I usually write to music composed by Jim Steinman or Wagner, but for an unknown reason, this chapter flipped to "Polovtsian Dance" by Alexander Borodin. The craving for the flavor of gin and the scent of lavender. The move was called off Friday, so I should have more time. As always, a huge thank you to the maitresse Nocturnias, RockingtheRedhead, and my lady thedragonaunt! I'm trying to get caught up, really I am! A special thank you to MizJoely who somehow finds a way to stomach my insanity, which is a skill she should get sainthood for! Thanks as well to coloradoandcolorado1, Elliesmeow, and Poodle warriors! You reviews are always announced to me by BC, and you give me another reason to smile! Shall we dance? All reviews are appreciated and PMs answered (eventually!)

It wasn't the best hotel, but at least they had gotten a room without a credit card. Alex spilled the Boots bag over the bed, grabbing two boxes, opening the box of bin liners and gesturing for Wiggins to join her in the bathroom. "Most of her time was reserved for the driving passion she shared with her father; flying. When she had been very small, too small to do more than crawl on her own, her father engineered a harness, strapping her tightly to his chest as he climbed the filament towers within the castle itself. A small jump and they would cast off the limits of gravity, his larger body wrapped around her tiny frame. The ground would rush up, only to spin away untouched. Eventually his arms would tire and gravity resumed its relentless pull, dropping them into a nest of hemp almost as soft as her mother's arms."

She stripped down to her bra and pulled his shirt off. Tying a couple of bin liners around their necks like capes, she carefully unloaded one box on each side of the sink. "Wings were not given; they had to be earned. She had to learn to tumble, both to increase and to bleed off speed. She had to see the paths, much like she did with Pyotr's pins and balls, only the object being her own flesh. Learn to change direction in mid-air, to flatten herself against drag, to arch her back to reach a hairsbreadth farther. The gravest lesson of all; gravity always wins. She had to learn to fall, learn to bruise and to break, yet get up to fly again, thwart gravity for every moment aloft."

She mixed the two bottles on the left side together, drawing on the disposable gloves. She screwed on the dispenser top, shaking the contents the consistency of thick cream. Smirking as his nose wrinkled, she worked the solution into Wiggins' hair. "The onyx princess climbed the tower alone for the first time after only a decade. Her father awaited on the other platform, her mother hiding her face in her hands. Few in the kingdom were brave enough to watch this attempt, but their fear made it so much sweeter to her. One of the old women said she was just brave enough to be completely stupid. The princess curled her toes around the edge and stepped off into nothing."

Two very different bottles, equally pungent, were mixed and she worked them into her own hair; roots first. She piled the length of her saturated hair on her head and motioned him to the bed. "No noise from below as the wind whipped by her face. Seconds stretched to minutes, but her arms grew tired. As she reached once more for her father's fingers, her small form betrayed her, failed her. Missing his embrace, she fell alone. The hemp grabbed her before the ground could strike soul from skin. The patriarchs awaited her landing. The light was too bright; she was destined for the shadow show."

TE/TE/TE

Molly was hesitant to say anything as Sherlock took the bowl from her, setting it on the table beside the computer. She'd been relieved when he had finally spoken, but wasn't sure he was up to a full conversation. "I had suspected Spyder knew you before. Was it a case?" Maybe if she could steer to yes or no answers, it would help.

He made a noncommittal grimace. A suspicion was forming, but he couldn't piece it together yet. He should be able to dismiss the girl's sudden appearance as mere coincidence. Wiggins had spoken to him about her years before, how she'd given him a ridiculous nickname and then done her best to avoid any contact, but frankly, he hadn't paid much attention at the time. A pattern forming there and it made him uncomfortable.

Sherlock paused for a moment, his fingers held over the keys. No, they were all somehow swept into this mess together; Molly had to know. If she could keep the secret of his survival, she could keep Alexandria's secrets as well. He found the wikipedia page and turned the screen toward her.

Molly was surprised he was using the source, but he'd obviously intended her to read it. The entry looked long, so she pointed at the bowl. "I'll trade you; you eat and I'll read." She waited to begin until he did.

It wasn't a time in his life that Sherlock had been very proud of. Mycroft had brought him the earliest news clippings as something to keep his mind busy during his last time in the hospital. A missing teenaged girl wouldn't have been enough, but the circumstances were intriguing. The nurses passed his questions to his brother and each visit, Mycroft brought more reports and his attempts at answers.

By the time he was released, the girl had been missing for over a year. Sherlock had wanted to go to Prague, to speak to the cousins that had adopted Alexandria right before her disappearance, but his brother wouldn't allow it. Mycroft had insisted if the girl were still alive, someone would have seen or heard by now. His deductions said that if the Faberge eggs and other treasures weren't on the market yet, the girl must still be alive somewhere, her secret keeping her breathing. They had rowed over it, leading to a fifty pound bet, but in the end, Sherlock didn't pursue it. The trail had been too cold for too long.

Molly leaned back on the couch. "Were the rumors true? The double lives of the Salamonsky family?"

Sherlock nodded. "I should have found her." Somehow, she had found him.

TE/TE/TE

"It should be coming through now." Lestrade carefully kept his back to the glass between his office and the rest of the squad. Anthea had put his call through to the elder Holmes immediately, an urgency which concerned him. This whole mess seemed to be escalating rapidly out of control. He couldn't stop the suspicion that he wasn't getting the whole story out of anyone.

"You're certain this was taken inside the warehouse in question?" Mycroft's voice came out tighter than he'd intended. The image was distorted; any resemblance had to be in his imagination. The pose was too similar, stepping down a ladder as she held one rung in her hand, looking off over her shoulder.

"Saw it myself; it's a perfect match." Lestrade sat heavily in his chair, turned it to the outside window. "We're getting more reports of injuries, so whoever this mystery man is, he's working hard to find the girl. I can't keep my people away from there if that picture stays in circulation. What am I supposed to tell them?"

The initial contact had to have been a bizarre coincidence. "Do you think John Watson will try to find her again?" He hadn't spoken to John himself in a while. Perhaps that should be corrected, sooner rather than later.

"Doubt it. He hasn't seemed to stick his nose in anything like this since your brother died. Any special instructions if we can find the girl first?" Lestrade turned in his chair, hearing a clamor in the squad.

Donovan stuck her head in Lestrade's door. "We got a call; dead volunteer at one of the shelters; the one St. Bart's runs? Unnatural death; Anderson thinks she was bludgeoned. You coming?"

He nodded, gesturing for her to go out and give him a minute. "Molly Hooper volunteers at that shelter, Mr. Holmes. Whatever rabbit you may have waiting in a hat somewhere, you better be able to pull it out soon." He ran his hand through his hair. "I'll let you know if anybody saw a giant Russian."

Mycroft hung up the phone, and then summoned Anthea. "Please have someone put this through the facial recognition software. See if there is a match to any known missing persons cases in Eastern Europe."

Anthea placed an unopened padded envelope on his desk. "This was waiting on my chair when I got back from the cafeteria." He knew her well enough to know the fear she was concealing.

TE/TE/TE

Alex used a pair of cuticle scissors to cut the tags from their new clothes. "The kingdom had always been a play of light and shadow, the borders between vague and undefined. On one face, brightly lit, filled with cheers, gasps and laughter, painted in glitter and clothed in a cacophony of sound. On the other, near darkness, silence in the gloaming, shades of night disguising a flurry of action and deception. The onyx princess was far too young and bold to be comfortably received by the flood lights for years to come. Her youth should have spared her from the shadows as well, but the kingdom was thinning, being hunted into extinction. Fresh blood was needed. A sacrifice."

Wiggins properly wove the laces on their new trainers as she continued. "She was quickly trained in the required talents. She learned to cut and twist wire, to evade and bend light that could not be seen. To listen to the fall of tumblers and the quiet slide of metal on metal. How to see inhuman unblinking eyes without returning the favor. Within two years, no trap could be built, no barrier erected that she could not pass unnoticed. The patriarchs themselves prepared one of the steel boxes as a final exam. She not only emptied it in half the time allotted, she liberated the contents of their pockets, which they didn't notice until hours later."

Alex gathered the tags and wrappers in the Boots bag, laid out some clothing for each of them, and then loaded the rest in the larger Next bag. "Her mother wept for her the first time she slid silently into the night with the rest of the reapers. The trip by vehicle long, but by foot was longer. She followed the silent directions Pyotr gave her with hand signals and gestures. Metal gates swung silently, bushes conspiring to hide her from the patrols. Black wire removed; red entwined with blue, and the slide of bolts easing back."

She brought them both back into the bathroom, starting the water, getting to the right temperature and adjusting the curtain. "She glided soundlessly past oils and canvases bearing names she recognized from her tutors. Heavy mahogany and oak pieces far older than the country that surrounded them. A king's ransom all, but too bulky, too heavy to be dealt with, so she passed them by."

Wiggins took the hint, stripping off the rest of his clothing as she did hers, untying the bin bags and dropping them into the small basket as she continued. "Pyotr gestured to a doorway, sweeping his fingers parallel to the floor. The onyx princess drew close, accessed, and then bent carefully, her closely cropped curls passing untouched by the invisible light. The bars were too close for any to follow her, so she approached the pedestals alone. Emptying them and returning to Pyotr took only moments."

She took his hand, pulled them both beneath the showerhead. She helped rinse the chemistry from his hair first, rivulets of brown running across his skin. "When they returned, her mother was shaking harder than when she had flown. Each time the onyx princess performed, her mother awaited her return, eager for the tales of what had been gained, what was being added to the horde. More eager to know her daughter was returned safe."

The shower stall looked like a crime scene; what appeared to be blood spatter across the curtain and the walls. They switched places and she began rinsing her own hair out. "Time passed in this way, until the morning the reapers returned, heavily laden, only to find their golden princess and her obsidian prince bled out in their bed. Their daughter had missed them once more."

TE/TE/TE

Viktor slammed through several sets of doors, lifting Moran's manservant by the scruff of the neck and throwing him for distance. The incessant demanding summons rising from his mobile had infuriated him. As the day had worn on, he had taken ever higher risks to conclude his assignment. He would have to retreat to the shadows, perhaps even leave the country in order to evade pursuit, but he would be damned if he would leave the little mrcha alive!

"I was beginning to feel neglected." Moran was smirking as his office door banged open. He raised a Magnum .45, gesturing the barrel toward the wall. "If you dented that, you're paying for it! Damned British and their love affair with crumbling plaster!"

"What kind of a man needs to be updated more often than an infant needs its wet diaper changed?" Andrasko snarled. "If you want progress, you have to give me time!"

"You've had fifteen years, Viktor! That brat's children are having children by now! I need my trophy, and I need him now! Have you found any answers or is it time to hand over the reins to a younger, stronger predator?" The slide of the safety declared the change could be made posthumously.

Andrasko smiled, went to the small refrigerator and pulled out the bottle of U'luvka. He filled two long tapered shot glasses, pushing one across the desk. "Just before your precious building burned, the girl was seen in intimate conversation with the pathologist from Svaty Bartolome." He saluted with the glass and drained it in one swallow.

Moran was stunned, blank faced for several moments before the throaty laugh burst forth. "Somewhere warm, someone surrounded by brimstone is laughing at us, Viktor!" He downed the shot, pouring the last droplets on the carpet. Jimmie would have so loved this! His mousey Molly had teeth after all! Jimmie would never have allowed her to get away had he known the potential he'd missed!

"Do you want the doctor killed?" Andrasko poured another round.

"Not until I know where my trophy is." Moran called for someone to find her address. "Set up surveillance on her flat. Tap her phones; See if you can get a telescopic camera in position. I need to know every contact she makes."

TE/TE/TE

Just by being brought into the building, the unmarked envelope had passed through multiple tests for chemical and biological weapons. A quick call confirmed a pattern of questionable "fidelity errors" in the visual recordings of the halls and lifts leading from the service entrance to Mr. Holmes' private office suite. He was promised immediate steps would be taken, disciplinary actions issued to ensure further deliveries would not pass unnoticed.

Mycroft drew the envelope closer. "Anthea, you should probably return to your desk. No sense in both of us being affected if…"

She rolled her eyes, handing the letter opener to him and maintaining her silence. Long ago, in a moment of high risk, she had said her peace, and the statements at the time stayed as true as they were when spoken. Her loyalties would put her nowhere else.

He briefly considered having the envelope checked for fingerprints, but dismissed the idea. Anyone with the intelligence to get the package this far undetected would never allow such an amateur mistake. If there were any traces, they would only waste time pointing at an unwitting intermediary.

The blade slid easily into the seam, cutting smoothly through the thick manila paper. No cloud of aerosol particles, toxic or otherwise. He lifted the opposite end, dumping the contents unceremoniously on his desk. A small bundle of tied nearly black curls, a plastic vial of crimson liquid that could only be blood, a cotton swab in a resealable bag.

Mycroft assessed the items in seconds, but it was the instant photograph that clenched his ribs tight, caught his breath in his throat. The bloodied and bruised face of his brother stared back at him with hooded eyes. Their blue green tint was clouded, but the awareness and life in them was undeniable. A newspaper dated a month previous was held beneath his chin.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Finally, Anthea cleared her throat. "Do you want the samples tested?"

The list of possibilities scrolled in his mind. Image manipulation, cosmetic prosthetics, plastic surgery, body doubles. "Yes. Go ahead, but they will be Sherlock's. Someone is going to considerable trouble to convince me my brother is still alive and being held against his will."

His brother's body had been cremated within hours of his fatal jump, as per the final instructions in his will. An autopsy had been unnecessary, but the pathologist on call had taken tissue samples for identification purposes before his body had been sent onto the crematorium. All the samples had been gathered and processed by his offices. Any samples remaining should have been safely locked away deep within their labs.

"Have the lab confirm they still have my brother's samples safely stored. Get Doctor Varley to perform the tests; see if he can accurately date the samples from the envelope. Have him report directly to me with the full chain of evidence." Mycroft's jaw clenched: he knew the pathologist on call who had taken the samples, signed off on Sherlock's death certificate.

"Get a full security detail in place around Doctor Molly Hooper as quickly as possible. Threat level: imminent termination."

TE/TE/TE

Wiggins sat unmoving, wrapped in a towel as Alex adjusted the depth of the electric trimmer, cutting his now chestnut hair into a far shorter style. She continued the tale. "Chaos threatened to overwhelm the kingdom. Too many had gone missing; too many questions and fears. None so close to the throne had been touched by the hunters until then. The patriarchs called for the kingdom to move immediately, but if her parents were discovered, the authorities would never allow them to get to safety. A private ritual was held, a hole carved into the ground. No stone could mark the location, but it would be held forever in the kingdom's heart."

She combed through her tangled newly dirty blonde curls, snipping with scissors, thinning the overall weight and cutting in long bangs. "The onyx princess was placed into Pyotr's protection. The shadow performances would stop for a time until the predator could be flushed out, dealt with. Cities and time passed, but the questions seemed to follow like hounds to a fox. Rumbles began in the kingdom itself, tales of a cast-out that had turned against them, maddened by shame and desire. The half-heard whispers evolving into the shape and form of an evil wizard demanding retribution in blood and treasure."

As Wiggins shaved all traces of his facial hair away, Alex used the blow dryer, pulling some of her curls into submission. "The authorities began to await the kingdom's arrival, pressing for more and more information. Their papers began to get rejected, forcing them to move on without rest or remuneration. Increasingly the King and Queen were held for days at a time, far from their thrones, their age and ability questioned. The onyx princess would hide from the prying eyes each time, but time was running out."

He had tried to pull her into an embrace before they dressed, more for his own comfort than any ongoing passion. With every tick of the clock, the girl he had known seemed farther away. Alex was not the same person. She moved away, going on. "Finally, on a cold hard day, covered by a grey seamless sky, the King and Queen rode to a cold stone castle, the onyx princess in a plain dress by their side. A man in long black robes hammered at a table and told the princess she was cast forever from the kingdom that had been her home. Other relations had come for her, relations that had sworn to keep her safe from any who would harm her, any who would allow her to disappear as her parents had done."

They dressed quickly and Alex gathered the debris they had scattered around the room. The boxes from the dye and all of the cast-off hair were gathered into the Boots bag to be discarded in an anonymous skip when they left. She continued. "The onyx princess had wept, screamed, and assaulted the messenger who was to deliver her to her new home. Trapped in a black car, she tried to make the messenger understand there were circles within circles, dangers unseen to outsider's eyes. He had smiled, patted her knee and dismissed her claims as rebellion. Her cousins would set her to rights and all would be well."

He sat next to her on the bed, wrapping his fingers around her wrist when she wouldn't give him her hand. He could feel the tremor moving deep within her, but her face betrayed nothing. She sighed. "The messenger delivered her into the waiting arms of her previously unknown cousin and immediately made his exit. As she met his eyes the very first time, the princess knew every story, every fable, every fairy tale she had been told was true in the most horrible way; the evil wizard stood before her, dead eyes tracking her every heartbeat. The desire for blood and vengeance and treasure was thick in the air. The wizard summoned forth a giant, who chained the onyx princess to a steel altar and stopped her heart with a thunderbolt."

"That wasn't the end of the story, was it?" Wiggins asked.

"That was the end of Alexandria's story." She smiled brokenly. "Spyder was born fully formed in the dust and cobwebs."

He stroked the back of her arm, watching her closely. "Then the giant found Spyder?"

"Yes." Her eyes were clear as she nodded. She ran her fingers through his closely cropped hair. "Spyder died to protect her lover and to knight the Raven. You loved her and protected her, but only he was able to drive the evil wizard into Morpheus' arms."

Wiggins dropped to his knees on the floor, winding his fingers along her face, rubbing gently. "Alex, who is he? Baby, tell me! Who was the evil wizard who had Alexandria killed?"

She leaned in, kissing the joint of his jaw. Alex whispered in his ear. "Moriarty."