So the first Sherlock movie in on TV right now, and after just watching the second, I just noticed that Sherlock gets left alone when he goes out to eat a lot.

Poor lad.

Teacupful: I can't wait to read it! (; Also, don't you worry about Thomas. I'm not finished with him yet.

DorianGray: You're no numpty. I'm very glad you like Renadale, and sorry for any errors. I also love your username and avatar. Hope to keep seeing you around the review section! :D

DarkAvenger: I wish she was in the movies too! D:

Mrs. Malfoy: I would love to read your stories if you want to send me a link! If not, I wish you the best of luck. I'm sure they're fantastic. Keep writing!

SherlyGirl: I love you. I actually felt teary-eyed reading your review. So, basically, I love you. XD I hope you stay with the stories! In fact, I dedicate this chapter to you because of your tremendous paragraph.

OKAY, THERE'S ONLY GOING TO BE ONE MORE CHAPTER AFTER THIS, SO REVIEW PLEASE! AND KEEP YOUR EYES POSTED FOR THE 4TH INSTALLMENT.

-Mistro-

~.~.~.~.~.~

Things were worse than they seemed. The past few weeks were easily nominated as some of the most confusing of my life. Now that Thomas and Moriarty had flung themselves into the picture, things were morphing into a blur. My mind was warped; I didn't know where to start and end my thoughts.

As I walked home, one face stuck out in my mind more than all the rest. Professor James Moriarty. I just couldn't put my finger on his reactions. He had been so defensive! Why? Did he know secrets about the case? After all, he was in the government. He could have known much more than us and was worried he would frighten people.

Yet, that was the point. That was why we wanted to talk to him! We wanted answers!

Letting out an audible groan, I buried my face into my hands. My thoughts were leading me nowhere.

Luckily the sidewalks were and I soon found myself at the threshold of my own door. The wood was duller than it had been in the past. As I stared into the frame, a shiver rolled down my spine. How long had it been since kisses were planted upon that wood? How long ago was it that I saw those marks and rushed into Sherlock's arms?

A few months? It felt like a few years.

With another sigh, I shoved open the door. My body and mind were drained. Nothing sounded more soothing than a warm bed and a cup of tea.

Unfortunately, I had to get through my mother first.

"What?" I heard her scream as she saw me appear. She instantly ripped off her trademark apron and rushed over to pull me into a hug.

"Mother," I gasped as her arms tightened themselves around me. "Why is it that you always wear your apron, but never cook anything?" I was not granted a response.

Her arms stretched out so she could have a better look at me. "You've grown, haven't you?"

"Mother, I've been gone a few weeks. I haven't grown. If anything, I'm been shrinking from stress."

She rolled her eyes and made her way back towards the kitchen. "Well, that's not my fault, is it?" Her fingers reached for a dirty rag. I watched with sadness as she obsessively scrubbed at a clean plate. "You were the one who wanted to go running around with that man."

"He's not just a man," I muttered. "He's my boss."

"Well! That makes it all better, doesn't it?" She laughed beneath her anger, and I could see that she was hurt. I had left her alone. She was trapped inside of her own feeble mind with no one to talk to. I was certain that Mrs. Brettingham, her good friend, was a changed woman since…

Edward.

"I'm sorry," I said a bit louder. "But, I have many stories to tell you. I think you'll like hearing about Paris." She stopped scrubbing, but kept her back towards me. I knew she was dying to know, but her stubbornness took over and she retreated back to cleaning. "The men were as handsome as ever, but the food was not as grand as everyone says."

"Are you lying?" She faced me with scrunched brows. "Everyone says that nothing compares to French food."

I smiled and nodded. "Everyone does say that, but I say differently. I think I'm used to my mother's cooking."

She seemed pleased with this statement, and as a reward, joined me at the table. "And what happened when you came to England? You went somewhere near Chichester?"

"Yes, and I saw Thomas."

I had said it nonchalantly on purpose. My mother's reaction was the complete opposite. "Thomas Smith?" Her whole body rose with bewilderment. "You saw him? Did you speak to him? Is he still thin? Oh, he was the most handsome man I've ever seen. He had that aura, didn't he?" Her words were beginning to make me sick. It was a brief reminder of my mother's hopes for me. Hopes of forgetting Sherlock and marrying Thomas. "Did he speak to you?"

"Yes," I muttered. "I think he still cares for me very much."

"Romantically?" Her fat fingers rose to her cheeks. "Renadale, this is wonderful news! He is probably still as successful as he was! And better yet, he's here now. He's not in America any longer!"

The look on my face was answer enough. There was no way Thomas and I were going to be together. In a different life, maybe. But, in this one we had tried it and it didn't turn out so well. "I'm sorry, but don't excite yourself so much. My feelings are not reciprocated."

The corner of mother's lip rose in disappointment. "If it weren't for that Sherlock Holmes character…"

"Oh, come," I smirked. "You like Sherlock Holmes."

"Yes," she admitted. "I like the man very much. However, your relationship is a bit…"

"Exciting?"

"Depressing."

I slumped further in my chair. She was right about that. "Well, it doesn't matter," I sighed. "I'm not even sure what kind of relationship it is anyway." My eyes scanned the tea tin lying on the counter. My mouth nearly watered just looking at it.

"I'll fix you some tea," my mother grumbled as she noticed my stare. "In the meantime, try and get your thoughts together. Your life is far too hectic to be healthy."

~.~.~.~.~

The next morning, my feet once again carried me to 221b Baker Street. I waited patiently outside of Sherlock's room, but no answer came after my knock. I tried again, but I received nothing. Was something wrong?

"Sherlock?" I said as I turned the doorknob. "Are you-" My words were cut short when I noticed the door beginning to easily creep open. He rarely kept his door unlocked.

Peeking my head in a bit further, I was greeted with a slap to the face. Literally. A large branch flung itself into my eyes and I quickly swatted it away in frustration. "What in God's name?" I shouted, slamming the door shut behind me.

A few plants were randomly strewn about the room. I could tell that Sherlock wasn't redecorating. There was something going on here that I didn't quite understand. At to my inconvenience, the man I needed to question was nowhere in sight. "Sherlock!" I said a bit louder.

"What? Oh. Renadale. Yes. Do come in!"

His voice came from Watson's old office, but he did not make himself appear. I was a bit worried with his condition and debated with myself for a minute as to whether I should enter. Of course I did in the end, but I instantly wished I hadn't. "What have you…" I was at a loss for words. The room was a complete disaster. Papers were splattered across the walls and red string wound it's way across the room. I nearly ran into a strand and tore the whole thing down.

"I'm sorry," Holmes instantly perked up from the balcony. "You were saying something?"

"Sherlock, what have you done?" I batted strings away from my eyes. I could barely take a step without running into another one. "Don't you think this is getting a bit out of hand?"

He rested his arms on the metal balcony ledge like nothing mattered. His shirt was lazily undone, and I could see his pale skin peeking through. Nothing about him seemed normal, and yet he was acting as if nothing had changed. "Things are indeed getting out of hand, Miss Adkins. Which is exactly why I have set up this system." He spread his hands out dramatically, gesturing to his 'masterpiece'.

I shook my head in bewilderment. "When Watson sees what you've done to his office…"

"He'll accept it," Sherlock finished for me. "After all, it is not his office anymore, is it?" A dark look crossed his face, but instantly disappeared. He quickly cracked a smile. Something about it was frightening.

My eyes scanned the room to see if I could figure out what was going on in Sherlock's head. There was a newspaper clipping of the bomb near Chichester plastered above the fireplace mantel; a red string buried deep within the center. The pin held it firmly in place and my eyes followed the scarlet rope to its next connecting point.

"Moriarty?" I mumbled, tilting my head. A photograph of my personal hero hung in the very center of the wall. Looking at it made me feel suddenly ill. "Why do you have him in the center?"

"Because he somehow seems to be in the middle of everything." Sherlock's brows rose as he shoved a handful of cocoa beans into his mouth. "Juff a queer obserfation." He mumbled through his mouthful of food.

"I don't think you're right." I scrunched my brows together in disappointment. The Professor wasn't at the heart of anything but his work. He was a good and honest man, even if he acted a bit strange at the lecture. "The way he was acting in the University…"

"… Is clearly something to be concerned about," Sherlock finished for me once again. "I'm not accusing him of anything. I am simply making connections."

There was truth in his words, and proof in the ink lining the walls. Yet, there weren't enough witnesses. There was no one we could talk to about the bombings, because they were all dead. There was no one to turn to but ourselves. There were no loose ends.

"I'm going to find him." I spoke up as the idea formed in my mind.

Sherlock frowned as he licked excess cocoa powder from his lips. "Find whom?"

"Moriarty," I answered before heading towards the door.

Sherlock swiftly ducked through the red vines, avoiding every strand perfectly. As he stopped before me, his face came dangerously close. "You can't speak to Moriarty. He is most likely heading towards Cambridge. It would startle him to see a young woman such as yourself entering his office."

"I don't care," I shrugged. And honestly, I didn't. "I need to speak to him. I need to know if he knows anything about the Illuminati, and I think he'd be willing to speak with me. Besides, it hasn't been too long since we left. He may still be in London."

Sherlock's face made it evident that he didn't feel the same way. "You're only asking for trouble."

A playful smirk crossed my face. "Are you disappointed? I thought you might be proud."

Holmes made no note to disagree with my statement. What flustered him was the fact that I was not changing my mind. I made my point clear as I brushed past him and out of 221b Baker Street. If he was worried, he shouldn't have been. This was James Moriarty we were talking about, not some killer.

I would go to great lengths to protect his name.

~.~.~.~.~

The University of Cambridge had added schools for women in the past 7 years. My appearance in the area might not have been regarded as strange, despite my lack of decent clothing. To my disappointment, Cambridge was nearly fifty miles from London on the map. As I stared down at the penciled sketch across my kitchen table, I knew there was not a chance I could make it out there in time. By the time I get there, he'll most likely be back in London for another meeting.

Feeling defeated, I folded the map up and tucked it back in its dusty drawer. The house was quiet; something I had longed for, yet today it was disturbing. The silence was stimulating me to move, and I suddenly felt the urge to get out of the house.

"I will find Professor James Moriarty," I muttered as I flung on my coat. "And I will clear his name."

After making my way out of the grimier section of London, I knew where I was headed. Trafalgar Square. If I was having any bit of luck, Moriarty would have made his way there after his lecture, and someone would have spotted him. I hoped that they might have seen which was he was headed.

London was a big city. I knew that all too well. However, when one wanted to find something, it didn't seem half as twisted as the map made it out to be. I was coming up along Trafalgar Square, avoiding eye and body contact as much as possible, when I noticed something peculiar on my right.

The National Gallery lawn was a bright green, too bright for the late winter. That wasn't what struck me as odd. What startled me was the person sitting on the lawn's bench. It couldn't possibly be… Could it?

"Professor?" I called out above the noise.

Surprised, the ginger head lifted itself from the birds surrounding him and locked eyes with me. "Yes?" He called out, squinting his eyes. "May I help you?"

I couldn't believe I was actually talking to him. He had no idea that he had seen me earlier. If he had, he might have shot me a glare instead of a soft smile. "I'm sorry, sir," I said sheepishly. "I'm a huge fan of yours." He seemed surprised by this statement. "I fear I may be too ignorant to read your books… but heavens!" My nerves were covered by laughter. "Perhaps that's why I read them!"

He wore a smile, but was clearly confused as to why I was asking for his time.

"I admit that I was looking for you…" His face twisted to one of concern. "Oh, not in a bad or unwelcoming way! I overheard that you were in London, and I was hoping that you would perhaps sign my book. Unfortunately for me, I had hoped to catch you in an office with an inkwell."

True enough, I did have the book in my pocket. The front page was smooth and ready to be signed.

The Professor laughed, and I couldn't help but note his face looking more like a ferret than Lestrade. However, there was a hidden charm about him. I suddenly felt at ease, especially because I knew he did not recognize me. "I was just feeding the pigeons." He gestured towards the birds gathering nearby. "It's a favorite past time of mine. Doing something good for others always makes one feel much more cleansed, wouldn't you agree?"

I would normally say yes, but in the form of humans. Not birds. However, Moriarty was a breed all his own, and I would not be the one to judge what did and did not mean something to him. "Yes," I said with a smile. "I agree whole heartedly."

"Is there something you wished to speak to me about, my dear?" The scratchiness of his voice never failed to take me by surprise.

"Actually, yes," I breathed. This was it. I had to keep my wits about me, or else he could start suspecting the truth. "I've been speaking to some men in the Scotland Yard," I lied. "They were discussing the murderers in France and the bombing in Chichester. They mentioned a sort of secret society; the Illuminati. I had read that you knew many things about such people, and was wondering if you could perhaps tell me a bit more about them."

The Professor was nothing but collected. In fact, he seemed more intrigued than upset. This was certainly a change from his heated reactions at the lecture. "I think what interests me most is to why a young lady such as yourself would be curious about these things."

"I suppose it is rather odd," I laughed nervously. "My father was a scientist, so naturally I'm interested in things most women are not. Many men frown upon this fact, but I assume you are different."

He cracked a smile and tossed a few more breadcrumbs to the birds. They all began to flutter our way. I was irrationally afraid that they were coming to attack me.

"The Illuminati are no longer present," he said as he rose from his seat. "I have done my research and their methods are far too old fashioned to be in society anymore. If there are any of them left, they are keeping themselves very hidden." Something dark flickered behind his eye. He looked me up and down and for a moment, I was scared my cover was blown. "They have been hiding themselves very well, because I have been trying to find them for many years." I audibly swallowed my nerves. "For research purposes," he grinned. "of course."

"Of course," I softly mumbled. "Well, thank you for your time, sir."

He tilted his top hat neatly on his head. I wanted to curtsey back, but my knees were locked. "On the contrary," he said before brushing past me.

I was too afraid to turn around. From a distance the conversation would have been seen as normal. We weren't friends and were very polite to one another. And yet, I feared I might have said the wrong thing. When he stared at me with those large eyes, there was a warning in them.

A warning I could not comprehend.

~.~.~.~.~

London was more of a cesspool than I remembered. I was making my way back home, but every single path I went down made me want to go towards another. First, children came tugging at my skirt, begging me for any form of money. I hated to push them away, but they didn't realize that I was as penniless as them at the moment. Another pathway held a few gypsies and circus members. This might normally interest me, but I didn't want to be pick pocketed. That wasn't a stereotype. I knew it would happen because I had fallen for the trick too many times before. My youthful soul was always entranced by fire breathers, and my pockets always paid for my mistakes.

The next alley I approached was completely empty, save for a lonely figure at the end. For a minute I hesitated, but when I noticed the wedding ring on his finger, I instantly felt relieved. Quietly, I made my way down the path with my shoes clopping on the cobblestone. "Hello," I said with a smile as I passed the man. He returned the gesture and nodded his head.

Perhaps I am a better judge of character than I thought!

"Excuse me, Miss."

Perhaps I spoke too soon.

"Yes?" I said, turning. I knew I should have just kept on the main roads and taken the longer route. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Oh, no," he smirked. "That's not it at all." He started coming closer and I instantly noted his blurry eye. Clearly he was blind, but I struggled to feel sympathy. He wasn't from around here. His dark skin and hair seemed out of face from the pale, rainy Londoners. "I was actually hoping to run into you."

"I'm sorry?" I scoffed, taking a step backwards. "I can say with certainty that we've never met."

His knuckles cracked as he rung his hands together. It was meant to be intimidating, and trust me, it was. "No, we've never met before. But, I'm afraid I'm going to have to dispose of you." Dispose? What was I disposable for? "If I had my way, I would never do such a thing to a pretty girl."

"And yet you are about to…?" My voice was shaky, but my feet were surprisingly firm. This was my one chance to prove myself to Sherlock. Even though he wasn't here, I was about to use the miniscule jiu-jitsu I had learned. It would most likely not be to my advantage, but I could at least say that I tried.

"What can I say?" He shrugged, still smiling. "No loose ends, I guess."

No loose ends?

Isn't that what I said this morning?

I didn't have time to think about it. My right arm instinctively rose itself as he swung his left first towards my head. It hurt to block the move, but it would have been much worse if he had actually hit my face. "How dare you!" I shrieked, raising my knee and aiming it towards his stomach. He obviously wasn't expecting me to fight back, because no move was made to block the attack. I watched as he stumbled backwards in shock. It wasn't three seconds until he was headed towards me again. "I should have seen that coming," I mumbled before I ducked from a punch.

Had he hit me? My head was beginning to throb. Things were starting to blur, but I steadied my breathing the best that I could. He wasn't going to take me. Oh, no. That would not be the case.

I just had to remember what I learned.

While blocking face with left arm, swing right towards his left shoulder.

Hopefully that hurt, because I think it hurt my fist more than him.

Ignore the pain in my own hand.

Hit down on ears until his back is bent.

Use this opportunity to hit the small of his back, causing him to collapse.

Stand there, unsure of what move to do next.

Run.

At least I got most of my memory working. Even a little bit turned out to be more than enough. Only one thought was racing through my mind as I sprinted towards Baker Street.

No loose ends.

How and when did I become a loose end?

In the back of my mind, I wanted to talk to Sherlock about the situation. And yet, I didn't believe him to be in his right mind. Would he actually believe me if I told him? I was largely worried about being followed. This was a rabbit chase, and I was clearly the rabbit.

Perhaps Sherlock was my main form of protection. It wouldn't be the first time I relied on his fists to save me. Then again, he had offered to be there for me. Surely, I had to tell Holmes. I had to explain the situation.

Apparently I had walked faster than I thought. It didn't take long to see the new railway construction on Baker Street. Working men in the uniform instantly caught my eye with their loud clanging, and I knew I was close by.

Sure enough, the white "Baker Street N.W." sign appeared, and I audibly gave a sigh of relief. Only a few more steps, and I would be thrust into comfort.

Or, so I thought.

"Mrs. Hudson!" I was surprised as she opened the door before I even knocked.

She shook her head and opened the door a mere crack. "You shouldn't come in," she warned. "He's not right in the head. He never is, but I fear it's much worse than before."

"Oh, you must have seen the newspaper room," I laughed. "I assure you, as silly as it is, I think it will be of some benefit to his work. Also, I'm certain that he'll pay for the holes in the wall when he moves out." I actually didn't think Sherlock would ever leave Baker Street, but I was not about to ruin Mrs. Hudson's day.

"Newspaper room?" She scoffed, scrunching her thin brows together. This seemed to take her by surprise. "I wasn't speaking of anything like that. Though, now you've got my curiosity raising…"

"Don't worry about it!" I laughed nervously. "Ignore what I just said. It's not of any importance." It was better she found out later.

After a heavy sigh, she opened the door wider. She gestured me inside, but would not let me head up the staircase. "I'm talking about all of the plants. They're growing out of control, and I swear I heard a goat up there."

"I'm sorry…" I could hear laughter slipping between my words. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson was actually the delirious one. "But, did you just say… a goat?" She nodded firmly. The look in her eyes was genuine; there was no mockery behind them. "I leave for a few hours and he brings in a goat?"

"The thing is, I never saw him bring one in. I just keep hearing it!" I had seen the landlady stressed before, but it seemed like she was on the verge of just leaving. "Also, he asked to borrow my sewing kit. My sewing kit! As if he knows how to sew!"

I stretched out my hand and patted her shoulder. "I will answer these thoughts for both our sakes. I, unlike most, am not afraid of his delirious ways. Whatever is going on up there, I will certainly figure it out."

"Thank you," she breathed. "You really are a keepsake, Miss Adkins."

I thought I was already in a mess. If Holmes himself was in one, trouble would only deepen. When I said that we were both pathetic, I meant it. This was clear evidence. All of these thoughts flickered through my mind as I made my way up the creaking staircase. "Are you in there?" I whispered softly. Finally, my knuckles beat against the doorframe. No response. "Sherlock?" Still nothing.

Deciding to take a chance, I twisted the knob and gave the door a push. To my surprise, it opened completely and the same branch flicked me in the face again. "You need to trim your trees!" I called out as I closed the door behind me.

There was once again only silence. And, unfortunately, Mrs. Hudson was right. Trees lined every wall except near the windows. And, to my great surprise, in the center of the room a large-eyed goat stared back at me. "Hello," I said hesitantly. The creature's head tilted in confusion. Its square pupils watched me with curiosity. "I'm assuming we've never met. I'm Renadale."

The goat simply bahhh-ed and strutted off towards a quieter corner of the room. Clearly, I was not his type.

The entire room began to smell like cocoa and tobacco, not to mention a tropical breeze. The combination was horrid. "Sherlock!" I called out, plugging my nose. "Where are you?" My voice softened and I was afraid that I was left alone.

"Ah, Renadale," he smirked as his head appeared from behind a plant. I spun around in shock. "You look flustered."

"I'm not even going to ask you about this mess," I muttered. "I just want you to come out here and talk to me. I've had a startling day."

His brows rose. Obviously, this interested him. "Startling, you say? Yes, those sorts of days tend to be presenting themselves more and more."

Though I was fearful to admit it, my body ached to be held. I could feel my stomach wavering and my arms in need of holding. "Sherlock," I whimpered. "Can you please just come out here? I need to speak with you about something that-"

"Something about the plants?" His eyes darted around him. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson was complaining as I brought them in, but fortunately I managed to sneak the goat up without a word." As though he could hear us, the goat bahh-ed from his hidden spot.

"Sherlock!" I shouted, nearly stomping my foot. He seemed surprised by my raised voice, but remained behind the branches. "Come out here, or I won't return." Carefully, he made his way out from his hiding spot. "I met with Moriarty today." My composure was faltering as I tried my hardest to remain relaxed. "I also got threatened."

"Threatened?" Another large step was taken towards me. If he couldn't see the floods of tears forming at the bottom of my eyes, he had truly lost his mind. "Who threatened you? Where and why?"

"I don't know who and I don't know why. It was in an alley not too far from here. I managed to escape, thanks to your help."

He smiled but worry was carefully laced between his happiness. "Someone must be out of their right mind to threaten someone such as yourself." Though he often seemed to distrust women, he was a gentleman in the end. Or at least, he sincerely tried to be.

Just like the pathetic girl I am, I felt my knees collapse beneath me. My body fell forward, and luckily his chest was there to soften my fall. My arms wove their way around his muscular waist, and without his shirt fully buttoned, my cheek rested on his bare skin. "Things are changing so quickly." As I whispered, my lips just barely avoided his chest.

"Things have never been the same to begin with," he riddled. "What exactly did you speak to the Professor about?"

I shut my eyes and pressed myself a bit closer. I was thankful that he didn't push me away. His steady frame was exactly what I needed. "We discussed the Illuminati. He didn't seem to recognize me. In fact, he was normal for the most part."

"For the most part?"

Carefully, I tilted my head up to look at his face. He stared ahead at the windows, as I inspected his unshaven chin. "He did seem a bit cautious to talk to me about it. He insisted they were all gone, and that if there were any left, he would have found them."

Sherlock paused to collect his thoughts. I could see the gears working in his mind as his eyes skipped about the room. I let him think in peace, and made myself comfortable on his warm skin.

"Unless, he already found them."

My peace wavered. "What are you talking about?"

With a gentle nudge, he pulled me off from him. Just by looking at the shadowy gaze in his eyes, I instantly forgot about my confrontation. "The Professor may have already eliminated the group."

"Why would he do that?" I felt like a complete idiot. I wished Watson was at my side to feel equally as stupid.

"They knew something he didn't. They were making themselves known. " Sherlock's eyes were transfixed on the window pane. Nothing was there, but he obviously saw something I did not. "There is someone might know a thing or two about this."

"A thing or two about what?" I hoped he wasn't talking about Thomas.

"Another bomb," he shrugged. "Another death. Another mystery that I have yet to solve." My eyes narrowed. "Another mystery that we have yet to solve. Somehow everything is presenting itself more clearly, and it is all thanks to you."

Getting attacked by strange men didn't exactly make me feel like a hero. "How do you know all of this so suddenly?"

"You instantly confessed to the Professor that you knew something about the Illuminati case, and then minutes later, you were threatened. Things like that don't happen for a lack of purpose." Sherlock's eyes ticked about the room like wildfire. He was so heated up, I thought he was actually going to go ablaze. "Incidentally, all of the men who were killed were in government fields that Moriarty had connections to. And, suddenly, the Illuminati carvings stopped. Bombings happened. Someone was cut off. Whoever drew those marks above the door was fired… Or rather…"

"Murdered," I answered. "He was killed because he was being too obvious."

Why hadn't I thought of such things before? It was so odd that the book methods had stopped and were suddenly replaced by bombs. And, bombs were too big of a thing for a simple murderer to be in control of. Whoever was setting them off was obviously a man of higher power. We had figured that from the start.

But, never had I connected it to James Moriarty.

"He can't be," I spat. "He's not in charge of this." I refused to believe that Professor James Moriarty was an evil man. He was smart and friendly. He fed pigeons in his free time! Is that the work of a criminal mastermind?

"Let's just assume my thesis is correct," Holmes said as he began to search for a specific string. "If so, then the next victim would be…" His fingers swiftly followed the chain across the room. I got lost trying to follow, but it was only a matter of second before Holmes tapped the top of a newspaper clipping . "Doctor Hoffmanstahl."

The name was far from familiar. "Who is that?"

"Doctor Hoffmanstahl," he rolled out in perfect German. "Origin and explanation are of little importance. All I know is that we must go as swiftly as the wind." Without explanation, Holmes began to head towards the door. The clothes I had changed out of earlier were sitting near the fireplace, and he instantly tossed them to me.

"What are these for?" I muttered, turning them over in my hands.

"Keep them," he sighed. "You'll be needing them sooner than you think."

~.~.~.~.~.~

Ooo. One more chapter left. Which means that you should TOTALLY REVIEW. You guys are doing a nice job, and I appreciate it. I love to hear what you have to say. I also edited this late, so I hope there aren't any major spelling issues…

Okay, someone told me that they imagined Michael Fassbender as Thomas, and I just can't get it out of my mind. I hope it doesn't ruin it for you, but I think he's my Thomas. Even though he's british…

He was brilliant in Prometheus, by the way. He's brilliant in everything.

DID YOU BUY SHERLOCK HOLMES 2? YAY!

Much love-review-okay-bye-mistro