I spent most of the next day on edge, and finding out the hard way just how deadly boring detective work can be from the sidelines. Since I had nothing else to do for the moment, I offered to help Mrs. Hudson with her chores once I got my boots back; doing other people's housework is usually more fun than doing your own, but I now make an exception for houses with no electricity.

Holmes went out alone in the morning to send some more telegrams, hoping to find a stronger connection between Fuller and the Southwark and Vauxhall Waterworks. I was dusting the sitting room when he came back a couple of hours later, looking grim; turned out George Fuller had left a wife and baby son behind him in Boston when he went off to Germany. I ducked my head and kept working, pretending I hadn't seen the Doc's face...

Holmes hadn't gotten any obvious leads from Boston or MIT, and he was still waiting to hear back from Berlin University, so the next logical step was to start checking out the waterworks. He went out by himself again after lunch, disguised as a common labourer – I guess so he could hang around the S.V.W. and pick up on any interesting gossip from the workers. That was fine with me, he probably wouldn't be back for hours. Now that it was just me and the Doc here, I could finally finish Mary's letter.

Getting it sent wasn't a problem – Mrs. Hudson had thought ahead and bribed one of the older Irregulars to haunt the back door all day. Of course, it wasn't until the kid had taken off with the note that I really started to wonder if I was doing the right thing... but it was too late to back out now. Please, please, please let this work...

After helping Mrs. Hudson wash the lunch dishes, I took some more sewing upstairs and found the Doc trying to keep cool by the open window – the room was becoming a bit of an oven – scribbling away again in his notebook. I followed his example and took the windowseat, the perfect spot for keeping an eye on the street. "Oh, Doc, I borrowed a pad from your desk last night to make some notes. Mr. Holmes said you wouldn't mind..."

"Of course not," he smiled. "I'm glad you're managing to keep yourself occupied. Was Holmes correct in deducing that you write romantic fiction?"

"Yeah, kind of. And before you ask, no, I don't think I'll be writing about this," I grinned. "Even in my time, people prefer detective stories with slightly more believable plotlines!"

He chuckled. "Anything published yet?"

"Oh God, no, I'm not nearly good enough for that! It's just fanfict... uh, writing for fun, my friends are the only people who read 'em." Explaining about the internet probably wasn't a good idea.

I was so busy concentrating on not saying anything stupid for a change that I completely forgot to keep watching the front door... until the doorbell pealed, making us both jump. I spun round and stared down at the figure standing on the step: a woman, plainly and respectably dressed, though I couldn't see much more than that. Her face and hair were hidden by her bonnet, and I couldn't even tell how tall she was from this angle. It was obvious the Doc recognised her, though – I could hear him swearing fervently under his breath as he peered over my shoulder.

"Oh my God... Doc, is that Mary?" Maybe I didn't sound surprised enough. The Doc turned to look at me very slowly, eyes wide in disbelief and growing fury. Hoo boy, time to do the fastest talking I'd ever done... "Yeah, okay, you got me, I invited her – well, kind of."

"What?!" The Doc's face was rapidly turning from pale to scarlet, fists clenched.

"Well, she thinks the letter she got today was from you... and no, it's not what you think, so just shut up and listen!" Glaring daggers at me, he pressed his lips together tightly, expression daring me to continue. "Doc, when Jonathan Small told you and Holmes his story, Mary should have been there too, so she could get her questions answered about her dad – but she wasn't there, cause you left her behind!" Emotional blackmail might be a dirty practice, but hey, whatever worked... "Sure, she knows how her dad died, but it's not enough – she needs to know why."

"And that justifies your meddling, does it?" he hissed, glancing wide-eyed over his shoulder at the sound of Mrs. Hudson answering the front door. "Do you have any idea of what you've done?!"

"Oh, for God's sake, Doc! All you gotta do is tell Mary what Mr. Small told you, how hard is that? Look, maybe I can't bring you two together..." crossing my fingers behind my back, "but at least you can help her find some closure – something Sholto can't do. Then she'll get on with her life, and you can get on with yours. Besides..." I arched a mischievous eyebrow, "this could be your last chance to spend some time alone with her! You really gonna pass that up?" I looked him straight in the eye, daring him to say 'yes'. Come on, Doc, you can't be that much of a gentleman... and two sets of footsteps were rapidly approaching up the stairs. "I could hang around and play chaperone, if that helps."

Boy, if looks could kill... but then his head jerked towards Holmes's bedroom. "You're welcome," I grinned, and ran.