A/N: Oh my gosh you guys, I'm SO sorry, this is the longest I've ever gone without updating! I just had a ton of stuff to do. On a happier note, OVER 100 REVIEWS!!! Oh. my. goodness. I'm so excited. I can't believe people are reading this.


Chapter XII

Boris led Clara and Holmes over to the rest of the group, who were sitting around a large campfire, eating and playing music. When he walked over, he motioned for four people to join him.

"This is my wife," he said, pointing to a short thin woman, "her name is Annie."

"Pleased to meet you," the woman said in an English accent. Holmes' face must have looked surprised, because she added, "I was born here in London, but my parents were from Russia."

"And these are my children," Boris said, motioning to two teenage girls and a young boy, "Svetlana, Anya, and Jack." The children nodded politely in response. Svetlana appeared to be around nineteen years of age, Anya around sixteen, and Jack around nine.

Boris invited them to join the rest of the group by the campfire, and Holmes began talking comfortably with the people. At one point, he even took out his violin, to everyone's great amusement. At the end of the night, Holmes and Clara huddled up against the caravan to go to sleep.

"Merci pour leur dire que je ne peux pas parler l'anglais," Clara said angrily. (Thanks for telling them that I can't speak English)

"Pas de problem," Holmes replied, smiling cheekily. (No problem)

"Comment est-ce que nous allons trouver l'infermière?" Clara asked. (How are we going to find the nurse?)

"We'll stay here and watch for any suspicious activity. It's not as if we will be particularly occupied," Holmes answered.

"Comment est-ce que nous la reconnaissons ?" Clara asked. (How are we going to recognize her?)

"You heard the description Mrs. Rogers gave us. We'll simply look for anyone who fits it," he replied. Clara looked at him skeptically and did not seem to think that this was a particularly efficient method, but did not say anything.

*

The next morning, Clara woke up quite early to Holmes' heavy snoring. They had been leaning against one another, and Clara could feel is chest rumbling. She shoved him away roughly, waking him.

"Holmes, you sound like Gladstone!" she exclaimed. However, she immediately clamped her hands over her mouth, quickly remembering that she couldn't speak English. She looked around; thankfully, no one had noticed her little outburst.

"Ah, ah, ah, ma chérie," Holmes said, wagging his finger at her, "pas d'anglais."

Clara glared daggers at him, but kept her mouth shut.

That day, Holmes played his violin on the street for change and Clara kept her eyes open for anything suspicious. She didn't see anything, until just before dinner. All the women were cooking and preparing for the meal, when Clara saw Svetlana disappear into an alleyway. Quickly, Clara followed her. Around the corner she was able to spot Svetlana whispering to a boy about her age.

"Bo," she said, "you know how I feel about you, you just need to ask my father. I can't marry you without his consent!"

"But, Lana, darling, you know he will never agree to it. We are from different backgrounds," the young man pleaded. Unlike Svetlana, he did not have an English accent, but rather a Romanian one.

"You must. It is the only way. I need to get back before they realize I am gone – speak with him, please! My father is a very kindhearted man. He will understand," Svetlana said.

"Fine," Bo said begrudgingly, "but only for you."

"I must be going," Svetlana said. "I love you," she added.

"I love you too. I will ask him soon," he said. They embraced before leaving the alleyway in opposite directions.

Svetlana was heading straight towards Clara, who had pretended to drop something to avoid looking suspicious.

She looked at Clara with a panicked expression, and quickly asked, "You didn't hear anything, did you?"

Clara shook her head in an indication that she didn't understand. "Je ne comprend pas…" she said.

"Oh, you don't speak English? That's just as well, then," Svetlana said, looking relieved.

Clara followed Svetlana with her eyes as she walked away. When she was out of sight, she ran over to find Holmes. She saw him playing his violin and ran behind him.

She gripped his elbow tightly and hissed, "Holmes," in his ear.

He spun around to face her, giving her an odd look. Clara glanced around to make sure no one was listening.

"I can't explain it in French," she whispered, rolling her eyes.

He nodded, and the two made their way to an alley where they could not be heard.

"I just saw Svetlana talking to someone named Bo. He had a Romanian accent. Is that anything of consequence?" Clara asked.

Holmes scratched his head thoughtfully. "It might be," he said, "What were they talking about?"

"It appears that they want to be married, but they are of different groups, or something," she answered.

"Well, if they are in love, then he will surely be back. When he does return, we shall follow him to see where he lives. It's the only lead we've got, so we might as well go with it," Holmes said. He looked around at the all the homeless people lying around lazily. "It's not as if we have anything better to do," he added snidely.

*

As much as he hated to admit it – and he did hate to admit it – Watson was growing a little restless. The first week had been heavenly, but they were nearing the completion of the second and things were growing tedious. There was only so much relaxation a man could take! Watson couldn't even believe the thought was going through his head, but he was actually missing Holmes. It felt like a part of him had been left behind in London. He and Holmes had become so accustomed to one another that he felt that they should be together. Whenever someone would say something foolish or ridiculous, he would look over his shoulder to share the joke with his companion, who was never there. It was an odd feeling.

He loved his wife, to be sure, but he was reaching his wit's end in terms of discussing furniture and wallpaper. He had quickly found that moderation was key in topics such as these – one hour for each, tops. But he wouldn't let it show. He nodded and smiled when Mary spoke and was polite and gentlemanly to everyone they came across.

Luckily, they were leaving in a few days and soon he would be safely back at 221b – wait. No, he wouldn't. He would be living with his wife. Naturally, they had chosen a house somewhat near to Baker Street, but it would never be the same. Never again would he hear the violin at three in the morning. Never again would he come back from the grocer to hear gunshots. Which was good, right? Yes, yes, of course it was. Never mind, everything was going to be just wonderful.

*

Three days later, Holmes and Clara spotted Svetlana sneaking off again. They watched from a distance, and when the couple parted ways Clara and Holmes quickly followed Bo, hiding behind various street vendors and vegetable stands whenever he turned around. The eventually followed him to a secluded spot by the Thames, so it was difficult to stay hidden. He lived in a red Vardo, which seemed to be shared by about four other people.

"That's odd," Holmes said, "They're all alone out here."

"Maybe we should stay here for a little while to see what happens," she said.

Holmes nodded his head in agreement, and the pair settled down up against a stone wall. It was going to be a long night.

*

They had learned that Bo lived with three other men and a woman, who were presumably his siblings. (Why else would a woman be living with so many men?). That morning the woman left. They couldn't get a good glimpse of her because they were so far away, so they decided to follow her into the city. When they were close enough to get a look at her, they realized how astonishingly beautiful she was.

"That could be her!" Clara whispered, remembering Mrs. Rogers' description.

The duo followed her, surprisingly, to the better part of London, where she entered a clean-looking brick townhouse. It was soon painfully clear how out of place Holmes and Clara were and, to avoid suspicion, they began begging for alms. After it became apparent that they would be waiting for a while, Clara expressed her feelings of boredom.

"We have to wait," Holmes said, as if he were talking to a child.

"Fine," Clara answered petulantly. "But we need to talk, then," she said.

Holmes' eye widened. "On second thought, maybe we should go get something to eat…" he began. However, as he started to walk away, Clara grabbed his coat.

"Oh no, you don't," she said, "We are going to talk."

"What could you possibly wish to talk about," Holmes said innocently.

"Oh, gee, I don't know," Clara said, mocking him, "Maybe the fact that we slept together??"

Holmes winced, "I thought we went over this..." If only she knew... he thought.

"Do you feel anything for me?" she asked abruptly. "Anything? Anything at all?"

"Clara..." he started.

She huffed angrily and studied his face. "How can you not feel anything?" she asked.

"Well, do you feel anything for me?" He countered confusedly.

"I don't know," she mumbled, staring at the ground. She peered up at him and looked into his eyes. His expression was unreadable.

On a whim, she grabbed his lapels and kissed him forcefully. At first, he was taken aback, but he eventually responded to the kiss with the same fervor. When they broke apart, Clara rested against his chest, not quite letting go of him.

"I feel something, but it's different," she said, looking up at him.

"There's something there, but it's not the way it should be," He said gazing into the distance, thinking of Irene.

"But it's not bad," Clara said.

"No, not at all," Holmes agreed.

"What if," she began, biting her lip, "what if it turns into something?"

Holmes finally looked at her and said, "Then so be it."

*

When the woman emerged, nothing suspicious seemed to have happened. Without thinking, Clara flung herself in front of the woman, causing them both to fall to the ground.

"Oh silly me," Clara said crazily, "I should really watch where I'm going."

The woman glared at her and brushed herself off. "Yes, you should," she agreed coolly.

Desperate to keep the interaction going, Clara thrust out her hand. "I'm Claire," she said.

The woman seemed utterly perplexed as to why Clara was talking to her, but, to be polite, she said, "I'm Flora. Now, I'm sorry, but I really must be going."

When the woman was out of earshot, Holmes looked at Clara, impressed. "I must say," he said, "I never expected such cleverness from the likes of you."

"What can I say? I aim to astound," she replied cockily.

Holmes laughed, but just said, "Come on, let's get going. I want to get home."

"So this means we're not undercover anymore?" Clara asked hopefully.

"No, there's no need," he replied. "We can interview her as our normal selves tomorrow," he added.

Holmes didn't think he'd ever seen someone's face light up so much. Clara grabbed his hand and dragged him in the direction of Baker Street.


A/N: Alright so I think all the French is correct, but if something is wrong, please feel free to let me know, it would be much appreciated. Also, if you're thinking that things between Holmes and Clara are kind of weird, just remember that they are both kind of lonely and Clara is feeling really rejected. At this point they kind of just want someone to be with, even if they're not in love.

And I just watched the movie again this weekend, and the more I see it the more I am loving Watson. I think it's Jude Law. AND the more I'm HATING Mary. I just had to finally throw that out there. I didn't want it to seem like I was that biased because of the story, but holy crap when she threw her drink on Holmes I got so pissed.