I was to put my plan into action the following day, after the funeral service for John. I wanted to keep the affair a private one, but I was pressured into giving one because John was a "great merit to English society" and "could not go unrecognized" and "perhaps those blasted Americans could learn a thing or two about being an honest citizen." Captain Smith wanted to give John a proper sea burial but I refused, saying that I would rather bury him back home.

The service was held in the first class dining saloon, and many faces were there to give their condolences. A very annoying American woman who called herself Molly Brown stood next to me as the strange faces approached the coffin, naming off each person and their significance. There was the Astors, she proclaimed, J. Bruce Ismay, Mr. Guggenheim, and a very feisty young woman, Rose, who was constantly being goaded by her mother. After that I stopped listening, and mumbled something about going to my 'mind palace'. There wasn't anything anyone could do to comfort me, and it seemed like the only escape from my guilt was to think logically about how to protect Mrs. Graston.

Surprisingly, Lestrade wasn't at the funeral. He was the one man I needed to complete my plan, to capture Moriarty in his thick web of lies and trickery. I had to find him before it was too late. Moriarty worked on a clock, and it certainly wasn't my clock. Tomorrow was Sunday, and by that time the voyage would be almost halfway over. I was certain that he would strike before then. Yes, he would, he most certainly would.

My mind jumped from thought to thought as I prowled around the typical second class haunts. Poor Lestrade, never being good enough to compete with me, always taking second wheel. He just never knew when to strike. And that's why he needed me. But this time around, I needed him.

I flagged down one of the stewards that were approaching me in the hallway. "Do you happen to know where Lestrade is?"

"First name?" The steward asked, clearly bewildered by the intensity in my voice.

"….. Greg. I think."

"You think?"

"Well I never really got to know him that well." I realized I was letting my mind slip. I tried to pull it back on track. "Where is he!"

The steward jumped back in fright. I was seething with rage now, unintentionally. I had lost John, and now I needed at least something in my life to go as planned. I had to focus.

"Did you … check the dining saloon, perhaps?" The steward had lowered his voice considerably and had begun to back up the hallway. An instant later he was gone.

"Goddammit. Can't I get some serv!ice around here? Didn't you all just offer your sympathy to me? What happened?"

I realized that my anger was only leading me deeper into a rut of depression. Stay calm, Sherlock, you'll find a way. I walked up the hallway, pondering what to do next. Should I continue to look for Lestrade? Should I find a suitable replacement? Or should I do it alone? The answer smacked me in the face as I turned the corner.

"What, wait, who are- Sherlock?" She adjusted herself and took a step back.

"Molly." I tried to find some way to get her attention, make her listen to me. That shouldn't be too hard. I scanned her quickly. Hair, same. Shoes, same. Ah, a new shirt.

"Your new shirt looks rather ….. lovely."

"Oh, um, well, thank you." She blushed and tried to cover the evidence with her hands.

"Listen, Molly, would you consider doing something for me?"

"I would." I would. She nervously wrung her hands together.

"I need you to act as bait."

"To what? Sherlock, I can't face him again. I couldn't possibly …"

"I need you. John needs you. I know-"

"John wouldn't have wanted revenge. It's you who wants revenge."

I pushed the thought away and tried another approach. "Mrs. Graston, she might die."

Molly sighed. A pained expression watched over her face, but it quickly melted. "Sherlock, you know I'd do anything for you."

"Good. Meet me in my room in an hour and I'll brief you on what's going to happen. I was hoping Lestrade could be there but the lousy drunk is nowhere to be found, if you see him could you possibly …" I walked up the hall, rambling, and turned around a final time, studying Molly's face. It was crestfallen, eyes sunken in like someone who was about to face their sudden death. I turned away and lowered my head.

Sometime later I was sitting in my room, alert and unemotional this time, preparing. I heard a rap at the door and opened it, eager to tell Molly how it was going to work.

"Well, let's get this over with." She sunk into a chair next to mine.

"I wrote a letter. I'm leaving it somewhere where Moriarty is bound to find it. In it, it'll say where you are. He'll go there, and some of the ship's crew and I will catch him."

"Can I read the letter?"

"Not necessary." I flicked my hand to dismiss her question. "This is going to happen tomorrow evening. Prepare yourself …. wear something fancy. I'll let you know where the location is tomorrow."

A set of eyes peeked out of the wardrobe, unsuspected. They watched longingly, but remained distant. Now was not the time.