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Chapter Four. Discovered.

Holmes was reluctant to pursue his investigations into the Conaveli's without further evidence of their deceit. He could not believe that Angel was betraying him, at least not consciously; he had become quite fond of her but he doubted that she had the mental capacity to willingly deceive, and the way she looked at him still convinced him that she cared too much for him to lie to him. That only left her father, but still he was unsure, Mario had never displayed any animosity toward him but he had to admit that the whole situation with the Conaveli's was a strange one. How easily they had taken him in, not that he was one to doubt the credits of humanity, but he was wary when it was so glaringly portrayed to him. He was suspicious and he needed his suspicions confirmed or denied in order to continue living under their roof.

It was early morning and Holmes was just stirring when he heard voices outside his door. Quiet voices, but his ears were finely tuned to detect any noise. He sat up in bed and listened, it was a girl's voice, Angel's, and she sounded as if she were crying. A man interrupted her several times, a man who possessed a harsh aggressive voice. Holmes strained to listen but could not make out words. Hastily dressing he slid silently to the door and bent down, they were speaking in Italian and it was definitely Angel he could hear and she was most certainly crying. She cried out as if in pain and Holmes tensed, the man growled something at her and Holmes heard him descend the stairs, he heard Angel sob and heard her body slide to the floor, grasping the door and flinging it open he found her curled up and sobbing. At his voice, she looked up; her face was stained with tears and her clothes torn. Holmes dropped to his knees beside her and she clung to him and cried. He could feel nothing but loathing toward the man who had made her this way but could feel no sympathy for the girl, his mind was not thinking of her pain, only of the problem he was now faced with. He looked down at her and absent-mindedly stroked her hair, playing with emotion but feeling nothing.

"What's wrong Angel?" he asked quietly as he felt her sobs become less frequent, "Who was that man?"

She coughed and straightened up, her hands still grasping Holmes' arm.

"He…he made me promise."

"Promise what?"

"That I would not tell you."

"Angel you have to tell me."

She looked at him in silence for a while before making up her mind and, gripping his arm tighter, she spoke in a voice that was so quiet Holmes was forced to lean forward to hear her.

"He...he wants to kill you, he says you killed his friend, that is why you run and why you end up here, that you are a bad man that should be punished."

Holmes slid back off his heels and fell flat against the wall. It was true, someone in this house had betrayed him, he was now convinced from her reaction that it was not Angel, that they were merely using her to get to him, but there was someone. Still, what did it matter now? They had found him, he knew it would not be long but even so, he was not as prepared as he would have liked.

"What did you tell him Angel?" Holmes struggled to keep his voice under control, it was not the girl's fault after all and he deeply regretted involving her in his dangerous life.

"I told them you were not bad man, that you were very kind to me and I could not believe you would kill any man who did not deserve it."

He smiled at her; maybe she was not so slow after all.

"You are right."

She blinked up at him.

"Then you did kill?" She asked in a hushed voice. Holmes frowned, he did not like to be the man responsible for taking this girl's innocence but he had done so none the less.

"Yes, but to a man who deserved it." And it was not strictly my fault, he thought but did not say.

"And that is why you are here?"

Holmes nodded.

"Oh."

Angel dropped her head and released her grip on his arm.

"Are you upset with me Angel?" He didn't know why he asked the question, but ever since his escape from Reichenbach he had felt the need for someone to justify his actions, he detested taking a life – was not his career spent in the persecution of those who did? And yet he had to know that someone apart from himself felt that is decision at the falls had been the right one, that it was kill or be killed, that Moriarty's death was inevitable. But was it? He could not decide. And now he felt himself hold his breath as he waited for the girl's answer. Finally she looked up at him and smiled,

"No, I am not upset, I respect you for it."

Without thinking Holmes leaned forward and kissed the girl's forehead. She said nothing but gazed at him with sparkling eyes.

"Come." He commanded, helping her to her feet.

"I don't want to go to my room, he will find me and he will kill me for telling you."

There was genuine fear in her eyes as she leaned helplessly on his arm. Holmes sighed; women would be the death of him.

"Very well, you may sleep in my room, although heaven knows what your father will do if he finds out."

She smiled and then stopped abruptly.

"What is it?" Holmes asked, somehow fearing the worst.

"My work, I have to start work."

"Now? It's almost four in the morning."

"Yes, now is when I start my work."

Holmes sighed,

"Not today, you need sleep, look at yourself, you can barely stand."

He propelled her into his room, ignoring her protests and forced her to lie down.

"Sleep child." Holmes' voice seemed to soothe her and eventually she drifted into sleep. Holmes sat on the windowsill feeling the cool morning air soothe his own shattered nerves as the sun rose on a sleepy Florence. He wondered about his next move, he wondered who the man could have been – one of Moran's men? Had he been followed from Switzerland to here? Or had someone betrayed him? He bitterly missed Watson at moments like these, for he desperately needed someone whom he could test theories on and the girl was no use, she was scared half to death by that man, who knew what may happen if he entrusted his secret to her and yet, ironically, there was no one else whom he could trust. He could not stay inactive, he had to be doing something, he left Angel sleeping and made his way downstairs, there was little activity in the house at that time of the morning but he could hear Mario whistling in the kitchen and silently passed the door and disappeared out into the street. Walking fast, he made his way to the police station; sure enough there was the sleepy looking youth he had encountered before.

"I need to see the Inspector."

"He's not here sir." The youth drawled.

"I repeat I need to see the inspector." Holmes persisted, he knew the man was here and he wasn't going to be fobbed off.

"And I telling you he ain't here!"

"It's alright Gio."

He heard the inspector's voice come drawling through the building towards him and Holmes smiled, deceitful man, but he was his only lifeline in this place.

"Come through Mr…Sigerson."

There was a discernable pause as he said his name which the sleepy youth noticed but said nothing, Holmes nodded in the Inspector's direction and followed him through to a back office where they were both seated.

"It is very early Mr. Holmes." The inspector drawled his smooth Italian voice grating on every one of Holmes' nerves.

"I realise that and I apologise, but seeing as you're here I need to contact my brother – or at the very least I need someone in this city I can trust."

The inspector raised a jet black eyebrow.

"Why do you say that?"

"A man threatened Angel this morning, he was in the house, and he told her he was going to kill me."

"Angel?" There was a hint of a smile playing around the Inspector's mouth which Holmes detested.

"Miss. Conaveli."

"Oh indeed. And she was not harmed?"

"No she was not - this time - but there may be a next time. How did they find me Inspector? Can you tell me if there is any one else who knows of my identity, of my presence here in Florence?"

Inspector… shook his head.

"There is no-one."

"There must be," Holmes persisted, "How else would they know I was here and staying at that particular guest house?"

"Someone within the house?"

Holmes sighed, damn the man and his slowness.

"Yes, well of course I came here because I had not thought of that!"

He did not mean to snap but this man was trying his patience and he was sorely tried as it was.

"I realise that my mental acumen is far behind yours Mr. Holmes but I am here to help you."

Holmes sighed again, a far too common occurrence these days,

"Yes, of course, I am sorry Inspector."

"Not at all. Of course we can wire your brother if you wish but until he provides us with any information that will be of use, I can give you one of our men who will be happy to chaperone you…"

"Chaperone me?" Holmes cut him off and sprang forward in his seat, gripping the arms with his white hands, "Inspector I do not need chaperoning I need information! How am I to effectively bring this man to justice if I am not free to act as I wish."

"You are not free to act as you wish if I were to leave you alone Mr. Holmes. You are dead remember and unfortunately must act as such, you must not arouse any more suspicion in your activities than there already is, you may move around this city as you please but if you are here as a detective then you go with my man around my city or you go not at all."

Holmes grunted quietly.

"Very well, but I want no-one like that slovenly youth out there."

Inspector … laughed.

"No Mr. Holmes, he is special, he stays here. I give you … he is one of our best, I think you will like him, he is not unlike you."

Holmes sincerely doubted that but said nothing; he merely smiled in mock gratitude.

"I am grateful, inspector. Do you wish me to meet him here?"

"No, no he will come to the Conaveli's tomorrow morning, shall we say 9.30?"

"Yes fine. Well thank you Inspector." Holmes shook the man's hand before quickly taking his leave. Once into the street he leaned against a wall and closed his eyes, the one thing he could do without was interference and that was precisely what he was getting, he still did not know who had betrayed him and while he was now sure it was neither of the Conaveli's it meant that he was being watched, and by someone who was undoubtedly working for Moran. He longed for London and familiarity; sighing and straightening himself, he set off for home – wherever that was….