A/N: This scene alone is pretty much what inspired me to write this story. I wrote it while listening to "Wandering Seer" and "Dance of the Oracle" from the Soul Calibur V OST.

The Case of the Masked Gypsy

Chapter 6 – Lady in Red

The rest of the day's hours ticked by rather quickly. The afternoon soon turned into evening, and the clouds that once again covered the grimmest city in the world began to darken as the blocked sun began its descent. As it did, two very different but determined people planned for the night ahead, both wanting to be sure theirs was the one that worked, but not knowing exactly what the other was planning. What both knew for sure though, was that the Masked Gypsy was making another appearance.

Once it was after eight o' clock, the girl behind the mask headed to the dressing room, her clothing in her hands. She almost felt like she was preparing for a performance, but this performance would be unlike any she'd done before. Still, she prepared herself in the usual way she did: stretching her body, and taking slow, deep breaths, feeling one of the biggest cases of stage fright she had in a while.

Esmé repeated the cycle she did just a couple of nights ago. After donning the bodice, gloves, and wrist bands, she then – with a smirk – pulled on the trousers, followed by the vest, sash, and the boots. Once all of her clothes were on, she pulled her hair back in a high ponytail, and tied the red ribbon into a bow. Finally, she looked at her signature mask she'd put down in front of the mirror, blinking once, then twice, in contemplation, before finally taking it in her hand.

Suddenly, she heard a couple of knocks on the door, causing her to gasp and drop the mask in surprise.

"Esmé?" a feminine voice said, "Are you in there?"

Esmé breathed a sigh of relief at recognizing Josette's voice. "Come in," she said.

Josette did as she said and walked in, Victor following her. Both looked concerned just as they did two nights before.

Esmé sighed an unemotional sigh. "Have you come to talk me out of my next plan?" she asked humorlessly.

"Well, just because you were fortunate that one night doesn't mean it will happen again tonight," Josette explained.

"And how do you know you're not walking into a trap?" Victor asked.

"You forget," Esmé said, holding up her knife which she then strapped around her leg, "I have a weapon."

"And you're going to stab anyone who threatens you?" Josette asked, "Even Mr. Holmes?"

"Of course I'm not going to stab him!" Esmé exclaimed.

"Well, what I don't understand is why you don't simply tell him who you are," Josette said, shaking her head disapprovingly.

"It's not that simple Josette," Esmé said, shaking her head slightly harder in frustration, "All I have for evidence against Wellington is the conversation between him and Felix, and Wellington is no fool. If he's smart enough to hire Felix to do his dirty work for him, he's likely smart enough to find a way around this as well."

"Then why won't you let us help you?" Josette asked.

"I'm afraid that's not an option either," Esmé shook her head again, "Both of you could get in just as much trouble for helping me."

"She has a point," Victor admitted to his sister.

"Hush!" Josette almost sneered, causing Victor to raise his eyebrows in alarm. She then looked back at her cousin with renewed seriousness.

"Esmé, what I mean to say is, you might be getting a bit too involved in this," she said.

"And like I said before," Victor spoke up, "you could be walking into a trap."

"I didn't ask to get involved in this in the first place," Esmé said, appreciating that her cousins cared for her but agitation slowly rising in her voice, "But since I did, I've got to do whatever it takes to get out of it."

The brother and sister in front of her only looked at each other with a blank expression on both faces. Josette shrugged her shoulders while Victor shook his head. It was no use.

"Then we're not going to be able to talk you out of this?" Victor asked.

"I'm afraid not," Esmé shook her head, "I must do something, otherwise we could be in more trouble than we're already in."

Josette then let out a heavy sigh, wondering if this situation would ever end. "Then be very, very careful," she warned her, "If it looks like even the slightest bit of trouble, get out of there."

"I intend to," Esmé nodded, "I'll see you when I get back."

"Will do cousin," Victor gave a small smile, causing Esmé to smile back.

She then proceeded toward the door, before Josette stopped her. "Wait, Esmé. Your mask."

Esmé put her hand to her face, and her eyes widened when she realized she was right. She immediately turned around and walked back toward the mirror and took the mask in her hands. She then closed her eyes, and breathed a small sigh, before slowly putting it on. Once she opened her eyes again, she beheld the image that had surprised her only two nights ago, yet, this time, it felt oddly comfortable and familiar. She was once again the Masked Gypsy, London's Robin Hood. And tonight, she would face her Sheriff of Nottingham, no matter the risks.

She then nodded to herself and turned back toward Josette and Victor.

"Well my merry cousins," she said, trying to smile, "I bid you adieu."

"Adieu," they both said, trying to return the smile.

Esmé nodded at them before she went back to the door, and left them behind in the dressing room. She then traveled quietly across the empty stage, through one of the back doors, and finally, out into the cool night air, which she instantly breathed in, before heading out to the city under the vast, black sky, without that equally black, accursed cloak which had gotten her into this predicament.

As she traveled through the alleyways and across the streets like she did before, she quickly went over her plan in her head one more time. She was going to arrive at Wellington's home at least half an hour early and find out where he was keeping the stolen jewels, one of which she would take to present to Mr. Holmes, since he might ask for immediate proof. She would then lead him to where Wellington kept his jewels, and expose him as the thief he was. Afterward, she would lead him to the home of Lord Hampton, where she would return his jewels along with a note containing a simple message: Speak of this to no one until the proper time. Only when all of the jewels were returned and Wellington was arrested would she reveal her identity.

It was rather risky, she admitted. But at this point, trying was better than hiding. And she wasn't simply going to tell Mr. Holmes the truth, she was also going to show him, which would be far more effective. It was a very slim opening, but she had to try and pass through it. Even so, Esmé still allowed herself to wonder how she had literally fallen into this situation. All she wanted to do in the beginning was to get Mr. Holmes to pay attention, and to help someone in need. Yet she had been framed for a crime she didn't commit – partially through her own doing – and she was a wanted woman.

Esmé felt such strong distress over it that she found herself wishing her maman were here. What would she have said after her papa disappeared? What would she have done? Why did she have to leave them, and why did they have to leave France…? Suddenly, she then remembered something her maman would often say to her and her cousins. That we should not spend too much time dwelling on the past, as it distracts us from living in the present and, more importantly, preparing for the future.

Once she recalled that, Esmé realized that – as much as she wanted to – she couldn't concentrate on her maman or what she would have done. What was important now was what she would do. And the answer quickly became clear to her – though, getting closer and closer to facing it made her more and more nervous. Even so, she was going to prove that she was who she said she was, she who serves the oppressed, no matter what their station. And if she was walking into a trap, well, at least she tried. Not trying at all was out of the question from the beginning.

Before she knew it, she had stopped near Wellington's home. She could feel her pounding heart, but through taking a few quick, but deep breaths, she managed to calm herself before she took her first step out of the alleyway that hid her. It immediately became clear to her once she did, that she'd passed the point of no return.

She dashed across the road as fast as she could, and stopped as soon as she was once again hidden in the shadows, giving herself time to think briefly over Wellington might be keeping those jewels. If he'd kept the pearls along with his own other valuables, it was likely that he'd kept the stolen ones somewhere in that room too – perhaps in a secret compartment somewhere. If not, well, she'd search the whole house until she found them. What she was really hoping now, though, was that her first theory would prove to be correct.

But then, as Esmé took her first step toward the back of the house, she looked to the left and saw what appeared to be a shadow underneath the light of the street-lamp in front of the house. Her heart immediately leaped, and she just as immediately looked around the corner to see where it was coming from. She saw nothing, not even a silhouette in the shadows. Still, she didn't think she was seeing things. She had the sense that she was not alone.

Even so, she returned her focus on the task at hand. She had only half an hour to find her direct proof against Wellington, and she wasn't about to waste any more time. She made her way down the side of the house to the back, where she unlocked the door just as she did before. It opened to the same dark room, with the same light coming from the top of the stairs. She walked quietly but briskly up the steps, and opened the door to the dimly-lit hallway.

Feeling the same anxiety she felt before – maybe even more – Esmé grit her teeth, and gave one last deep breath, before venturing down the second floor hall and then traveling up the stairs to the third floor as silently but as quickly as she could, biting her lip the whole way, wondering if she was walking into a trap after all.

By the time she got to the door leading to the jewelry room, she had to force herself to even touch the knob. It was almost as though she were standing between some scales, with the need to leave and the need to go in on opposite ends, both threatening to weigh more than the other. Eventually though, Esmé pressed her lips together in frustration, and quickly unlocked the door with her knife. Nothing was going to stop her, not even herself. Still, she let the door open slowly – and was relieved to hear not one creak – before she slipped in, and closed it shut again.

Meanwhile, inside the room, a lone figure ceased moving altogether once he saw the door open – once he saw the brief but unmistakable silhouette against the dim light in the hallway beyond. He hid behind the case on the left side of the room, and wore a long black cloak to conceal him in the darkness, and he had been doing so for a long time already. He'd come here earlier as part of the plan he'd explained to Wellington, and now that he knew she was in the room, his suspicions had been confirmed. She did come here to try and make off with one of the jewels before "meeting" with him. But he didn't go out after her just yet. No. He needed to let her think she had the upper hand. Only when she started to leave would he reveal himself.

The moment Esmé was inside, a shiver traveled up her spine, despite the slight humidity the room gave off. The air felt flat, and her hands felt limp, but she straightened herself up, and walked quietly around, wondering where the stolen jewels could possibly be. She knew what she was looking for. Lord Hampton owned a very fine, and large, yellow topaz necklace with small diamonds encircling the biggest one in the center. Though there was barely any light in the room, she carefully examined it. There weren't any small boxes like the one that contained the pearls, and Wellington obviously wouldn't put them out in the open. Where could he possibly be hiding them?

Think Esmé, think! she implored herself silently. The possibility of a secret compartment re-entered her mind, and she began to wonder if there could be a sort of secret lever on either one of the wooden cases. Transferring her wondering to her gloved hands, she began feeling for anything suspicious, when, suddenly, her eyes caught in the light a rectangular shape on the edge of the top of the case. It took her a few seconds before she realized it looked like a small drawer, without a knob. It was common for pieces of furniture like this one to have pieces that looked like drawers but did not open, mostly for decorative purposes. But Esmé had the feeling there was more to this than met the eye.

Biting her lip and hoping this might be it, she put her fingers around the drawer-looking piece, and pulled.

Despite her own expectations, Esmé gasped softly when she found that it worked. It opened as easily as any drawer would. But it was what she found inside that made her eyes widen. It wasn't the topaz necklace, but it was something just as exquisite, if not more so: a necklace of the greenest emeralds she'd ever seen. Esmé couldn't help but wonder whether Wellington had stolen these too. In fact, who was to say he didn't steal everything he displayed here?

Esmé shook her head slightly, reminding herself that she hadn't come here to speculate. Thinking there might be another drawer on the case, she closed the one in front of her and felt around for another one. Before long, she touched a familiar shape, put her fingers around it, and opened another drawer. Inside, though she couldn't see it clearly, she did see the sparkling of very fine gems.

She felt her heart pound against her chest as she carefully took them out and them held them up to the light. To her great excitement, she saw that she was holding the topaz necklace she'd been looking for, with the same circle of diamonds bordering the largest one in the middle. In her disbelief at holding something so fine, she almost dropped it, but she caught herself just in time. She then quickly opened the bag on her belt, slipped them inside, and sighed with relief now that she'd found proof against Wellington.

She then walked toward the door with renewed determination at completing her mission. But then, right when she was about to touch the doorknob, she heard a male voice directly behind her, speaking in French, "Bonsoir, chérie." Good evening, darling.

Esmé's eyes immediately widened as she realized that she was right about not being alone, and she had only a split second to react. Knowing the man was behind her, and that they were in a darkened room, she ducked, turned around, and shoved herself against her attacker. As he fell to the ground, she hastily opened the door and dashed out of the room and out of the hall, intent on eluding the one who tried to capture her.

Holmes could barely believe what just happened. While he did expect some resistance from the thief, he didn't expect her to knock him to the floor. Even so, as he heard her run down the hall, he quickly got back on his feet and hurried out the door after her. He heard footsteps down the staircase that led to the second floor, so he ran for it. But once he traveled down all the steps, he lost sight of her. Suddenly, he heard a door slam shut, and turned his head to see that she'd decided to go down to the cellar and out the back door. Holmes wondered how he was going to get to her, when he saw at the end of the hallway a slightly open window. Since this was the second floor, and since he'd done this plenty of times before, he ran for the window, opened it all the way, and then jumped out.

Esmé flew out the back door, happy that she'd escaped the man. But once she was outside, she couldn't decide which way to go. Knowing she didn't have much time, lest he catch her, Esmé decided on a whim to go left, but just as she was starting to, a tall figure in a black cloak jumped down in front of her, causing her to stop and step back in alarm.

"I thought you wished to meet with me," he said in French. Esmé opened her mouth to reply in the same language, when the man in front of her pulled back the hood of his cloak. Though it was dark in the alleyway, her eyes widened as she saw his features in the little light there was, features she instantly recognized. Sherlock Holmes.

So she had walked into a trap, just as Victor had warned her. Though she managed to escape it, it wasn't unreasonable to assume Mr. Holmes would try again. All she knew was that she had to follow Josette's advice: she was now in trouble, and she had to get out of here.

Keeping any hint of anxiety out of her voice, Esmé replied, "I wasn't expecting you there."

"Clearly," Holmes said. Esmé then watched as he reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out something that made her eyes widen even more than before: a pair of handcuffs.

"No!" she exclaimed softly, "You can't do this! I won't let you!"

"I'm afraid you have no choice," he said, "You're coming with me."

As Holmes stood in front of the Masked Gypsy, the handcuffs in his right hand, his eyes caught something. He looked for only a brief moment to discover that the thief had a knife strapped around her leg, and her hand was near it. So she was armed as he'd thought, and she would likely use it to attack him. Now he knew he had to stop her, yet Holmes had to figure out how he was going to pin her down without seriously hurting her, since she was a woman after all. Only if it was absolutely necessary would he use real physical force.

This must be quick, but without much pain.

First, grab opponent's right wrist.

Slap the hand, dislodging the weapon.

Grab left wrist, and cross the right arm over the left.

Throw opponent to the ground.

Grab wrist of the assailing right hand, and force arm behind the back.

Followed by the left arm.

Take handcuffs and detain.

Place opponent on back.

And finally, remove mask.

In summary: bruising on right hand, both wrists, upper and forearms, and shoulders, but otherwise unharmed and taken down, with identity revealed.

Physical recovery: seven days.

Forced psychological recovery: seven weeks.

Esmé stood her ground, her feet planted to it, with her hands now formed into tight fists. It was clear to her that unless she did something to counter him, all that she'd worked for would prove meaningless. Once again, not trying anything was out of the question. Even if she did eventually go to prison, she wouldn't go down without a fight.

I must be fast.

First, distract opponent by throwing dirt in his face.

Employ downward kick to the ankles.

Jump over attempted kick from the ground, and fall onto back.

From there, kick handcuffs out of hand.

Grab them.

Followed by opponent's arm.

From behind, detain.

Throw opponent to the ground.

And then make escape.

In summary: both eyes and right hand hurting, but otherwise unhurt, and attempted trap failed.

Physical recovery: five minutes.

Forced psychological recovery: unknown.

For seconds that felt like hours, both stood ready, awaiting the other to make the first move. Both of them were about to take a step forward, when suddenly, both heard the sound of something – a foot maybe – slipping against the ground. Holmes turned around for a brief second to see if he was about to be ambushed, while Esmé, seeing a very slim opportunity – but one worth taking – of escape turned around and took off. Holmes instantly turned around again once he heard her.

"Woman!" he shouted. But she didn't stop. Wasting no more time, he untied and let loose his cloak and ran after her, determined to find out who exactly this thief was, and why she was acting so strangely.

Esmé ran as fast as she possibly could, arms once again stretched out behind her to get maximum speed. She knew that Holmes, being taller than she was, would have naturally long strides. She, however, was a physically trained dancer with strong legs. No matter what, though, she had to outrun him, get him off her trail somehow. She could hear him behind her, occasionally calling out to her, but that only made her run even faster. She weaved through alleyways, dodged past people on the street, and darted past any obstacles in her way. Her heart beat against her chest like a fist against a locked door, both in the need to elude Holmes, and in response to the demands of running so fast and so hard, but she continued running, determined not to let the black cat catch his red mouse.

But at one point, to her great dismay, Esmé found herself standing in front of a high wall behind two buildings. Both the left and the right were blocked off, and her breathing grew short as she heard Holmes not far behind. She looked desperately for a hiding place, when she saw what looked like a barrel in the shadows on the left. Willing to take any possible hiding space, and hearing Holmes' thudding footsteps get closer and closer, Esmé dashed over to and then behind the barrel just as he was coming her way.

Just after she hid, the detective came running to where she once stood, looking left, then right with those searching eyes of his. As she watched with a high level of anxiety, she could feel her pulse pound in her head, but she dared not breathe loudly, lest he hear her. But neither the barrel nor the darkness could hide her forever. She had find some way of escape.

She continued to watch Holmes, and her desired opportunity – even if it was slight – came when she saw him turn to the right, his back to her. Slowly, and holding her breath as she did so, Esmé raised herself up on her feet. In an effort to stay as quiet as possible, she walked on her toes, crouching slightly. She also began to mimic Holmes' steps, biting down on her lip, trying to remain calm, and hoping he would keep looking the other way as she let the light from the nearby streetlamps shine on her.

At one point, he looked over his left shoulder. Esmé shut her eyes and leaned to the right, but apparently he hadn't seen her. When she opened her eyes again, he was again looking away from her. She looked briefly to the right, and upon seeing her way out, began to slowly and carefully walk sideways, keeping her eyes on Holmes the whole time…until her foot slipped in a small puddle of water.

Esmé instantly looked up and, to her eye-widening shock, saw that Holmes had spotted her. She impulsively let out a cry of fright and tried to run off again, but then fell to the hard ground as he grabbed her from behind. Still, she wasn't about to give up. Before he could grab her own wrists, Esmé turned and grabbed his right wrist, followed by his left, and crossed one over the other. Seeing that he had the handcuffs in his right hand, she took hold of them pulled as hard as she could to release them from his grasp, while he pulled equally as hard to keep hold of them. Eventually, she ripped them out of his hand and tossed them aside, and, seeing that he was on one of his knees, kicked him in the thigh.

But even then, she couldn't get away. Just after she took off, Holmes grabbed Esmé by the wrist. Esmé, deciding to finally fight rather than flee, turned around and attempted to shove him off, but Holmes grabbed her other wrist. Once he had her by both, he pulled her up against him. But both continued to struggle against the other, Holmes being determined to keep his grip on her and eventually detain her, while Esmé was equally as determined to get free and eventually get him off her trail.

"Let go of me!" she exclaimed.

"What are you hiding?!" Holmes demanded, "Tell me!"

"I can't!"

"Why?!"

"I have reasons!" Esmé insisted.

She then looked for any possible way out, when she saw Holmes' hand holding her wrist near her mouth. Without thinking twice, she opened her mouth and bit down. And she didn't stop there. As soon as she felt his hold on her other wrist loosen, she shoved her elbow into his side, and then rammed her foot into his. But even then, she wasn't free. Holmes held her right arm under his and, still holding onto her left wrist, forced her other arm on her back and shoved her to one of the walls. Still, Esmé fought back. She quickly put her right leg next to Holmes' leg, and then used her left to push against the wall, causing her to fall back on Holmes, who still held onto her arm and wrist.

He immediately turned left, forcing Esmé onto her stomach. But she was prepared. While Holmes used his right arm to get the handcuffs, she wrapped her free leg around his, and turned right, forcing Holmes onto his back with her on top of him again. Now that her right arm was free, she once again grabbed hold of the handcuffs Holmes was holding, quickly pulled them out of his hand, and threw them aside like before. Then, seeing that her left arm was no longer behind her back, though Holmes still firmly held her wrist, she gathered all her strength, and rammed her elbow into his upper arm.

To keep him from grabbing her right arm, Esmé hastily rolled off of him to the left. She then got back on her feet as fast as she could, only to see that Holmes was just as fast. He stood just a few feet in front of her, and in that moment Esmé realized that unless she acted fast, she would be leaving this area, but only as a detained criminal.

Deciding to give Holmes a different idea than what she intended, she rushed toward him, making it look like she was attempting to attack him. He took the bait, and reached his arms out to stop her. But right before he could, Esmé ducked, and spun in a full circle before taking his right arm under her left, grabbing his left shoulder, and finally striking her heel against the side of his knee.

As he fell to the ground, Esmé fled from the scene and from Holmes as swiftly as a racehorse, darting around the corner and heading back down the street. For a while, it seemed as though she was home-free, that she had fled the big cat and his accursed handcuffs, when she soon once again heard fast, thudding footsteps not far behind her. Fearing who it was, but wanting to know nonetheless, Esmé turned her head, and saw that Holmes was still chasing her. She grit her teeth and groaned loudly in frustration. Was she ever going to stop him from following her?

She couldn't stop to answer her question. All she could do for now was run, and think, and do both to the best of her ability. She soon spotted a metal barrel, with a big, bright flame burning from inside, and got an idea. Though Esmé knew she might be depriving some less fortunate people of possible warmth, the instinct to flee overwhelmed her. She instantly headed for the barrel, and with both hands pushed it down on the road beside it before taking off again.

She allowed herself to look behind to see if her plan worked, and for a moment, it seemed that it did, as the oil from the barrel spilled onto the ground, causing a wall of fire to form. But then, just as she was about to slow down to rest, Esmé saw Holmes leap through it and tumble to the ground before getting back up and resuming his chase, making her resume running from him.

As she did, and began to feel herself getting slightly tired, Esmé could only wonder how she could outrun a man who was just as determined to complete his mission as she was to complete hers. But of course, only one could be accomplished, and only one could be more determined than the other. Though Holmes may have been the greatest detective in Europe, he wasn't the one on the run for his freedom, and he wasn't the one whose father had gone missing. It was clear to Esmé. She was the one with stronger motivation, and she was the one who had to have her mission seen through to the end.

But outrunning Holmes wouldn't be easy, unless, unless she could weave through a crowded place. But at this hour London was mostly abandoned, save for the people in torn clothes trying to get warm, and a few drunkards here and there. Suddenly, Esmé realized, now that she was heading toward the east end, that there had to be a busy tavern nearby somewhere. She looked for one as she continued to run, until she saw a group of people gathered in front of a building that was dimly lit from inside. It was a slim chance, but it was one she had to take. She'd never been in a tavern before, but hopefully she'd never have to go into one again after this.

Esmé slowed to a stop and looked behind to see if Holmes was still pursuing her. When she saw that he was, she immediately dove to the left, and then darted into the alleyway on the next left, behind the tavern. She quickly opened the door, and the moment she saw Holmes again, she dashed inside. She soon found herself navigating through a sea of people, ignoring shouts of alarm as she spun past a man with a wine bottle, ducked under a tray that was lifted out of her way just in time, and jumped over a man who appeared to be looking for something on the floor, all while shouting, "Excuse me! Coming through!"

Just before she got to the front door, she heard the sound of a table falling to the floor, glass breaking, and angry shouts. But Esmé didn't dare look back. She only opened the door, flew out, and shut it again. Once she was outside, she ducked and hurried under the window behind the people in front of the tavern, hoping they were too drunk to notice her, before she continued rushing down the street, ignoring her own, slowly tiring state as she did so.

Soon, she found herself weaving through the alleyways on the side of the road. Though she was relieved to no longer hear running footsteps behind her, a new fear slowly arose like fog on a winter night. What if she couldn't find her way back? What if she got lost?

Perhaps the best thing to do, she reasoned, was to simply stay on the current trail. By running back the way she'd come – while staying the shadows – she'd likely soon come across some familiar landmarks, such as the streetlamps that illuminated the way to the walled-off area. She only hoped there wouldn't be many people out tonight to spot the Masked Gypsy as she made her way through the darkened city of London.

Back at the tavern, most of the patrons turned their heads to look at the man who had attempted to jump past one of the tables near the door, only to have fallen into a wild heap of broken bottles, spilled wine, cards, and scattered money.

"'Ey!" one man shouted in a Cockney accent, "What's goin' on 'ere?!"

Holmes managed to raise himself on his elbows, ignoring the looks of everyone around him, to see a tall, muscular man striding over to him with a face that clearly indicated his need to have his question answered.

Trying to humor him, Holmes replied, "Oh nothing. Just, another evening of, chasing a masked woman in trousers."

"Wait a minute," said one of the men who had sat at the fallen table, "I've seen you before. You're Mr. Sherlock 'Olmes!"

Holmes rolled his eyes, now that his attempt to keep a low profile had failed in front of the people inside this tavern. Still, he nodded and said, "Yes. And I'm dreadfully sorry to have barged through in such a manner."

Without waiting for a reply, he then helped himself up back onto his feet, managing to get his hand cut by one of the glass pieces and nearly slipping back down in some wine before doing so. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he said once he found some stable ground, "I shall be on my way."

Still ignoring those still staring at him with wide-eyed surprise, Holmes made his way out of the tavern and back into the nighttime landscape outside, and wondered where in all of London could that lady in red have run off to. He considered for a moment asking the three men on the right, but they looked too lost in their own world of alcohol to give any real answers. Thus, Holmes was at a dismal loss, not only at where she could have gone, but even more so at who she could possibly be. He couldn't recall another time in his career when a woman, especially one her size, put up such a fight against him, and carried out a chase such as this.

All he could really do was sigh in disappointment, and make his way back to his flat. If Watson were here, then he probably would have caught her. But with things as they were now, there wasn't much more the great detective could do except wait for what the future regarding this oddest of thieves would bring him.

Meanwhile, that most peculiar of thieves had managed to find her way back to the familiar area in which she lived. But her mission wasn't over. She'd decided to go and return the topaz necklace to Lord Hampton and leave the note as she originally planned, and then finally journey back home to the opera house.

She hadn't stopped running ever since she left the tavern, though she was now running more slowly this time. And while she was relieved that she'd finally gotten away from Mr. Holmes, she found herself feeling angry as well. But whether she was angry at him, or at herself, or someone else, she didn't know. This man was supposed to help people like her, help her find her father, and yet here she was, evading him as though she were a criminal.

Fortunately, running seemed to be the perfect way to vent her negative emotions, and she pushed them aside long enough to make a mental note to thank Victor for those lessons in self-defense, though she also knew that good fortune had played a part as well. Eventually, however, all other thoughts except those relating to the mission fled once she found the home of Lord Hampton.

Immediately, Esmé breathed a sigh of both fatigue and relief as she saw that no one was near the house. Still, she looked left and right, just as she did earlier, before hurrying across the street. As quietly as she could, she then walked up the front steps, biting her lip harder with every one until she reached the front door. After unlocking it with her knife, she slowly opened the door. Only one lone candle lit the foyer, allowing her to sneak inside and close the door quietly behind her.

She didn't allow herself to look around, except for a place to put the necklace and the note. She did see what appeared to be a marble column holding a vase in a nearby corner. Deciding it would do, she walked over to it, slowly knelt down, and took out both the necklace – which looked, thankfully, still intact – and the note, placing them at the foot of the column. She breathed out a small sigh now that her task was done, and then turned back and headed for the door in the same manner in which she'd entered.

As soon as Esmé was out again with the door once again closed and locked, she hastily but just as quietly as before traveled down the steps. She then headed to the wall of the building next to Hampton's house, and leaned against it, grateful for any sort of rest she could give herself before returning home, as it quickly became clear to her how tired she was. Her entire body felt warm, she was panting, and she placed both of her hands on her heart to feel it beating like mad. It would be a wonder if she didn't keel over before getting home.

But then, just as she was taking the first step on her journey back to the theater, she felt an arm quickly wrap around her, and a hand clamp down on her mouth. Her eyes instantly widened, but before she could react in any other way, a male voice spoke in her ear in French, "I wouldn't scream if I were you."

The man then pulled her a bit deeper into the alleyway before pressing himself against the wall, and pressing her against him. Esmé wondered if she should even try to escape, when the man removed his hand from her mouth, allowing her to ask, "Who are you?"

"Let's just say, we've met before," the man replied. At his answer, Esmé began taking short breaths, and she even wondered if this man was Mr. Holmes. But the next thing she knew, the man was holding something against her neck, something that looked metallic and felt threateningly sharp: a knife. Now she knew for sure he wasn't Holmes.

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, the man said, "I'm not going to kill you, but you are going to listen to me."

Deciding, at least for now, to stay on his good side, she listened as he spoke.

"Wellington and I may not know who you are, but try to make off with any more valuables, and you will meet your end at this very blade." As if to put emphasis on his last word, he pressed the knife against her neck slightly harder. The emphasis was placed, but not in the way that he imagined. Esmé immediately remembered that she herself had a knife. She reached for it, and the moment her fingers wrapped around the hilt, she pulled it out. And after feeling with her knuckle for his thigh, she then used her knife, as though it were a sharp art pencil, to draw a long scratch around his thigh with one, quick, harsh stroke.

The man instantly let out a prevalent, but small, cry of pain, and just as instantly let Esmé go, allowing her to stand before him, her knife held out with renewed confidence, and anger. Though she couldn't see his face, as it was hidden by the hood of the black cloak he was wearing, she had a rather good idea of who he was.

"Touch me like that again," she said angrily through her teeth, "and you could meet your end at mine!"

He said nothing, only groaned loudly as he pressed his hands to his leg wound. Esmé then sheathed her knife again, and she hurried away from the madman, and the all too ominous air that seemed to emanate from him. While she was more eager now than ever to get home, her heart beat nervously as the images of what had happened tonight appeared over and over again in her mind. She also thought of just how many enemies she'd managed to make in just three days. The police, Lord Wellington, and even Sherlock Holmes. Who was to say the whole world wouldn't soon be against her?

But even so, despite all the trouble she'd managed to land in, she would get out of it. She had to, and she was certain she would.

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