Author's Note: Marie back again with the next chapter! If I haven't said it lately, I'm so thankful for all of your sweet reviews! They really work wonders for the muse! Now, onward to the next chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, nor am I a master at French. If I made an egregious translation error, I sincerelyapologize!

Chapter 8

I stood besides Holmes, the job of "lookout" bestowed upon me by Holmes as he fished through the leather bag around his waist for lock picking tools. As he set to work, I stepped to the side, allowing a man to pass by me and kick down the door, waltzing past the two of us.

The detective's eyes went from irritation to genuine happiness at the sight of my brother. "It does make a considerable difference to me, having two people with me on whom I can thoroughly rely." He beckoned me to go ahead inside as he put his tools away.

"Well, you can rely on me for exactly ten minutes," John replied, looking around. The place the jewelry shop had pointed us to looked like an abandoned building; however, judging by the countless bear traps scattered about the room, that act was certainly the opposite. "He clearly felt something

was coming to get him," John remarked, springing one of the traps with his cane so my skirts wouldn't catch it.

"Or something did," I replied, nodding in thanks and following Holmes to the back of the room.

"Irene Adler was here," he declared. My skin prickled at the name. "Either that or the ginger midget wore the same Parisian perfume." He took a deep breath in, taking in the rancid smell that filled the air with a grin. "Ah, putrefaction. Ammonium sulphate, among other aromas. Phosphorus. Formaldehyde."

We entered the room where the smell seemed to be coming from: I had to plant my handkerchief over my nose so I could manage to breath while Holmes wandered around, poking around with his riding crop and sniffing happily. He lifted up a piece of paper that covered a hot plate that was cold as stone and a dropper beside it, studying it for a moment before replacing the paper, tucking his riding crop under his arm.

John looked at the piles of notes and papers, eyeing the strange drawings on the windows. "It looks like he was attempting to combine some kind of sorcery and scientific formula," he mused.

Holmes stepped past him, picking up a pile of burnt paper. "More importantly...let's see what he was trying to dispose of." He sat the stack in front of my brother, picking up a few vials. "Potassium and magnesium."

While the two of them went to work with various chemicals, I looked to the other side of the room, spotting something that sparked my memory.

"Honey?" he asked, looking at the rock.

I wrinkled my nose. "What?"

"Just remember that for me," he requested, rising to his feet and taking my arm to guide me away from the opening; Lestrade's men had emerged again, the black, ornate coffin coming with them.

"Holmes," I called. He turned around, looking around at a cup before his eyes found what I was pointing at: a bowl full of honeycomb.

"Peculiar," he mused, sniffing a bottle before picking up a plant. "Hydrated rhododendron," he explained.

I screwed up my nose. "And a frog dissection."

The detective's quick brown eyes found what I was talking about, nodding. "Good eye, Miss Watson."

"But why would he dissect frogs—or drown them?" I asked. He tore a piece of paper, running it along the copper bowl that the frog must have come from, sniffing it thoughtfully.

By this point, John had accomplished his task. "Holmes. Look at the crest."

He turned the paper around, and my heart skipped a beat. "Reordan was working with Blackwood."

"Of course he was." Holmes touched my shoulder reassuringly. "Question is, to what end." The detective looked around him for a few moments before turning around, John and I following him before we stopped, our backs to the door while he looked at some bottles stacked on a shelf. "Whatever he was working on, he clearly succeeded."

"How so?" I asked. "Do you think he would still be alive if he didn't?"

Holmes grinned. "Miss Watson, you are certainly catching on."

"And his success explains why Miss Adler is so desperate to find him," John added.

Holmes nodded, thinking. "There's one odour I can't quite put my finger on."

"Mmm?" John asked.

"Is it candy floss? Molasses. Maple syrup—ah, barley sugar!"

John turned, his voice monotone. "Toffee apple."

I turned before Holmes did, seeing the hand that held the confection was attached to a not-so-plesant looking man, his companion holding several kinds of bottles in his hand. Great. I don't even have my umbrella.

Holmes turned, looking at the pair quickly before speaking. "Let me guess. Judging by your arsonist tool kit, you're here to burn down the building and extinguish all the evidence therein."

The man with the arson raised his finger. "Just one minute." He looked behind him, calling. "Oh, Dredger!"

Thump. Thump.

My eyes widened as the three of us strained our necks to see this new character.

The towering slab of man, apparently named Dredger, ducked under the doorway before he entered, standing in between the two smug men. "Il y a un problème?" he asked.

We all stood in relative silence for a moment, Holmes pulling out his riding crop to point at the giant first, then the two men. "Meat…or potatoes?" he inquired, looking at my brother and me.

"My ten minutes are up," we chorused.

While Dredger lumbered towards Holmes and the potato with the apple launched towards John, the other put down his kit, looking at me with a gleam in his eye. "I usually don't fight ladies," he began.

I caught my brother's hat as he flung it in the air, placing it on my head and punching the man square in the nose. "Don't worry, I'm used to it," I replied, shaking my hand for a moment as I looked for another sort of weapon.

With a squeal, Holmes' riding crop went flying.

Ducking to avoid a punch, I picked up the slender thing, Swatting the man's hands worked for a few moments, keeping his fists from my face. The one time I was too slow, the man grabbed my neck, holding me at arm's length and slamming me against a wall. "Quite a feisty thing to have such a pretty face," he sneered while I clawed at his hands around my throat, gasping for air.

I glanced down, a smirk rising to my face as I realized my angle. "Being hard to handle runs in the family," I managed before kicking straight forward, the force and the location of my target causing the man's eyes to nearly cross; dropping me and doubling over, the man left himself open enough for me to find a frying pan, smacking the man in the head. "That'll work for now," I nodded, satisfied with myself.

Boom!

I looked around, seeing my brother and his potato frozen at the sight of a broken-down door. I found Holmes, seeing that he was okay before something seized my ankle. I looked down, rolling my eyes. "You're kidding," I dead-panned, wiggling my foot loose and stomping on his fingers. However, I didn't realize he had one hand around each of my feet; I felt my balance wobble and my body hit the floor, jarring my shoulder.

My potato grinned in victory, pinning me down by straddling me. "Not so hard to handle now, are you?" I grunted, trying to wiggle my arms free from the iron grip the man had on them with one hand while he pulled out a knife, slowly inching it towards my cheek.

John managed to catch sight of me, his eyes widening in anger as he swung his cane upwards, hesitating as his potato pulled a knife as well.

Zap!

I watched, stunned as Dredger flew across the room, his feet knocking my potato out before he slammed into John's potato, the men crashing into a tangle of limbs.

I fought to catch my breath as John pulled me to my feet, checking my cheek for blood and looking at the strange thing in the detective's hand. "Holmes, what is that?" I asked.

Holmes spun the pronged thing in his hand, a smirk on his face. "Je ne sais pas," he replied.

The three of us whipped around as we heard glass shatter. "Sounds like the Meat is running away," John remarked, exhaling deeply.

"Can't let that happen," the detective grunted, following the giant man out of the window.

"Holmes!" I exclaimed, rushing out of the building. Once I emerged, it took me a moment or two to spot the huge Frenchman running down the street, a small black hat not too far behind. Grabbing a fistful of my skirt in each hand, I took off, doing my best to keep up with them, though I couldn't jump over obstacles like piles of dirt and fallen men as quickly as they could.

The few moments it took the larger man to pull open the doors labeled "Slipway 5", and for Holmes to shock him inside, were all I needed to catch up with them.

Holmes stepped through the doors, myself not too far behind, pointing his new weapon at the giant as he attempted to get up. "Qui vous a envoyé?" he demanded.

Dredger grunted, getting to his feet. "Vous savez tous bien."

'You seemed surprised,' the no longer hooded man—Blackwood—replied, still studying me.

I summoned my courage, speaking from behind the giant as Holmes had positioned himself in front of Dredger, the two looking poised for a chase. "Étrange que vous devriez toujours être…faire le sale boulot d'un homme mort." Calling him dead reassured myself, gave me some confidence, though I could still hear him whispering in my ear.

And I will rise again.

Holmes looked past his opponent to me, his warm brown eyes coated with worry. "Reste en arrière, mademoiselle," he spoke softly before turning his attention back to the giant before him, who confirmed our forming theory.

"Il est de retour d'entre les morts."

The detective kept his weapon still poised at his chest as the workers of the large ship stopped, paying attention to the pair. "Ressuscité ou non, dis-moi où il est?" he asked.

Dredger's demeanor changed slightly. "Il ya beaucoup plus de choses à craindre que vous et votre petit jouet." He gripped the thing in Holmes' hand, crushing it, much to his—and my—horror. "Cour, petit lapin, cour," the giant demanded.

Holmes blinked. "Avec plaisir," he managed before spinning on his heel and running.

"Holmes!" I cried as the giant began to lumber after him.

The detective turned around for a moment, his eyes still glued to Dredger. "Get away from here, Miss Watson!" he shouted before he vanished from my sight.

As the two men caused a wave of wreckage and destruction, my heart sank as I realized it would be impossible for me to even attempt to go and help him, considering my attire. No wonder men like trousers so much, I thought. They can get into an infinite amount of trouble with little hassle. The blows and groans I kept hearing made my heart sink and my eyes burn with frustration. I can't get to him, I thought, frustrated.

Three more will die and there is nothing you can do to save them.

My eyes widened as the boat that was under construction began to rock back and forth, moving towards the sea. "No."

"Jane!"

I whipped around, seeing my brother walking through a group of people with worry plastered all over his face. "John!" I exclaimed, my attention going back to the boat. "He's in there somewhere…" John nodded, using his cane to raise a curtain of chains before disappearing into the wake of wreckage Dredger and Holmes had caused. A few rounds of a gun were shot; I knew John had at least gotten them in his sights. I was calm for a few moments…

Until the boat started moving.

"John! Holmes!" I shouted, gathering my skirts in my hands again to march through whatever wreckage it took to get to the two idiots and give them a piece of my mind. I jumped back at the huge chain that the boat had yanked along with it, picking my way around the wreckage to get to the clearest area—the railing where the train had been—so I could run to the pair, who were now gaping at the giant ship's hull that was slowly sinking into the Thames.

For a moment, the impossible happened: Holmes was speeches. When he found his voice again, he asked, "Watson…what have you done?"

"Convinced me to wear trousers when I'm around you two," I huffed, punching them both in the arm before helping them to their feet. "You're both idiots."

"Yours!" the two men chorused, making me roll my eyes.

No one's dying today, Blackwood. Not while I have anything to say about it.

****Translations****

Il y a un problème?

Is there a problem?

Je ne sais pas.

I don't know.

Qui vous a envoyé?

Who sent you?

Vous savez tous bien.

You know very well.

Étrange que vous devriez toujours être…faire le sale boulot d'un homme mort.

Strange that you should still be…doing a dead man's dirty work.

Reste en arrière, mademoiselle.

Stay back, my lady.

Il est de retour d'entre les morts.

He's back from the dead.

Ressuscité ou non, dis-moi où il est?

Resurrected or not, tell me where he is?

Il ya beaucoup plus de choses à craindre que vous et votre petit jouet.

There are far greater things to fear than you and your little toy.

Cour, petit lapin, cour.

Run, little rabbit, run.

Avec plaisir.

With pleasure.