A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! This one's a lot longer than usual, so I hope you enjoy!

Chapter VI

"How do you know that's where I'm going?" Clara asked defiantly, sticking her chin out. Her plan to leave unnoticed had failed miserably.

"Did you honestly think that I wouldn't see him slip you that piece of paper? Tsk tsk, Clara, you ought to know me better than that," Holmes replied. He was leaning lazily in his doorway like some sort of predatory cat.

"But you have no idea what that paper said," she reasoned, putting her hands on her hips.

"Well, seeing as you are going out this evening, dressed up and alone – which you never do – I think it's safe to assume – "

"Alright, I see your point," Clara interjected, wincing in response to how easily he unraveled her plan. "What does it matter, anyway," she said saucily, hoping to get a rise from him.

However, she was disappointed. "It doesn't," he began calmly, sticking his pipe in his mouth, "I was merely making an observation."

Watson, on the other hand, stood and neatly folded his newspaper, setting it on the coffee table. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said, looking at Holmes for support, "It'll be getting dark soon and she shouldn't be in that part of town by herself, let alone at night."

"Oh please, John, I can take care of myself," she said petulantly.

Holmes raised an eyebrow mockingly. "Can you, now? If I remember correctly, we've saved you from numerous dangerous situations in the past. One specific event stands out in my mind especially – oh what was it? – Oh, yes, that time when you were drugged to the point of unconsciousness, lying beneath a giant spike that was teetering above your heart. Other than that, I would say you are completely self-sufficient," he said sarcastically.

Clara felt her cheeks grow scarlet with a combination of anger and embarrassment.

"And I have no desire to carry your limp body down nearly seven flights of stairs again, thank you," Watson piped in.

"Well, I'm going, whether you like it or not," she said resolvedly, standing firmly at the top of the stairs.

"Fine, it's no tax on me, I was planning on going out with Irene tonight anyway," Holmes replied with the smallest tinge of cruelty.

Clara blinked twice, surprised at his response. She'd never envisioned him as the type of person to say such a thing. Even Watson seemed surprised – Holmes usually wouldn't offer such information about his personal life, especially if it involved Irene.

"Fine," Clara snapped lamely, descending the staircase.

*

"What was that?" Watson asked his friend confusedly.

"Nothing," Holmes answered, massaging his temples. "It was nothing. That girl can really be insufferable at times, can't she?"

Watson crinkled his nose in bewilderment. "Not really, Holmes. I mean, she didn't really say anything to you – you initiated that little spat," he said.

"Did I?" Holmes said distantly, watching Clara walk down the street beneath his window.

"You're acting very odd – even for you…" Watson said skeptically, knitting his brow.

Suddenly, Holmes ran to his door and grabbed his overcoat and hat from the cloak-rack.

"Where are you going?" Watson questioned.

"You said it yourself, my dear Watson – we can't let her go alone! Plus, I may retrieve some information that is pertinent to the case," he said, grinning slyly.

"You're going to follow her?" Watson said, un-amusedly eying Holmes' coat.

"Superb judgment, my good fellow," Holmes said sarcastically. "Are you not coming?" he added after Watson made no move to follow him.

"Oh no, Holmes. This is your problem. I don't want to be there to see her fury when she catches you," his friend replied.

"You mean if she catches me. You know that I am a master of stealth," Holmes reasoned.

Watson rolled his eyes and looked back down at his newspaper. "That may be, but I don't want to risk it. You're on your own this time, old boy," he said. When he looked up again, Holmes was gone.

"Wait!" he called out, rushing down the stairs and catching him as he was about to leave the house. Holmes turned and looked at him questioningly. "Aren't you supposed to meet up with Irene?" Watson asked.

Holmes grinned. "If she stops by," he began, "tell her I'm out boxing."

*

As Clara walked to Boundary Street, she had the distinctive feeling that she was being followed. I should have taken a cab, she thought ruefully – it was quite a long walk from Baker Street, but she liked the exercise. She looked over her shoulder for the third or fourth time – there was nothing, same as before. Just a large group of people; nothing unusual for the time of day. I'm just paranoid. Holmes has had too much of an effect on me, she mused. As she managed to dodge a rather filthy looking puddle in the nick of time, she wondered why she had chosen to go meet Mr. Tress. She had a very difficult time not succumbing to her curiosity. And it didn't hurt that he was absolutely gorgeous.

And Holmes hadn't seemed too happy about her decision to meet him, either. She smiled smugly to herself. Good, she thought, serves him right for trying to make me jealous of Irene. Even if she didn't come to particularly like William, he might be good leverage to have in the future. Although, she did feel slightly bad about it – she didn't want to make Watson worry. Sure, there was nothing romantic between them (at the moment), but he still cared about her and she didn't want to take advantage of that. It was difficult to keep in mind that she couldn't allow herself to harbor any romantic feelings for either of the men; if she renewed her feelings for Watson, she would put him through an awful emotional turmoil, and Holmes didn't want anything to do with her. And that was where she was at – which was partly, almost subconsciously, why she was going to see William Tress. What did she have to lose?

*

He didn't know exactly why he'd chosen to follow her – not knowing his own motives was something he found himself doing quite often, lately. He told himself it was because he might find some evidence for the case that Clara would miss – some small detail that she would overlook. That was partially it. But he was blowing off Irene for this – why? Perhaps they were getting too close – too attached to one another. He had to distance himself. He couldn't allow himself to fall in love. Though, he didn't think that was entirely possible. Due to his keen ability to spot small peculiarities, he would always see people's faults, which made it difficult to find a suitable mate.

But why follow Clara? Why not? He enjoyed tracking people – it was a thrill. And (God forbid) in case she got into trouble, he would be there – her invisible guardian. Despite what he told himself, he did care for her, in a friendly sort of way. If she were to be hurt, he would be upset. And that William Tress, goodness knows what type of person he was. There was something about that – that boy that he didn't trust. He was too suave, too handsome. Nothing good could come from him. If he showed signs of being dangerous, Clara would miss them. She was too taken by his good looks to have the ability to accurately assess his character. Maybe he wasn't giving her enough credit – she was quite intelligent – but he didn't want to take the risk. Speaking of risks, he was disappointed that Watson hadn't chosen to come with him. If Clara did, indeed, spot him (which was unlikely, but one must plan for the worst), she would be much more apt to calm down if Watson was there. She liked Watson far more than she liked Holmes, at the moment.

*

When Clara walked into the White Horse Tavern, she saw William sitting at a small table in the back of the room. He waved to her and got up to greet her.

"Miss Clarissa! I'm so pleased that you decided to come!" he said enthusiastically, kissing the back of her hand.

"Yes, well, I'm afraid I let my curiosity get the best of me," she said, smiling and looking at him through her eyelashes. He smiled at her devilishly and pulled her chair out for her in a gentlemanly fashion. For someone of working class, he certainly had nice manners.

He sat down across from her and said, "I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you to meet me here, and, to tell you the truth, I myself am wondering the same thing. When I first saw you, I just had this overwhelming sense that I needed to know you. It's difficult for me to explain." He was looking at her intently, waiting for her response.

"I must say, that's quite peculiar. But I believe strongly in the concept of 'fate' – you may laugh – but perhaps we were meant to meet one another. If you feel such a strange draw to me, we should at least get to know each other, I suppose," she said hesitantly.

"No, no, why would I laugh? I, too, believe in fate! It seems we have something in common already," he began smiling, "but how should we begin this conversation? Where were you born? Are you from London?"

"No, I'm not from London. I was born in a small town about a day's distance away. Where are you from?" she asked politely.

"Born and raised in the city," he said proudly, "What brought you to London?"

She let out a bitter laugh and looked at her hands, "My parents sent me here. I guess I was too much of a burden."

"I'm sorry," he said sympathetically, "That must have been difficult for you."

"It's quite alright," she started, meeting his gaze; "I like it much better here, anyway. I'm glad they sent me away."

He smiled kindly at her, his blue eyes twinkling in the dim light. "So who are those two men you were with earlier today. I know they were detectives, but just how exactly did you get mixed up with the two of them?"

She bit her lip, unsure whether it was a good idea to tell him or not. It wasn't exactly confidential information, so she decided to divulge. "My aunt is their landlady, and when I moved in with her I met them. They live next-door to me," she said.

"So you're quite close with them?" he asked.

"I suppose you could say that," Clara replied.

"So, what, they're like brothers to you?" he asked nonchalantly. Clara smiled – she could tell that he was trying to see whether or not she had a romantic relationship with either of them.

"Not exactly. It's very complicated," she said slowly.

"I would love to hear. I simply adore gossip," he said jokingly, leaning closer and folding his hands on the table to hear her story.

"Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to tell you…" she said. "Hmm where should I start? When I first met them, John – Dr. Watson – was engaged to a woman named Mary and Holmes was a bachelor. At first, I had somewhat of a crush on John – don't judge me, I couldn't help it. It was wrong, I know, he was betrothed, but I truly liked him. He was polite, so kind, simply the opposite of his companion. But, alas, John was married and I wouldn't have ever dreamt of breaking apart their marriage – that's where I draw the line. That's when I realized that I had feelings for Holmes. We were both rather distraught over John's departure from our lives and I guess that's what brought us together – we didn't have anyone else. But Holmes is not a normal man. He doesn't have feelings for anyone, or, if he does, he won't admit it – not even to himself. So that didn't work out, obviously. And then John's wife died, poor dear, and he moved back in with Holmes. Then, Irene Adler came into the picture, and, as I'm sure you noticed, she and Holmes have a bit of a past."

"So are they together now?" he asked.

"I don't exactly know. I don't think so, but they do seem to care about one another a good deal," she replied.

"And where do you stand with John and Holmes now?" he inquired.

"Honestly, I can't even fathom any sort of romantic relationship with either of them," she answered. He nodded silently in understanding.

"What about you? Any ladies in your life?" she asked teasingly. They'd only known each other for a short time, but she felt unexpectedly comfortable around him.

"No, unfortunately," he answered, grinning.

"Really? What about those maids?" she questioned lightly.

He laughed shortly. "I feel rather bad about that, but they're not really my type," he replied.

"I see," Clara commented. "Well, I really should be going. It's been over an hour…" she said.

"Of course," William said, standing up, "the time flew by, didn't it?"

"Yes, it did," she replied.

"Will I see you again?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, I suppose, if you would like to. And if you learn anything about the case, please let me know. We haven't a large amount of information, at the moment," she said.

"Very well, I should readily help you with the case if it means seeing you again," he said smoothly, brushing his lips to her hand. Clara blushed. He walked her to the street corner, until they had to part paths. "Until we meet again," he said, bowing.

When William had turned his back to her, Clara grinned to herself girlishly and tried to settle the butterflies rising in her stomach. It was dark outside, but her face felt warm, as if from sunlight. She began her walk back to Baker Street, barely able to restrain herself from skipping. However, this bliss was short-lived.

About halfway back, Clara was pulled into a dark alleyway and shoved against the wall roughly. She let out a grunt, before a gloved hand shoved itself over her mouth. She panicked and kneed the man in the groin, before trying to run away. She let out a small squeak-like scream before being pulled back into the alleyway by her wrist. The man pressed her up against the wall once again, only this time he had procured a knife.

"Stay away from William Tress. He's not a suspect in your little case. You needn't worry about him. Stop digging around where you're not wanted," a low voice growled warningly. Whoever the person was, he was trying to disguise his voice.

Clara nodded vigorously. "I don't want any trouble…" she mumbled into the glove, "if you could just let me go…"

"I don't think you get the message," the man said menacingly, tilting the blade in his hand, "Maybe I need to make things a little clearer – give you a little reminder, so to speak."

"No, you really don't," Clara said, trying to reason with the man. She could tell by the quality of his gloves that he wasn't some homeless lunatic.

Holmes was watching the scene from a fire escape above. He didn't want to step in unless it was absolutely necessary, because stepping in would betray his presence. However, it looked as if it was getting to that point. He let out a sigh before dropping down from his hiding spot. He snuck up behind the man, and grabbed the wrist of the hand that he was holding the knife in.

"You're not being very nice," he scolded. Holmes managed to get the knife out of the attacker's hand before he growled and jerked himself free. Inadvertently, Holmes sliced the man's arm from his shoulder to his elbow in the struggle. However, the man was able to get away. Holmes didn't chase him; instead, he looked at Clara, who was staring at him with mixed emotions. On one hand, she was glad that he saved her (once again), but on the other, she was furious at him for apparently having followed her.

"What, no thank-you?" he asked, opening his arms.

She opened her mouth and nearly gaped at him in disbelief. "Do you not see anything wrong with this scenario?!" she asked.

"On the contrary, I see several things wrong with it – the primary being the fact that you were just assaulted. Though, I expected something like this might happen, which is why I chose to follow you," he said calmly.

"You've gotten to the point where you don't even know the difference between right and wrong," she began, placing her fingers to her temples, "You see nothing immoral in following me without my knowledge or consent? It is a gross betrayal of privacy."

"I don't see it that way, you should be glad that I followed you. If I hadn't, you would be in a rather sticky situation right now," he said logically.

"You're missing the point!" Clara whispered angrily.

Suddenly, an elderly man peered to look down the alleyway. Holmes and Clara had since moved closer to the street, and their faces were visible.

"Is everything alright?" the man asked, narrowing his eyes at Holmes. The fact that this sweet old man thought he could take on Holmes was enough to lift Clara's spirits slightly, and she said, "Yes, sir, everything is fine."

"Oh," the man said simply, taking in Clara's state. Her hair was messy and her breathing was slightly irregular from her previous encounter. "I see," he said distastefully. Holmes tried to stifle a laugh because, when the man walked away, Clara didn't seem to have any idea why he had treated them rudely. Holmes decided it was time to go home, and he grabbed Clara's upper arm and nearly dragged her along.

"I loathe you," she spat at him.

"Oh please, no you don't. How could you loathe your savior?" he said cheerfully.

"Savior – that's a load of bollocks, if I ever heard one," she replied.

"That's no way for a lady to speak," he said, pretending to be flabbergasted.

"You don't think anything's changed between us, do you?" Clara asked.

"Nothing has changed between us," he replied stoically, his joking tone wearing off.

"But it has. Things haven't gone back to normal since– since that night. Even if we wanted them to, they haven't," she said.

Holmes glanced at her and bit his lip – he might as well tell her… it'd been long enough…

"That night wasn't exactly what you think," he said vaguely.

"What do you mean?" Clara asked, narrowing her eyes. She didn't like the sound of that.

"Well – er – you see, I knew that Watson would stop by that morning to say goodbye. I thought that if maybe he saw something like what he did he might reconsider things. It wasn't a very good idea, I realize, but I came up with it at about three o'clock that morning, half-drunk," he said.

"You tricked me," Clara said, in a state of shock. "All that time – you let me believe – how could you? You never felt anything for me at all – you were just toying with me! It was a game for you! That's horrible – that's inhumane – you're not human! Don't I have any meaning to you at all? Or am I little more than a paper doll for you? Hm? I don't want to know. Don't answer. Let me go."

Holmes released her, feeling rather guilty. But, he was glad to have gotten that off of his chest – at least now she knew the truth. She wouldn't have to keep thinking that there was something between them – there wasn't – nothing real, anyway. She jogged ahead of him a short ways, clearly trying to stop herself from becoming emotional. When she reached Baker Street, he saw her rush into the house and slam the door behind her with great force. He winced – this wasn't going to end well. He couldn't believe he'd passed up meeting Irene for this. At least he'd saved her – his time hadn't been completely wasted. He stood at the doorstep and took a deep breath – he really was in for it.

A/N: So, chapter 6! What did you think? It may seem like I'm not really progressing the case, but I swear I am! You have to pay attention to the little things - I'm dropping little clues here and there. Things will become clearer in the coming chapters. I know it seems kind of just like a mess of suspects and information, but everything (well, almost everything) is related. Also, the tone of this chapter was a little lighter than that of the previous ones (until the end). Do you all prefer a lighter or darker tone?

On another note, I'm so glad people have taken my poll! It's really helpful, and I'm afraid Mr. Watson is winning (by a lot) at the moment, which really surprised me. I thought Holmes would dominate. You guys are killing me! I originally start out with Watson/Clara and then I make it more Holmes/Clara because that's what you wanted, now you change your minds! Ah, well. Personally, I'm rooting for Holmes - I don't really know why, but they sort of just write themselves together. It definitely makes the most sense for Clara and Watson to be together (and have Holmes be with Irene), but the right thing doesn't necessarily have to always be the thing that makes the most sense. That's my opinion, anyway. Please review!!! :)