A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay, I've been busy with schoolwork :/ To answer AnidaChan97's question: this story is only generally going to follow the plot of the movie. Simza won't be in it and a few other elements are going to be changed. But the basic idea is still the same. Thanks again for leaving such a nice review!

I hope everyone likes this chapter :)


Chapter VIII

"Darling, wake up," Holmes said, gently rousing Clara from her slumber. The sun was just barely glowing through the thick curtains, and, even in her exceedingly drowsy state, she could quickly surmise that it was quite early in the morning.

"What time is it?" she mumbled sleepily.

"Five-thirty," he answered succinctly.

She squinted at him in annoyance and asked, "And why must we be awake so early?"

"Because our ferry leaves at seven," he replied.

Clara slumped back against the pillows in protest, but Holmes was having none of it. He ripped her pillow out from beneath her head and started to haul her out of the bed. Absolutely not in the mood to be carried, Clara finally submitted and stood up.

"Fine, I'm awake, I'm awake," she assured him. With a smirk, he let her be and disappeared into the bathroom.

"How bad is it in there?" she asked as she changed out of her nightgown in the other room. She'd been so exhausted the previous night that she hadn't even had the chance to wash up before bed.

"It's certainly not immaculate," he answered evasively.

She stepped into the room and looked around, disgust clearly etched across her features. "Lovely," she quipped sarcastically. Holmes was in some state of undress, wearing only a loose shirt and his trousers, with is suspenders hanging flatly by his sides. He smirked at her again through the mirror, buttoning his shirt. She soon noticed that he had bags under his eyes, as always. She worried for him – she knew that he was the great Sherlock Holmes, but he seemed to have little or no regard for his personal well-being. "Did you sleep at all?" she questioned in disapproval. She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear the words out of his own mouth.

"A bit."

He was lying, but she didn't say anything. In times like these – times when he was fully occupied with at case – it was rare for Holmes to get more than several hours of sleep a week. Not only that, but getting him to eat was another ordeal in itself. Luckily, he'd picked at his dinner the previous night. She let out a defeated sigh and turned the taps, cleansing her face.

"Sherlock, I really wish you'd take better care of yourself," she said finally, voicing her concern.

"I take perfectly good 'care of myself', as you say," he protested.

"You do not," she insisted. "Why, just the other day I caught you drinking formaldehyde, of all things! That stuff will kill you."

"In larger quantities than I ingested, evidently," he dismissed nonchalantly, sliding up his suspenders. "Seeing as I am still alive…"

"Sherlock," she scolded. Ah, ever the nagging wife.

"Isn't there something else we should be worrying about? Something that doesn't exactly hinge on my bonne santé? Because I think there is," he snapped curtly.

Clara looked her husband directly in the eyes, hurt. "I understand that, obviously, but I worry about you," she stated coolly. "Often. There are only a handful of people in this world that I truly fret over and you are one of them."

"You mustn't, it's counterproductive."

She rolled her eyes angrily, but managed to keep her mouth shut.

After Clara had thrown on a dark maroon dress and the pair had packed their suitcases, the Holmeses were ready to leave. Sherlock stood outside Watson's room and frenziedly rapped on the door, tickets in hand. "Open up!" he commanded brusquely.

Watson soon appeared, fully dressed and carrying his bag. "Let's go," was all he said.

The walk to the docks was a short one, and the air reeked of low tide and sweat. The ferry's landing, however, was comparatively very tidy. This made sense, seeing as it was Dover's primary attraction. Many travelers took this route to France, so it was no surprise that the ferry – often used – had been outfitted with all the modern luxuries.

They arrived at quarter to seven and handed their tickets to the collector, before stepping up the ramp and onto the boat. The sky was gray with early morning clouds, but Clara was confident that the sun would burn through the gloom before their arrival in Calais. The water, a darker shade of gray, lapped against the steel hull of the ship. There was an icy bite in the air, as was to be expected from seaside weather in the spring. Clara tightened her shawl around her shoulders as the three of them took a seat on a bench overlooking the back of the boat. The duration of the voyage was to be between three and four hours; they would have plenty of time to buy train tickets and reserve a hotel room when they arrived in Calais.

"How are we going to find Claude Ravache when we get to Paris?" Clara asked abruptly. "He's a criminal, is he not? I expect he's not exactly advertising his location..."

"Indeed, you are correct. But there are in fact various methods that may be employed to unveil his position."

"Such as…?" Watson prodded.

"We're going to need to work outside the boundaries of the law for this case – luckily none of us have the misfortune of being implicated in any official way to Scotland Yard. Consequently, we may take measures of questionable legality to uncover his location, if the need arises. These are the French we are talking about, my friends – there's no need to feel guilty."

Watson exhaled loudly in exasperation; Holmes had just said a whole lot without actually revealing anything.

"You have a gift for being vague," Clara commented.

"Yes, this is what I mean by deliberately withholding information," Watson added.

Holmes smirked at his companions, but didn't grace them with a retort. Both Clara and Watson understood that Holmes' plans tended to fall into place almost magically, but this didn't change the fact that they also couldn't comprehend why they needed to be kept ignorant. Soon, the ferry pulled out of the dock and chugged onwards. From its position at the back of the boat, the trio could comfortably marvel at the beautiful sight of the chalky cliffs of Dover as they drew further and further away from their homeland.

In approximately three and half hours, they arrived in the port of Calais. As Clara had suspected, the cloudiness had since burned off and the sky was now a pleasant shade of blue.

The town was lovely, but decidedly French – a reality that greatly perturbed Watson.

After they had stepped off of the ferry with their baggage in tow, they flagged down a coach and set out to the railway station to buy tickets. The long, rectangular building, made of redbrick, was grandiose and newly-built. Inside, the square gray tiles neatly lined the floor and there was a large clock above the ticket counter. The station wasn't nearly as large or elaborate as the Victoria station in London, and was considerably less weathered.

After converting their pounds to francs at the currency exchange counter, Holmes made his way to one of the uniformed ticket-masters and fluidly asked, "Excusez-moi, monsieur, je voudrais acheter trois billets pour le prochain train pour Paris, s'il vous plaît."

"Bien sûr, monsieur. Le prochain train part ce soir à dix heures et demi," the man replied courteously. "Il y a plusieurs stations en cours de route parce que c'est un train de nuit, mais vous arrivez à Paris dans la matinée. Vous êtes chanceux, il y a encore des sièges disponibles. "

"Ah, oui? Très bien. Je voudrais trois billets pour première classe, s'il vous plaît."

"D'accord. Deux de vous seront dans une cabine, mais l'autre sera avec un étranger parce que les cabines accueillir que deux personnes. Je pense que vous trouverez que les cabines sont très spacieuses; les trois d'entre vous peuvent entrer dans une, si c'est absolument nécessaire."

"Ça fait bien."

"Ce qui fait soixante-dix et cinq francs, s'il vous plaît," replied the ticket-master.

Holmes handed him the desired sum and took the three tickets.

"First class?" Clara questioned as they headed out of the station.

"Well, you were complaining about the accommodations in Dover," he reasoned. "Plus," he added thoughtfully, "This is the eve of our first wedding anniversary. If we're to spend it on a train, it might as well be in luxury."

Clara raised her eyebrows and Watson grumbled, "I expect I'll be getting stuck with the random stranger in the other cabin for the duration of the night, then."

"Come now," Holmes replied cheerfully, "It won't have been the first time you've spent the night with a random stranger. You may have forgotten about your habits when you first returned from Afghanistan, but I certainly haven't."

An embarrassed blush crept across Watson's face as he muttered, "You know very well that those days are far in the past."

Holmes waggled his eyebrows but nevertheless replied, "But of course." Clara good-humoredly nudged her husband with her elbow, but declined to comment on his lewd remarks.

At a loss as to how they might spend the remainder of the day, the three friends roamed the charming town of Calais; Clara insisted they do a bit of window shopping until the burden of their luggage became too much and they instead decided to sit down for lunch at a café.

Soon, night fell and it came time for them to board the train. As the industrial, coal-driven steam locomotive screamed to a halt on the railway in front of them, Clara couldn't help but be strung by a pang of nervousness.

The ominous and hulking presence of the inky black train reminded her of the dark cloud that was perpetually looming over them: Moriarty. And tonight was the eve of the anniversary, the eve that he had promised to strike. They would be chugging along all night, stopping frequently, as the ticket-master had informed them. This meant that there would be plenty of opportunities for ill-intentioned assailants to infiltrate the train and take them by surprise. Of course, it wouldn't be entirely by surprise, and she was sure that Holmes had already worked out exactly when and how they would be attacked – if they were to be attacked at all, that is. It seemed a bit odd that Moriarty would give him a forewarning, especially since the two geniuses were both well aware that Holmes would be able to anticipate an attack without any verbal acknowledgement of it… Something seemed off.

However, before she could dedicate any more time to these qualms, Holmes turned from his position on the steps of the train and extended his hand.

"Are you coming?" he questioned impatiently.

"Of course," she answered, snapping out of her thoughts. She allowed him to help her up the steps and into the compartment.

Holmes briefly glanced down at their tickets and led them to their correct cabins. The couple was to be seated near the center of the carriage, while Watson's cabin was several doors down. He tipped his hat to his friends as he continued down the stiflingly narrow hallway. Holmes then slid the embellished door to their cabin open and stuffed their suitcases into the overhead compartment.

Eventually, he and Clara sat across from each other in a forced and tense silence.

"So," she said finally, "What do you think is to come from this night?"

"What ever do you mean, darling?" he taunted.

"Do you think Moriarty will attack?"

His eyes darted around pensively. "The decision to take this train was a last minute one," he answered contemplatively, "Which works in our favor. Randomness is extremely hard to account for in such elaborate schemes, but it is still not unreasonable to fear that Moriarty might have anticipated this rather arbitrary choice. The safest bet would have been to take a morning train; the trip would be shorter, and of course there would be fewer stops. Choosing this particular time to leave was certainly a gamble…"

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted the truth, not some useless platitude."

"I did, but you certainly didn't cushion the blow…"

"For that I am sorry, but you know that silky speech is not exactly my strong suit."

"You speak quite well when you're undercover," she quipped.

"Yes, but that is an act. Would you rather I put on a façade and tell you that everything will be fine and dandy? I thought you preferred me to be candid."

"I do," she insisted. "It's just – never mind. We oughtn't bicker like this, it is still our wedding anniversary…"

Holmes smirked devilishly and, in a flash, he had hopped across the aisle and was now seated beside his wife. "That it is, my darling Clara, that it is."


A/N: Hope you all liked it! Please review!

Oh yes! I almost forgot. TRANSLATIONS:

"Excuse me, sir, I would like to buy three tickets for the next train to Paris, please."

"Of course, sir. The next train lives tonight at 10:30. There are many stations along the route because it is a night train, but you will arrive in Paris in the morning. You are lucky, there are still seats available."

"Ah, yes? Very good. I would like three tickets for first class, please."

"Alright. Two of you will be in one cabin, but the other will be with a stranger because the cabins only accommodate two people. I think that you will find the cabins very spacious, though, so the three of you can stay in one if it's absolutely necessary."

"That's fine."

"That will be 75 francs, please."

It's been a couple of years since I've studied French, so if any of these are wrong feel free to correct me. I'm taking Italian now so I relied heavily on google translate for a lot of this dialogue...