Dear heavens, that was a bit idiotic, wasn't it? Not the best idea she's ever had. Will she meet the Ripper? Or will she be OK? Sorry about the shortness of this chapter - the next will be longer…

Disclaimer - I do not own any of ACD's characters. I do however own Izzy and Lastoric.

Chapter 13

Izzy walked down the stairs and took her coat which was hanging on the coat rack. Slipping out, trying not to disturb Mrs Hudson, she opened the door and left the house. She looked up and saw Holmes watching her from the window, a gentle smile on his face. Knowing that he was watching, she felt safe.

The fog was swirling around her, so she wrapped the coat closer to her, and started to walk the few yards down the road she needed to clear her head. She walked maybe forty yards and paused, taking a few deep breaths. Then she turned to head back.

All of a sudden, she sensed she was not alone. She looked up towards the window of 221B and saw with a start that Holmes had drawn the curtain. Then, worse, she realised that, what with her tiredness and her throbbing head, she had left her bag on Holmes' desk, and thus with it her revolver. All that she carried on her person was her mobile phone, and her set of keys for 221B. She felt for the keys in her pocket, and ran her fingers over the end. Not very sharp, perhaps, but sharp enough to do some damage if need be.

She heard a soft footstep behind her. Taking a deep breath, she turned, to look into a face that she knew well.

"Lastoric?" Izzy's voice showed her shock and surprise. "What are you doing here? You gave me a fright. You really shouldn't appear out of the mist like that!"

Lastoric's voice, was full of barely concealed excitement. "My dear Izzy, I'm so sorry I made you jump. I've been waiting for a chance to speak to you again. How are you? Well?"

"Er…fine thanks…"

"Oh good. Izzy, my research has found something overlooked for generations. A conclusive lead! Like I said at the hospital, you were close – but I got closer! My dear - I know the identity of the Ripper."

"Fantastic! Well done! Let me call Holmes and Watson."

"No, my dear. I'm afraid they cannot know. At least, not yet. Continuality of time. There is a problem that I didn't foresee when I sent you here. They will know by the time all of this is over. You can tell them to their faces. It will just be unfortunate that the … solution … will not be in the name of Sherlock Holmes."

Izzy shrugged. "Oh, OK. I guess you know best."

"Which one is 221B?" Izzy pointed it out, and telling her to stay put, he walked slowly over to the house, took a letter out of his pocket and posted it through the door.

"What was that?" asked Izzy as he returned to her.

"Just a note to Holmes. Telling him not to worry, that you will be back soon. I do worry about him. He's not quite as the fiction records him. Watson did not fully engage us with the more excitable shades of his nature, perhaps."

Izzy nodded, remembering the scenes of panic and alarm at the hospital before Holmes had found that Watson was relatively unscathed. She felt a thrill of excitement flow through her body. Could it really be that one of the greatest unsolved crimes in history was about to be resolved? What a night for it, though - the darkness, the fog, cut right through her soul. But what an achievement – this would be something to tell Peter - Izzy Byrne, little sister, was on the brink of one of the greatest achievements in police history.

She looked excitedly up at Lastoric, fairly bouncing in anticipation, when she noticed something "What's up with your leg?"

"It's using the machine. Every time I do so, I suffer some degradation. That's why I try to avoid it unless it's really important. It has really affected me badly this time. It will pass, I hope. Anyway, to the hunt; this way, Izzy." He said these words dismissively, and Izzy registered surprise. It was as if Lastoric did not care about the potential permanence of his injury.

She followed him to a cab which Lastoric had obviously commandeered. He seemed impatient to get away, and once she had boarded he clicked the horses into a gallop.

They travelled for sometime, at least half an hour, until they reached an area she knew to be leading to the path along the side of the Thames. He alighted, giving a hand to Izzy.

As she took it and stepped down, she experienced a remarkable case of deja-vu. They were back at the quay side in the East End docks where she had arrived just over two weeks before. She also realised with a start that it was not far – as the crow flies – from where she had spent the previous night as 'bait' for the Ripper.

He walked on, leading her towards the Thames. His limping was not getting any better, and as a result their progress was slow. She suddenly felt an unease about going on. She did not want to go on the tow-path, back to that first murder scene. She'd seen too much blood shed.

Her thoughts flew to the previous night – to what she had seen in the foggy darkness. One individual, coated and gloved, a half shadowed face. Watching. waiting.

All of a sudden, it hit her. The coat he now wore, the gloves which covered his hands, his voice when excited, his face when half in shadow. The limp he now had.

With a thrill of panic and excitement in equal measure, it all made sense.

Lastoric, who had apparently spent his whole life working to solve unsolved crimes, was the biggest criminal of them all.

Lastoric was Jack the Ripper.