Prom was this weekend! So, that's why it took me a while for this baby to come. But, voila, here it is! :) I also sat down and read each and one of your reviews, of course loving them all and thanking Ghandi/Zeus/God/Sheldon Cooper, whoever you believe in that you guys are here for me, supporting this little story on Fanfiction. I write for you guys, so keep them reviews a flowin'!

Infinite X's and O's,

mistro

P.S. Kazz- I love your long reviews. I love any size reviews. :] So, you just say whatever you want to say, even if it takes up 200 pages, and I'll read it all! 3

~.~.~.~

I wasn't sure how long I had been sitting there. I remember watching the sun sink a bit lower beneath the edge of the roof. The sky was more purple and pink now than it had been before. It must have been a while because I could feel my eyelids drooping. I was about to go back inside when I heard someone coming up the ladder. My eyes grew wide with fear of the unknown, and I quickly jumped to my feet, trying to find somewhere to hide. By the time I had stood up, it was already too late. I was accompanied on the roof by none other than...

"Watson?" I asked curiously, cocking my head to the side.

He politely inclined his head, peeling his hat off. "I knew you would be here. I'm not a complete fool, though it might surprise you." His lips curled into a smile as he sunk down next to me tiredly. "I've been looking for you all over the place. Figures, the only place I hadn't thought to check is the one place you always seem to be these days."

Quietly, I sat down next to him. He was here to talk to me about running away from Irene. It wasn't a surprise that Sherlock hadn't tried to find me. He wasn't one for personal chats. I pulled my knees quietly up to my chest, staring forward at the sunset. Neither of us said anything for a while.

"I heard things with Irene didn't go entirely like she had planned," Watson said suddenly, looking over at me with that friendly smile. Embarrassed, I turned my face away and pulled my knees closer towards my chest. "She came back to Holmes's room. She was going off about she turned around and suddenly you weren't there. Someone walked out on Irene, and she couldn't even begin to fathom why!" Watson continued to laugh, enjoying the humour of it all.

"What I did was rude, I suppose," I muttered. "It's just that ever since she walked into the room, I haven't known how to present myself before her. I'd never really been around someone quite so intimidating. She offered to buy me a hat, Watson." We both looked at one another in surprise. "Do you really think I'm the kind of person to let someone do that for me? Do you really think I'm the kind of person to wear the kinds of hats she does?"

He shook his head, still grinning. "Not in the least." I was glad to see that someone understood. "At any rate, Holmes didn't say anything. He didn't even blink, if I can recall. He was just as surprised to see that someone had walked out on Irene as she was."

"Then why did you come looking for me?"

He stared ahead with calmness in his gaze. "I knew he wanted me to. It was apparent in his face. We both just wanted to make sure you were alright." I knotted my fingers together tightly. Was I? "You've been a bit quiet this past week." He stopped sort, as though a realization hit him. "It's not because of her, is it?"

I instantly detached my eyes from his. Did I really know? Something in the back of my head was drawing forward memories of loss that I've had. I had thought about them before, but never all at the same time. "I couldn't tell you," I confessed. "Nightmares of my childhood are coming back to haunt me. Times of sweetness even come to me as darkness. It's as though I'm looking at my own life before my eyes, like I haven't done anything to make it better or worse... as though everything in my life has happened for nothing." My mind shifted towards my father. His warm laugh. His gentle heart. Imagining his face brought tears to my eyes, even though I told myself not to cry in front of anyone. None of that seemed to matter anymore. I was tired of containing myself. Watson had noticed though, and instantly rushed to stop my tears.

"Renadale, don't apply all of this extra pressure onto yourself." His concern was genuine. "You've been dealing with a murderer for the past few weeks, and you were surrounded by hurt and death. It's only natural for you tell feel this way. In time, when you've dealt with more of these kinds of situations, you'll grow more accustom to their reactions."

I looked up at him, his face blurred through my tears. "You're right. You're always right. There's no reason for me to be acting like this. It must be my sensitive emotions at seeing those women get killed." That was not a lie, though it wasn't the entire reason. I had tried often not to think about my first case in fear of being emotionally compromised. "I'm only making a fool of myself in front of you." I laughed behind my running nose. "You won't have to see me do that anymore though, now that you won't be working with us."

"On the contrary, Miss Adkins." I sat up with interest. What did he mean by that? "I understand that I'm in the middle of an engagement, but to my fortune, it is to Mary. Mary has told me to keep on the case. We can work between days to get things ready."

My brows lifted in shock. Mary was a sweet woman, but as a bride, it was unusual to give her groom so much freedom. She would sacrifice that? I breathed a sigh of relief. With Watson back on the case with us, I would feel much more comfortable with Irene being there. "You don't know how terribly glad I am. Without you there, it would have been horribly uncomfortable, wouldn't you think?"

He glanced at me with a wide-eyed look. And with a single chuckle, he replied. "Horribly."

~.~.~.~.~

We were all attached to the case now, so all four of us squeezed into a carriage as we were getting ready to visit the crime scene. Irene and I sat uncomfortably close to one another, feathers from her hat tickling my face. I looked out the window for as much of the ride as I possibly could in order to get away from the large red hairs.

We all sat silently as the carriage began to move. Watson and Irene were across from one another, and Holmes and I parallel. Without looking at him, I could feel his eyes drilling themselves onto my face. My palms were sweating beneath my worn out gloves. I wasn't sure how long we were all going to be in there, but I was certainly expecting an interesting trip.

"So," Irene said, cracking a smile. We all turned our attention to her, secretly frustrated that someone decided to talk. In the awkward situation, silence was not minded. "I was thinking this whole situation over last night. Presumably, it will be quite an easy case to crack. His methods seem to be similar of other recent murderers." She rolled her eyes as if she were amused with a small child, and not a serious murderer. "Whoever he is, he lacks creativity. He'll mock the murders of others. That should make it easier to track down, wouldn't you agree?"

"You said he lacks creativity," I muttered lowly. "I often think of creativity as an expression of one's soul. Could you compare murders to such a thing?" Irene couldn't resist twisting her face into something sour. She tried her best to plaster a smile on, but it came out as a scowl. Watson tried to stifle a laugh. Had I dared to mock Irene Adler? Calmly, I redirected my gaze back towards the window. "It was just an observation."

Irene stayed silent for quite some time. I felt something soft nudge my foot, and glancing up I saw Holmes also looking out the window. He was smiling beneath the brim of his hat, tucked down far enough for Irene not to see his expression. I kicked his foot gently back, looking into his eyes this time and giving him a wink of amusement. He warmly returned it.

"In any case, all I was saying was that we have four people to solve one case that won't even take that much time," she chuckled. I didn't see how it was funny. Was she suggesting we get rid of someone? My face dropped.

I assumed she meant me.

"Luckily for you, Miss Adler, I won't be attending the case tomorrow," I said calmly. All three of them looked up at me. Watson and Holmes with surprise, Irene with a bit of happiness. "If your emotional needs for one of us to leave the case are being expressed through your last statement, then for tomorrow, you shall have your wish."

Watson snickered aloud this time, trying to stop himself as quickly as he could. Irene's gaze grew cold, but I merely offered her a smile. I wasn't sure why I was being so stubborn.

"Might I inquire as to why you won't be joining us tomorrow?" Holmes's voice was a bit frantic.

Slowly, I met his eyes. In my attempt to embarrass Irene, I hadn't realized that I would potentially be offending Holmes. "I'm attending a party." My voice was smooth. I wasn't about to let him know that it was practically a blind date. "It's been set up by my mother."

"Oh yes, how could I forget such a thing?" Irene laughed suddenly. I curiously looked over at her, unsure of what she was getting at. "I believe I met your mother yesterday. She had stopped by in the shop after you left. Judith Adkins, was it? She was going to buy you something for that little party tomorrow." My eyes grew wide. It was only seconds until Irene let out the truth. "She said you were going to meet someone? A young gentleman?" Her smile was horribly fake, and I no longer pretended not to be frustrated with her. Angst was clearly sketched behind my piercing glare. "That's very exciting. You will have to let all of us know how things go." She smiled once more, looking over at Holmes. "Especially Sherlock. I'm sure he'd love to know how his favourite worker is doing."

I felt myself sink lower in my chair. Watson didn't laugh this time. Holmes most definitely wasn't laughing. I had failed to come out on top of Irene Adler.

As upset as I was, I wasn't surprised.

~.~.~.~.~

Once the ride was finally over, a ride that took nearly an hour of silence, we reached a small house located in the English countryside. Long, pebbled roads and old mansions loomed over hills of bright green grasses and yellow flowers. My heart strings were being pulled just looking at it. The last time I had been somewhere like that was when we lived in our country house. My one true comfort zone.

Our carriage stopped just outside of the house and we all climbed out of the carriage in a hurry. All of us were ready to get out of there. An elderly couple met us outside, their faces tight like old leather. The man's arm was wrapped tightly around his wife's waist as she bit her nails nervously. There were a few other inspectors, but other than that, we were alone.

I approached the woman, noticing her blood shot eyes the closer I got. "Hello, you must be Mrs. Caldwell." She took her hand away from her face, nodding slightly. "My name is Renadale Adkins. It's very nice to meet you."

I heard the rest of the team come up behind me after they finished talking to the inspectors. I was the kind of person who just wanted to make sure that the victim's loved ones could be comfortable with us walking around their personal homes. I know I wouldn't feel comfortable if some grouchy detective was wandering around my house. So, I painted a picture of sincerity for them. "Please find the man who killed my son." Her voice was nearly gone. "Please, help us..." She buried herself further into her husband's chest.

Holmes refused to look at me as I struggled to gain his attention. I knew it wasn't what I should have been thinking about at the time, but was he angry about me seeing someone? I pushed the thought away for the moment and followed him into the house. "Pieces of the body were missing," Watson whispered in my ear behind me as we entered the house. "Apparently the body was poisoned and then the parts were removed."

I flinched, scared to look behind doors and under tables. "Any reasonable ideas as to why that is?"

Watson's expression was stern. "Why do murderers do anything they do?" That was a valid point.

The door creaked open as Holmes took a step forward. There was nothing particularly interesting about the bedroom. The boy had a few books stacked up on top of one another. A bed with a quilted blanket was in the far corner and a desk laid next to the door. Other that that, there wasn't much to it. "How old was your son?" We all turned to face the Caldwells.

"Seventeen," she whimpered, shaking her head back and forth. "My poor boy was only seventeen years old." Her tears began to catch up with her and in moments she was letting loose her sobs. Her husband gently led her to a chair in the living room before coming back to us.

"Excuse my wife," he said softly. "She can't control herself. I'll answer anything you'd like to know."

Holmes spoke up as he let his fingers lazily trail the book spines. "Your son... did he have any friends with any mental or social problems? Anyone in the family?"

The man scrunched his face up while he pondered. "No one in the family that I can recall. Occasionally he would be out in the city with his friends on the weekends, but none of them showed any signs of issues. Unless he was seeing someone in the town, I can't say that he did. Why do you ask?"

"Every single one of those books in your son's room deals with psychology. He's fascinated by it. In his mind, he wants to help victims of issues that their brains are forcing them to have. Often when one wishes to help these people, he is in close relations with them."

"Yes," his father said with a smile. "He always tried to help people, even people he didn't know. Whenever the family would go into town, he would approach poor people on the streets and ask if there was anything they could help him with." The man snickered, lightly dabbing away tears. "Most of them told him to just stop his talking and give them cash. Michael would just smile and tell them to have a nice day. He was a curious boy, but he was a sweetheart."

"Potentially one of these people could have had a deeper connection to Michael than a random bum on the street," Watson said. "When he went into town with his friends, he could have easily been giving advice to someone. Perhaps Michael's killer was one of these people, or someone who knew them."

We continued looking through the room. Nothing was disturbed. It almost seemed illogical that anyone was murdered there. Yet, a single drop of poison was enough. We later learned that his body was taken outside. Certain parts had been removed and left near their well, but the rest of it was no where to be found. While the three of them went outside to inspect things, I stayed indoors with the mother and father.

Silence was always comforting. Thinking about things such as murder is difficult to undertake, but talking about it sets some stress free. "Would you like to tell me something about Michael?" I suggested to his mother as I joined her on their couch.

She looked over at me in surprise. "You would like to know about my son?"

"I would love to know about your son."

A huge smile slid across her face, one that made it seem like he wasn't gone at all. "He's the most handsome boy anyone could ever see." Her words remained in present tense. She didn't want to give up on him just yet. Her wrinkled fingers grabbed a photograph off a table beside her. A wide eyed, fair-skinned boy was grinning back at me. She was right. He was handsome. "He's just lovely. He is gentle and forgiving. I don't think he ever cried as a baby, or ever raised his voice as grown man. My son was a gift from God, and..." Her chocolate eyes began to swell up with tears. "Well, now God's decided that he would like him back."

"He's wonderful. I wish I could have known him." I offered her a gentle smile. She took it generously, trying her best to give one in return.

"Miss Adkins, you are needed outside." A low voice said from the doorway. I looked up to see Holmes, his face blank. He was frustrated with me, that was obvious. Carefully, I stood up and followed him outside.

Something had to be done. I couldn't have him being frigid with me all week. I couldn't let Irene see his irritation. It would be too much of an invite for her, and cause too much pain for me.

Before we walked out to the back of the yard, I grabbed his collar and pulled him closer towards me. His eyes grew wide and I couldn't tell if it was from excitement or ferocity. "Talk to me for a moment, please," I begged in a whisper. When I knew he wouldn't walk away from me, I released his collar from my strong grip. My eyes averted to the ground, my heart rate increasing. "You are upset with me. That is quite clear."

Holmes raised a brow. "Upset? Miss Adkins, I am surprised by your conclusion. I can't seem to solve where you got it from." His teeth were clenched as he spoke to me. That was a clear enough answer that he was being sarcastic.

I hesitated as I realized my body was only a few inches away from his. His legs weren't moving and even his chest had relaxed. He was a stoic as a gargoyle. It was always like this: He remained calm while I was nervous out of my mind. "Do not try to hide it, you're upset about something. Ever since Irene mentioned that I was meeting someone tomorrow-"

"You suggest that I am upset with you within an hour's time since that statement was declared," he muttered, his eyes breaking and looking towards the ground. "I don't think it's reasonable for you to make such assumptions, Miss Adkins."

"They're not assumptions!" I whispered harshly. "I know you better than that. I can tell you are frustrated about the situation, but I assure you I was not the one to plan it."

His eyes lifted again. Somehow our inches had shrunken to centimetres. "Yet you intend to go along with it."

"It is a party. A mere party, and yes, I will attend. And yes, I will meet this man. That does not mean I will be fond of him. I have no intention of that."

"And if you are?" He asked, his beautiful eyes darting across my face.

I shook my head. "That will not happen."

He took a step away from me. "Do not plan ahead. If you are fond of him, it shall be a convenience that your mother had paired you." He smirked, almost seeming comfortable with the idea. "If something were to happen between you two, I would very much love to hear about it. After all, you are my most prized maid, as Irene had pointed out. However, this is not what we have come here to discuss. So, if you do not mind..." He turned on his heels, walking into the back yard.

I stood alone on the side of the house. I didn't want to join them and have them notice the ruddiness of my cheeks. I didn't want to hear their scientific terms for death like it was some sort of math equation. In fact, I would have chosen a party over it. All I wanted was for Sherlock to reassure me that it didn't bother him. But, it did. He made it clear that he would not try and force any more of his feelings upon me, when in reality, that was all I wanted.

With a groan, I leaned against the wall and buried my face in my shaking hands. What new mess was I getting myself into?