Finally I've finished chapter 10! I've got to say I had a lot of fun writing it , you asked for more Sherlock, and more Sherlock I've given you. Oh, and after the next chapter I've decided to add in some Sherlock/Charlotte fluff! Also, I've been thinking of writing a few little one shots on each of the Black Widow's victims, so let me know whether you'd want to see them... And, as always, please review, they've all been so fantastic, keep them coming! :D

Disclaimer - Let's face it, if I owned Sherlock Holmes I wouldn't be writing this now... Everything you recognise belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle and Guy Ritchie.


"Have you been wicked, Sherlock?"

Always one to prefer scientific reasoning, the detective had never been too fond of dreams, those, at least, of the ordinary man's idealistic mind. A world where anything could happen, no matter how illogical the idea may be? Preposterous!
He had much less liking for dreams of a more risqué nature.

Sherlock had woken – in the early hours of the dawn – to a strange feeling, one that he had believed to be gladly done with since the deceitful Irene. Alone he was able to relieve the tingling inside his belly, and take his attention well away from the subject with the help of his violin.

It was proven to be more difficult with the object of his unfamiliar arousal sat in front of him within the rather tense train compartment. Albeit, covered much more modestly than she had been during that earlier image. Watson at his side of course, however lacking he may have been in soothing his predicament.
Watching him with an inquisitive eye no less, exhaustion evident in the feint lines under her eyes. He had attempted to concentrate on the passing sights outside of their window, however Charlotte's piercing gaze soon became far too intrusive to ignore.

"Why are you looking at me with such intrigue, Dear?"
Her expression was quick to change from interest to a coy innocence. "Oh, I was only thinking to myself. Observing."
"Oh? Do share these thoughts..."

"You are aware of what people say of you, the rumours they spread?"
"Indeed, I have overheard several. Mere tales of a bored housewife, the lot of them." Sherlock scoffed,
"So you have heard of the name certain people have given you? 'The Virgin'."

There was a pause, during which the older man wondered that by some miraculous mistake, he had heard the woman wrong, that she, in fact, was not bringing up the intimate issue once more.
And, childlike again, a small choke had forced itself from him. "I – I have..."

"And of course, such private matters would not be trusted, not unless you were to hear them from the man in question."

She gave a quiet hum, closing her eyes while slowly shuffling herself upon her seat and gently stretching her neck. "I was wondering whether they were true. Have you ever had a woman?"
Another choke, as well as a widened eyed stare of Watson's surprise and a discomforted cough from the younger doctor, a notion which Charlotte had easily caught.

"Have you and John -" Shock and disdain darting between the two men as Charlotte kept herself from announcing the unsavoury act. Both were quick to deny those particular accusations.
"No! No, no, no – I am to be married, actually," Watson awkwardly stumbled over his words.
"Oh! I do apologise!" the woman cried, bringing an embarrassed hand to her breast, "I meant no offense..."

"Yes, well, in answer to your question, as I have said these rumours are no more than meaningless stories. I undertake only what is necessary, but there is nothing of interest to me whatsoever in petty desires."
"That is a shame," Charlotte sighed, corner of her mouth turning into a sympathetic smile, "for such a handsome man to leave himself unattended. I must say, should I be so lucky, I would not waste such an opportunity."

Flashes of desire, of kisses, of sweat ridden flesh were then unable to stop when it came to her added subtle seductive gaze. And so, clenching his fists and quietly gulping, Sherlock decided instead to distract these desirous thoughts – as a most discomforted Watson had quite clearly been failing – rather than to simply rid himself of them.

"You're exhausted, it is not an attractive look for you."
"You find me attractive when I am not sleep deprived?"
"Regardless. You also have your dreadfully sharp tongue, it makes you quite difficult for a companion." He gave a weak grin, so as to show that his intentions were not of aversion. Again Charlotte's eyes were beginning to droop, but still she returned the gesture.
"Oh, come now, from what I have seen and all that Watson has spoken of you I would say that you are much less tolerable than I. Is that not so, dearest John?"
"Believe me, Charlotte, you have not seen the worst of him,"
"There you have it, we should be as thick as thieves. We could be closer than we both could imagine..."

Turning a quick gaze between the two men, and their unwavering stare, Charlotte was quick to realise their unspoken question. "James Moriarty."
Her feigned terror was effortless to the woman, no more than child's play.
"He is after me. He won't rest until he has found me, I cannot have any peace of mind until I am done away with him."
Quick to trail the few tears she had needed, and all the more sudden to both Sherlock and Watson having never seen Charlotte so distraught.
"You will not let him take me?" Animosity hidden behind the youthful vulnerability, "You mustn't. Although he has never intentionally hurt me, I fear Moriarty may not be so courteous with his fury at my betrayal..."
Sherlock's face had then softened, though still hawk-eyed as ever and reading every bit of this current anxiousness.
"I give you my word of honour that I shall do everything in my power to assure your safety, my dear. God Himself could not intervene."

Angst gradually dulling to a relaxing state, the woman leaned back into her seat, a smile appearing once more, though now with a genuine gratefulness at this supposedly inhuman man's humanity, however brief he was to reveal it to her.

"Do you have any knowledge to Moriarty's current lodgings?" Watson then inquired.
"He would be in London, staying as close as he can without giving his whereabouts away. Alas, his exact location I do not know. He has kept each of his houses – Moriarty would never think to lose something so valuable – and he could be in either one...
"But I must warn you, do not underestimate him. Don't mistake him for any mere criminal, he is just as brilliant as you are, Sherlock, he is without moral and boundaries. And I must point out, you have taken his most prized possession; you have placed a bounty upon your own head against the most dangerous criminal of England without even realising."
"Alas, I have sentenced my own fall by stealing something I had no enthusiasm to possess," the older man confessed in mock sorrow.
Charlotte stared at him, the corner of her mouth upturning into an unenthusiastic smile, "This is no time to be joking, Sherlock, you have made an enemy of a man who even you would struggle against,"
She had made a child of him again, one of which he knew that he had been troublesome, and a rather dejected huff of a chuckle had come from him, "We shall see about that."