what he could tell me about the man's mannarisms, and he tells me of the first time he met Escott." I saw Holmes stiffen, ever so slightly. "Apparently he came across as quite a ladies man--certainly quite the charmer," Lestrade continued, still chuckling. "He started wooing Miss Smith just about the moment he laid eyes on her, practically--Logan was right furious when he was telling it, of course, but I could hardly keep from laughing--This Escott couldn't have been the most subtle of men--saying things like 'nothin' missing from my toolbox, you want to have a look?' I tried to imagine you saying a thing like that, Mr. Holmes, and I just couldn't. Not in a million years."

Holmes joined in his hearty laughter, but shot me a venemous glare the moment the inspector's back was turned.

"Well, I should probably be off, then," Lestrade declared, rising. "I'll be sure to let you know if anything more comes up."

The moment the door closed behind him Holmes rounded on me. "Not a word, Watson," he said, glowering into my smirk. "Not one word."

"I didn't say anything, Holmes."

"You were thinking it. Just... don't say anything."

I shrugged, still grinning. "Well, all's well that ends well, old fellow."

"Quite." He took up his violin and played for a minute, then set it down in favor of his pipe.

"Holmes," I said, after a long silence, "Why exactly did you want so much to return?"

He looked rather uncomfortable at this. "As I said, Watson, I merely wished to give Lestrade some new evidence that did not point to us--"

"And you wanted to make things right with the girl."

"You seem to be well in posession of the facts, Watson," Holmes said testily.

"I just find it interesting that you went to a terrible amount of risk for the sake of a girl."

He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Watson, I do hope you are not suggesting I had inadvertantly fallen in love with her."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't go that far, but..."

Holmes sighed. "You are correct, Watson. I... Well, while I was not in love with her, I believe she was truly in love with me--with Escott. She poured her heart out to me, when we were together, and all I did was lie to her. I don't know precicely how to explain it, but--I feel that she trusted me, and while I was certainly unworthy of that trust, I could not let myself ignore the fact that she had trusted me. She did not deserve to be left hanging forever."

"It would seem you were forgiven, Holmes. She protected you."

"Yes, she did," he mused, his eyes distant. "Fabricating little characteristics that could easily be overlooked but that I did not possess. It certainly was quick-thinking of her. I did not truly expect to be forgiven, last night."

"So you did it for her."

"Yes, I did. And for myself, to alleviate the guilt I was feeling. And for you as well, I suppose, Watson."

I stared at him. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I saw how my treatment of the girl offended your sense of morals, Watson. While you understood the reasons for my actions, it still went against your nature. I thought that feeling would perhaps be alleviated somewhat by tonight's misadventures."

"Holmes, I--Well, I mean--What you did was hardly honorable, but I would never have held it against you--"

He gave me a wry smile. "Of course you wouldn't have, Watson. And perhaps that is why I felt I must amend the situation all the more."

I tried to find a response to this enigmatic statement, but he cut me off. "Still, it's as you said, my dear Watson. All's well that ends well. And now that the whole despicable business is behind us we can let Lestrade continue to chase after Escott while we apply our time to something a bit more substantial."

A sudden thought crossed my mind. "Holmes--in all honesty, do you think Lestrade didn't have any doubt?"

He stilled, and stared into space for a moment, before smiling. "I confess I have never seen him so eager to abandon a theory, Watson. But I believe he felt that the evidence no longer pointed to us, which entirely justified his motives in seeking the culprit elsewhere. He may not be the most intelligent of men--but he is not stupid, either, Watson. He is most certainly not." He paused. "Well, most of the time, anyway."

I rolled my eyes and turned to my desk, where I began writing once more. There was a long period of silence, during which Holmes smoked quietly in his chair and I continued writing my account. Eventually, however, I couldn't supress a snigger.

"What is it, Watson?"

"Oh, nothing, Holmes."

There was another pause.

"Nothing missing from my toolbox?"

"Watson--"

"Did you really say that, Holmes? I can see why Lestrade was so convinced of our innocence--"

"Watson--"

"Sorry, Holmes."

I grinned into my notebook and continued writing.

A/N: Well, that's that, folks. I realize that Lestrade's evidence is rather flimsy, but keep in mind that he really didn't want to arrest Holmes and Watson. Sorry for the tongue-in-cheek-ness of some of his evidence, too, but I just couldn't help it XD. Actually, the original plot was going to be a one-shot taking place entirely in Baker Street, in which Lestrade visited constantly and told H & W of his growing suspicions, ending with him coming back and saying "All right, it wasn't you, Holmes. You'd never use that toolbox line." But then I realized that nothing happened, and I had to think of something to make it a bit more interesting. Again, sorry for the slowness of the updates, and thanks to all the lovely reviewers :)