"Well it's not very romantic, is it, Watson?"

"Her eyes were sewn shut with her own hair, Holmes, it's not very romantic at all."

"Ahh but that's where it lies! The cause of death is nearly unidentifiable as there is no disturbance upon her body. Well, save that her hair had been ruefully severed. The murderer was obviously one who practiced some sort of odd ritual as you will note that the bottoms of her feet held peculiar markers as well."

"This month is bustling with murders, it seems. So what do you think about it?"

"I shall think nothing of it. Instead, let us allow inspector Gordon to take the case; he seems to be in want of something more potent than petty thefts. No, Watson, what I do think we ought to do is pay Darley a visit." As of late, my opinion of the little man had dwindled to a moderate dislike. His odd behavior and the entire mystery which surrounded his life completely perplexed me. However, my curiosity peeked when he'd presented me with the portrait, and so I found myself more than happy to hear of our next destination.

We stopped for an hour after leaving the hospital for a bit of lunch, departing soon after to meet our client, I assume, to converse with him whatever Holmes had found.

"You think he'll be home?" I asked after a while.

"Certainly. Where else would he go?"

"I suppose wherever it is he goes to earn his bread. He may be self-employed, but surely he leaves the house to work."

"I have proof on the contrary, " Holmes responded, stepping over a lost glove. "I've been in the man's house, inspected his boots and combed the rug which lays at the foot of the door. Do you know what I found?"

"I presume: nothing?"

"Right you are! I found only the faintest hints of the outside world upon his floors; his boots only slightly worn and the carpets perfectly clean though a little rundown. Incidentally, I did find ample amounts of pens and parchment as well as various art supplies."

"I would think him an artist by profession, except that I've never heard of him before."

"Nor have I. And do you know what is most strange about my investigation in ties with his occupation? I have found absolutely no traces of the man's work! You would think an artist would surround his home with his masterworks, or at least stack them upon a collected wall; and yet I saw none of this. Oh! but here we are, my dear Doctor. Let's not contemplate the man when we are the beggars at his doorstep."

Holmes had stopped short of the door, allowing me to step ahead of him and knock. We waited a few moments with no response. I knocked again; nothing. I turned to my friend, brow propped, and waited for my next instruction.

"You're sure he's in?"

"Just try again, Watson, and don't scrutinize me." he spat irritably.

I scowled and turned to the door, this time calling our clients name. I was about to turn away, suggesting to Holmes that we come back at a later hour, when my friend had pushed me aside and roughly shimmied the handle.

He looked at me with a grave countenance.

"Holmes..."

"Shush, Watson," he said quietly. "Do you have my picks and perhaps even your revolver?"

"The revolver, yes, but--"

"Well, that's alright. I fear, in my late night endeavors, I may have damaged one of his back windows. Let us see if that won't allow us entrance."

The two of us casually made our way between the alley. Holmes had lead me to a small garden, passing over a bed of sundry sprouts and a cracked vase, over to a splintered window pane. I looked at him in surprise, but he merely brushed it aside.

"This window leads to a small study," he whispered in low tones. "From there, we will enter a small hallway, pass the bedroom and enter the sitting room. To the left of that, there will be another door leading to a misused studio. I think our best chances would be to check the sitting room as well as his bed chambers."

I nodded and followed my companion through the window. The study was a very welcoming room, what with its deep red carpeting and wonderfully Victorian wallpaper. Our feet padded on thick fibers which muffled our steps as we made our way into the hall.

"I know where the bedroom is, and if you'll do me the honor, you'll go ahead and check the sitting room. Come find me when you've completed your investigation."

I had agreed, and the two of us walked to the end of the hall.

"Good heavens!!" My arm shot out instinctively before my friend when we reached the sitting room, halting his step. There was new blood on the floor. I stared, horrified, at the body which lay curled in on itself at the corner of the room. "By Jove... that isn't Darley, is it?" I asked, my voice perhaps hitching a few notes higer than usual.

Holmes grasped my forearm and together we kneeled at the body. "Quick, Watson, is he alive?"

I lifted his limp arm and pulled down his cuff to check for pulse. I felt myself signing in relief. "He's fine, but... where the devil did all this blood come from?"

"Never mind that, we need to get him awake and find what he knows. Check the cabinet for brandy, I think I saw some on our first visit."

Once we had moved the unconscious man to the sofa, tipping some brandy into his mouth and loosening his collar, we sat in wait for him to come round. It was only a matter of minutes before his eyes blinked open.

"Darley, my good fellow, are you alright?" I asked in a gentle manner. Oh, but what could I honestly expect from the little man? Upon hearing my voice, he let out a horrific scream, flailing out his arms and flinging himself to the floor. He very nearly knocked himself out again, if only I hadn't grasped his hand in my own. The small contact seemed to right him instantly, and he sat, wild eyed, against the couch.

"Dr. Watson?" He panted.

"Yes, Darley, it is I. How are you?"

"How--? Well I havn't the faintest idea... and how long have you been here? I don't remember... don't remember calling you over to hold my hand."

I blushed, apologizing, and made to pull my hand away, but he held fast.

"Mister Darley," Holmes said calmly, stepping from his place behind the sofa.

"Mister Holmes! Now what are you both--"

"Tut, Darley, not a word more until you answer a few questions."

"As much as I know, mister Holmes, I hold nothing from you and the dear doctor."

I had pulled him back to his feet, but he faltered and clutched at his sides. Through a suppressed gasp of pain, he withdrew the hand which shot to his ribs and brought it in front of his face. "I-- Dr. Watson, are you.. are you bleeding?"

"No, in fact, we are here to check up on you. This blood's all yours."

He shouted again, ripping his hand from mine and pulling it to his chest. "You've done this! I know my appearance was a bit strange upon your rooms, but I don't think it warrants you doing this!"

"Had I any intentions of killing you," sighed Holmes. "then you would not be here now. Which comes to the point of our being here. Though I already know it vain asking who did this to you, I must at least inquire as to what you've been doing since your visit to Baker Street and now. Can you answer me that?"

I had helped our client to sit down and began to lightly clear away the shreds of cloth on his side. When I pressed a finger against the congealed gash, he gasped and flinched away. "It's alright, Darley, you're alright. It looks like a knife wound, but luckily your rib was in the way of any serious trouble."

"Serious! Dr. Watson, I've been stabbed!"

"And if you'll at least try to work with me, we will attempt to capture the culprit!" Holmes shouted, his voice heavy with impatience.

Darley and I looked at Holmes in some surprise, his outburst evidently a sign of waning temper. He placed a hand on his hip, running his fingers through his hair. "You'll have to forgive me, but I can't help you if you continue to ignore my inquest. Now please, Darley, tell me what happened?"

He looked at my friend for some moments before turning to me. "I headed home after leaving your rooms, and I suppose I was overtaken."

"By whom? And for what purpose?" I asked, the response given directly to me. I heard Holmes's hand slap heavily against his thigh as he turned to leave.

I sighed.

"Meet me back at Baker Street when you're done here, Watson. My time is evidently best spent elsewhere. Good day!" Darley stared after him as the detective left the room, slamming the door behind him. Capital.

"He's the flair of a stubborn woman, Dr. Watson!"

"I know, he's quite the dramatist when he doesn't get his way. Now, so as to assure us both that my friend won't come back and murder you himself, why don't we try figure out what exactly happened here?"

"You don't think he'd really do that, do you?"

"I was only joking," I looked at him, and I swear there was genuine relief when I had spoken. Did he honestly think...? "Would you please, sir, tell me what happened here?"

He nodded, shifting on the sofa so that his arm could sling over the arm rest opposite me. "I'm not lying, Doctor, but I really have no clue who did this. Do you think someone's out to get me? They took away my best friend, and now an attempt's been made on my life. Or maybe... do you think I was simply in the way? Perhaps someone saw me leaving your rooms and thought it best to do away with me. But to satisfy Mr. Holmes, I'll tell you that I came straight home after visiting you. I intended to do some work, maybe I did, I dunno, but I just remember sitting at my desk and then... well, I awoke to Mr. Holmes being angry, and you holding my hand, and now I've offended my last hope in finding peace. He won't give up, will he?"

I placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke assuringly. "My good sir, I can assure you that my friend will not abandon you to that killer, whomever he is. But you need to understand how Holmes works, and if you don't keep up as best you can, he does have the tenancy to snap. I will tell him what you've just told me, unless you have more to add?"

He looked round the room, eyes stopping where he had fallen. "I remember, my attacker, he seemed unsure of himself. He snuck into the house before I got home and awaited my arrival. He said something, but the entire situation was too exciting that I cannot for the life of me remember what he'd said."

"Your life may well depend on what he said. Try to think about it and... write to me, if something come up. As for your wounds, I suggest you call upon your doctor."

Again he nodded, and I stood to leave. "Tell Mr. Holmes I'm sorry. But to be honest, Doctor, I don't think I trust him."

My coat was about half on when I stopped to stare at the man before me. "What do you mean you don't trust him? If you're worried about some retaliation on his part, I can give you my word that nothing has changed his opinion about you or the case!"

"Of course, Dr. Watson."

It was a few hours before I was once again at Baker street, having being pulled away to assist one of the doctors at the hospital. When I opened the door to our rooms, I was welcomed by the sight of Holmes kicking something across the floor.

"Has your time been utilized well, Holmes?" said I, watching the object collide with a stack of books.

"Actually, Watson, it's all been a waste. The entire day's been a waste."

"I suppose, then, that you won't be keen on hearing that I got nearly nothing from Darley."

"Just as well," he spat. "What I did find was that one of my informants has been found dead."

"Oh? Well did you at least get what you sent him for?"

Holmes stopped mid-step and turned towards me. "Watson, you astound me! I know it's usual for me to be indifferent, but that was quite unlike you. Well in answer to your question, no, I didn't get what I wanted. The wolf got my lamb, I'm afraid. Anyway, I feel that the least I could do is check poor Cooper's home. It'd be a terrible waste not to, wouldn't you say?"

I chuckled. "I suppose so, yes. When will you be back?"

He sighed. "I should think before too long, though one never call tell."

"Hmm." I picked up a pipe and sat in my chair, lighting the tobacco. "He said he was sorry, for upsetting you."

"Did he now? Hum! Well I think I see why Lestrade was so off his end on that first day of the investigation. How are you not driven mad by the site of this man yet?"

"I live with you, don't I? I think I'm well fortified for intolerable men."

"You've a point there, my dear Watson. So what did you get from him? I'd like to know before I leave on this endeavor, just so I've something to think about on the cab ride over."

I shrugged my shoulders before smiling to myself. "Well, he thinks that the man was lying in wait for him, and that he, Darley that is, was at his desk before things went awry. Anyway, the interesting thing was that he'd been convinced that you were out to get him."

"He thought I'd murder him!"

"He said he didn't trust you anymore. The poor man's mad, if I do say so myself."

"That is interesting," his finger taped lightly against his chin before retracting it and letting his hand fall to his side. "Very interesting... anyway, dear fellow, I shall see you in a few hours. Wait up for me if you wish, we can dine if the hour is agreeable."

"You ought to let me go along, Holmes." I said as he was closing the door behind him. He paused at the suggestion, but then continued out the door without a word.

I'm so so sorry it's taken about a month (if not longer) to update this, and also I apologize for this chapter being so short. But between "Well Put" and "Dear Crime" as well as playing a certain MMO, I'm afraid this fic has been neglected.

Also, I got extremely disheartened after watching an episode of Psych and finding a character extremely similar to that which is my pride and joy Darley. It's like... I dunno, I watched that episode and was even I was convinced that I ripped off the character. :(

But I'm not gonna be a bitch and leave this unfinished. Chapter 4 was a kinda stand-still chapter with little to provoke my interest in working on it, but the story significantly picks up after this point. So, that being said, hopefully it won't be ANOTHER MONTH BETWEEN UPDATES. lol If I've lost a lot of readers for this one, then I totally deserve it.