Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock Holmes.

Chapter Thirteen: Simply Gone.

Meanwhile

On the ground of the French restaurant, Sebastian Moran was slowly awakening from the slumber which had been unexpectedly induced on him. His eyes fluttered open and he swore under his breath as the events came spilling back into his mind. Once more, he had allowed the sly seamstress to outsmart him. For all of the years that they had known one another, it always seemed to be he that was left in the dust as she squirmed her way out of the difficult situations.

Slowly, he pulled himself up from the floor and found a pounding headache to be pressing against his forehead. Habitually, he felt his coat pocket to find his gun missing. Once more, he swore under his breath before pounding his fist onto the table, the silverware rattling as his curled up fist crashed down.

As his eyes trailed up the table, he saw that a figure in black cloaks was sitting on the opposite side of the table, where Rebecca had been just moments before. Mentally, he groaned as he immediately recognized the face of the professor, his colleague, James Moriarty, sitting casually as he examined Moran.

"Please, take a seat," The man said curtly, pursing his lips slightly.

Moran had rather hoped that he could tell Moriarty of what had happened rather than have him find out first.

The professor clicked his tongue, as if in thought as he tapped his finger methodically on the table top while Moran shifted uncomfortably.

"As we can both see, your plan did not go as hoped," The bearded man said, stating the obvious as he casually looked about the dinner room, which was still empty.

Moran swallowed hard," It seems as though the seamstress is…much more…shrewd than I remember her being."

Of course, this was a lie for he had remembered her exactly as she had been, but he was entering into impromptu mode in order to prevent himself from receiving a scolding.

"Really?" Moriarty answered incredulously. "Because this seems to be precisely the type of thing that she would do. From what I have heard that is. Look at what she did, a simply kick of the table, at just the right angle, enough of a distraction for you to look away for roughly three seconds as she carefully swapped your wine glasses. Of course, I'm sure she had you latched into a riveting conversation before this so that you would be under the impression that she would go…willingly."

Moran looked down, as a child would after being caught. He ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to think of some sort of answer to this, but the truth was in the reality of the situation-she had gotten away.

Moriarty had bitten down hard on his lip as he slammed his open palm down onto the table.

"I gave you a simple task!" He said, his tone very frenzied.

"You know who she is related to. You know how sly that man-"

"This is not about him!" The professor retorted, leaning back in his seat, his tone of voice evening out some as he said. "This is about Miss Rebecca Dubois."

The air immediately silenced as the military man knew he could not argue his point any further. He simply crossed his arms, looking at the ceiling, as if searching for some sort of reply. The waiter walked in several moments later before filling the both of their glasses with a sumptuous, red wine. Both men slowly grabbed their glasses and toasted before the professor took a long swig of his drink while Moran simply put his down.

"Not in the mood for a little vin** tonight?" The professor chuckled, setting his glass down.

Moran was not nearly in the mood for such humor and simply smirked slightly before pushing the glass away from him slightly," I've already had my share of wine for the evening. Now, on to a more important topic, would you mind reminding me why it is that we are so reverently tracking this young woman?"

"Are you so early to forget?" Moriarty asked, looking Moran straight in the eye. "Her betrothed was the reason why our deal with the Germans nearly turned into...a very hostile predicament."

"Can we really say that the deal is sealed with Germany now though?" Moran asked, scrutinizing his colleague's face carefully as the man opposite of him took another sip of wine.

As if oblivious to his question, Moriarty spoke in a very, dry, straightforward tone," Adrien Dubois needs to be aware of what he did to our operation. He's a pompous man who thinks, or thought, rather, that he could do whatever he pleased and still get all of the money promised on our deal. Now, granted this would have been fine had he followed our agreement, then the events may have turned out a little less unfortunate for the fellow."

"Pardon me, but remind me what his wife has to do with his sins?" He asked, tentatively, of course.

Moriarty stared at Moran for a long, hard moment before saying softly," I'm afraid that she still holds onto the papers that will seal the agreement with Germany."

"These papers...they are-" Moran tried to ask, but suddenly another man appeared in the doorway, appearing rather frantic and breathing heavily as he leaned against the frame. The suit the man wore was unbuttoned, presumably from the running he had done to reach the restaurant.

"Excuse me, professor," The man huffed, his French accent heavy. "Zhe seamstress and an acquaintance of hers seemed to have...escaped. It iz as though zhey dizappeared."

Moran lifted his eyebrows before clutching his hand into a fist and slamming it down on the table. Moriarty appeared just as livid as he ran his finger over the lid of his glass. An outsider would have found him to be very calm and casually tracing the lip of his glass, but Moran was simply waiting for the moment when his colleague was going to reach for his glass and heave it at the wall, the sound of glass shattering filled the empty room as the red wine spilled down the restaurants wallpaper. Moriarty's eyes were stuck on the ceiling as he sat, clearly infuriated.

"Do you have any idea as to where they have 'disappeared' to?" Moriarty growled, gritting his teeth.

The man in the doorway breathed out heavily," They were gone too quickly...sir."

Moran simply waited for the second explosion of the professor, but there was none for he simply stood up, exhaled and then walked slowly toward the man whom had told this to the both of them the earth-shattering news. Moran watched, still waiting for a second outburst, but the only words that came from his lips were," Come, we are going to Germany."

"Germany?" Moran asked, clearly confused by this sudden change of plans. "Why-"

"We have some clients to speak with..." Moriarty growled before storming past the man in the door.

Moran simply shook his head, not daring to ask anymore questions before following close to Moriarty, en route to Germany.

On the other side of Paris, in the alley ways and now disguised as two haggard-looking citizens with little wealth to their names, Sherlock and Rebecca were sneaking along the shadows, careful of their movements. Little did they know, that their whereabouts were currently unknown by their pursuers.

"Sherlock, at some time you are going to have to tell me just where you intend on taking me," Rebecca said, her tone of voice droning as she pulled at the ratty coat which she had picked up just the block before. She was just now realizing the heavy stench that came with this garment found on the streets, but Sherlock had insisted on it. He was always rather found of...costumes and such. "Or at least allow me to take this hideous costume off sometime."

Her cousin continued pushing through the dark streets, pulling down on his hat filled with holes and tatters before saying dryly," They are not costumes...they are disguises and they are simply for your own safety."

"They're absolutely ridiculous is what they are," She grumbled back at him before he responded.

Sherlock stopped walking abruptly before shooting her a look," If you are dissatisfied, I would be more than delighted to escort you back to Moriarty and his band of fellows such as the...oh, what was his name...charming fellow-Sebastian Moran."

She narrowed her eyes at him," He's not the issue, Sherlock-"

"Well, he certainly has a poor taste in-" Before the detective could finish his sentence, he threw himself against his cousin, forcing her to the ground as a couple passed by the alley way, innocently strolling the street. "Companions."

"Sherlock!" Rebecca scolded him, pushing him off of her. "I do believe you're a bit too paranoid."

Picking himself up off the ground, smoothing his clothes as he did so," Simply taking some minimal precautions is all."

The seamstress groaned before smoothing out her own dress and following her cousin. Though she was delighted to be away from those who had wished to harm her, she couldn't help but realize that she had simply abandoned her beloved store that had taken so many years of her life and not to mention dollars, to build to a reputable status. Her tears had already been shed, but the reality that she would more than likely never step foot in her store again...was heart breaking.

Nevertheless, she followed her cousin with little conversation. She simply followed in silence, trusting he knew where he was going and what he was doing. From the exterior, it may have appeared that he did not have an inkling of knowledge, but, for some strange reason, she felt secure with him. Deep down, he knew precisely what it was that he wished to accomplish.

Finally, after many minutes of traveling wordlessly, Rebecca finally broke the silence when they came to the Seine River, the road seemed to end and the waters swirled many feet below the both of their feet. From examining her surroundings, she knew that there was only one way that he intended on going. Her brain could only hope that there was some other way.

"Sherlock..." She said warningly, looking down into the cool, shady waters.

He looked at her, as if not seeing what it was that concerned her," Yes?"

Her eyes narrowed as she looked straight at him and nodded toward the water," What is that?"

He blinked several times before saying," Well, that...is a river. A flowing body of water…"

It was moments like this in which Rebecca did not miss the company of Sherlock Holmes. Obviously, this was a river, but she wanted a much more profound answer than that. What really tore her up inside was that he knew that she wanted more than just a simple answer. She narrowed her eyes at him once again before nearly growling," Sherlock..."

The English detective was not looking at his cousin, but frantically looking up and down the river, searching for something as he half-heartedly answered," Yes, mum?"

At this moment in time, she shook her head and bit down hard on her lip, waiting for the moment when Sherlock would mentally come back to earth. In the meantime, she pulled the dilapidated jacket from her shoulders and folded it over her arm. It was as though she had literally pulled him from whatever realm he was in mentally.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, looking at her and then the jacket draped over her arm.

"I am not wearing that piece of garbage any longer," She said to him. "Unless, of course you tell me what it is you have planned..."

He was then the one narrowing his eyes at her briefly, before looking over his shoulder and back to her," I suppose that could be-"

Before he could complete his phrase, he looked over his shoulder once more, this time Rebecca caught glimpse of a diminutive vessel tugging through the water toward the two of them. Looking over the edge of where the street ended and the uneasy waters flowed, she could only gulp before she watched him grab her by forearm, pulling her alongside him into the dark waters below.

A short yelp escaped her lips before the plunge came and she felt the chilly waters absorb her, drenching her its wet, choppy waters. Just before, she had been alert enough to hold her breath, but after being held for moments under the surface, when she came to the top, she filled her lungs with air before looking around for Holmes.

"This way, dear Rebecca!" He called, swimming in the opposite direction toward the small vessel breezing toward the both of them.

It wasn't until they had reached the grimy little fishing boat and she was pulled aboard that she realized something that nearly made her heart stop beating. She could hardly observe her surroundings before she reached into her dress and pulled the wet, soggy papers from them. The sacred papers that she had been told to protect were ruined. Adrien's documents were ruined and she could only pray that Moran and Moriarty would never learn of this.

Her eyes, blinking slowly in disbelief, looked up to Sherlock, dripping wet and leaning against the edge of the boat," I assure you...I can explain."

The events of the evening were too much and all she simply did in response was rest her head to the ground, every time she had entangled herself with Sherlock; trouble ensued. Her heart was telling her that once again she had been swindled into one of the detective's cunning plans. She only hoped that he knew precisely what he was doing.

A/N: A lot of what happened in this chapter is important for later chapters and helps to set up a little bit of where the whole Moriarty aspect of this story is going. Any specific guesses as to why Moriarty wants these papers and why Adrien wised to keep them from him? What about now? How do you think Moriarty is going to react after he hears about the documents? Let me know what you all think (: Love you all!

**Vin=wine