"Once a woman has given you her heart, you can never get rid of the rest of her." - Sir John Vanbrugh

Watson

By the time we reached Pall Mall, Eve's shivering had ceased. This was largely in part thanks to the fact that she was bundled quite thoroughly in Mycroft's jacket. I had offered to remove mine, but the elder Holmes had pointed out that his provided much more fabric. I could hardly argue this, and was merely glad for the girl's comfort as she settled beneath the folds of the material.

We all disembarked at Mycroft's apartment, meaning to discuss the case. Eve, however, refused to be put to bed yet, and seeing the fear in her eyes from the evening's encounter, even Mycroft's iron will bent.

"Go get your nightdress on," he sighed, giving her head a gentle pat. "And then you can come back out. But not for too long, mind."

She nodded with the barest trace of a smile, clutching her rabbit and heading off to her room, the lace of her dress flouncing after her.

"She'll likely just fall asleep soon, whether at the table or in her bed," noted Holmes.

"I know," his brother smiled, heading for the kitchen. "I'll do my best to make some tea; it's usually consumable."

Holmes followed him, forcing me along as well. "Have you found any traces as to who her real family is?"

He shook his head, regretful, as he poured the water into the pot. "Not even a false alarm. I had one of the Whitehall police artists do a sketch yesterday while she was at the office to send out. Nothing so far. It went to France, Germany, Switzerland, Scotland… And they're searching birth certificates now, not missing children notices. I may have it mailed to America and Canada. At this point, however, there are two likely theories."

I frowned slightly. "And those are?"

"The first that she was a street child to begin with, not registered and not missed. The second…" Here he sighed heavily, watery eyes closed briefly. "The second is that it was her parents themselves who sold her into slavery and then had traces of her existence destroyed."

I was stunned. I could not comprehend any parent ever treating their child like livestock, selling them like a commodity into such an environment. "If that is the case… Will she go back to such a family?"

"Absolutely not, doctor. Whitehall actually owns several orphanages primarily for the housing of young witnesses and victims of crimes. They are much better run than the child mills; even if she is not adopted, she will be educated."

"Good. Excellent." I knew such a place would be best for Eve, and better yet would be a complete family, but I could not help but feel a pang of pain when I thought of becoming separated from her. I had grown quite fond of the girl. Still, I knew what she needed, and it was not being shot at and hunted down by her old tormentors.

"At least we know she will be safe," spoke up Holmes, voice lacking much emotion. "If Whitehall is in charge of a structure, I admit I must put some faith in it."

Mycroft was about to speak when padding footsteps made us cease all talk about the future of the girl who was approaching us.

The detective chuckled, and to my surprise lifted the girl up onto one of the chairs at the table that perpetually held a book on its seat now. "Save for the unfortunate meeting at the end, did you enjoy the ballet?"

Smiling genuinely, Eve nodded before looking towards the now boiling pot.

"I suppose you can have a cup. But a weak cup," Mycroft replied to the unanswered question. He had not even turned his head; I did not know how on earth he had known she was glancing his way. "And no sugar; you need sleep tonight."

She tittered before seeing my curious expression. She grabbed a stray crayon on the table and a piece of paper at random, sketching out a quick teapot. This hardly clarified things.

"She means," the elder man explained with a smirk as he brought the tray and four cups over, preparing the girl's first. "That I saw her in the reflection of the silver pot. Sharp eye, Eve."

Holmes chuckled as he slid a cup of milk-diluted tea filled halfway towards her. "Be careful with the china. Little angers my brother more than having to clean up broken glass, as it involves actually having to reach the floor."

I did not believe it to be an accident when Mycroft poured Holmes's tea and a bit of the scalding liquid splashed his hand, extracting a loud yelp and silent giggling from the girl.

As my dear friend had predicted, it was not long before Eve was slumbering, head resting on her Bunny. Mycroft took it upon himself to put her to bed, and when he returned we were finally able to discuss the case without risk of upsetting her.

"Should we really expect Jackyl to be at the Orpheum?" I questioned with a slight frown. "We do not even know if he still has contact with Sinclair."

"I believe it is our best bet," replied the detective, curt and defensive of his theory. "Think, Watson. The fact that there was theatre makeup on the letter when it was put in the envelope suggests it was written not long after the stationary was stolen, meaning he likely wrote it inside the theatre, implying he spent time there in which he was not working. Perhaps he even lived there. I know of no legitimate theatre that hires a full-time caretaker off the streets with no credible references and trusts them with the entire building their first week of work."

"I cannot say that Jackyl will be at the Orpheum for certain," put in Mycroft, sipping at his second cup of tea (which hardly stood up against Mrs. Hudson's, but was not entirely bad). "But I do agree that it should at least be investigated. At this time, it is the strongest lead we have. The election draws closer, and fingers are beginning to be pointed at Bradford. Jackyl needs to be caught, and even if he is not there, there may be some clues there indicating as to his whereabouts."

"It is settled, then. Tomorrow we will go to the Orpheum. It is less than an hour away by hansom; it should not take all day if he is not there." Holmes's expression implied, however, that he fully expected to find the villain there and that the case would be entirely over by the day after tomorrow. "We should likely fetch the girl an hour early, so we…"

"Wait," his brother interrupted, wide face furrowing into a deep, intimidating scowl. "You plan on taking Eve?"

"Well, of course, brother. Neither I nor Watson have actually seen Jackyl. All we have to identify him is a rough sketch, as none of those enabling nomads were much help. Besides, her eyes will see through any disguise he has in an instant; children have such a wonderful way of reading ill intentions."

"And you plan to expose her to the man who tormented her for so long?" I questioned, rising to my feet. "And do you think that blackguard will go without a struggle? You cannot put her in that kind of danger!"

"Watson, we have little choice." When I looked towards him, I saw actual regret in his eyes. "We need to collar Jackyl as soon as we can. To let him slip away might mean we never find him again. She could spot him from a mile away; she did with Sinclair, and she did not even know him as well as her former master."

There was a heavy, sickening silence in the room until the corpulent man broke it.

"If you are to take her, then I shall have to accompany you."

This shocked even his brother. "What…? Mycroft, are you joking?"

"I know it is uncharacteristic to want anything to do with such a situation, but while I cannot argue your reasons for wanting Eve's presence, I also cannot accept that the two of you, while amidst a pursuit, could look out of her safety. Therefore I will come solely to keep her unharmed and leave the footwork to the pair of you."

Holmes chuckled, letting his chin rest on his clasped hands, elbows propped on the tabletop. "And since when have you been so maternal, brother?"

His fleshy face turned a light red hue. "It is not maternal to care for a child's safety, Sherlock, merely humanity. If you simply must know, I suppose I have a bit of a soft spot for the creature because she reminds me so much of you at that age."

He gave a somewhat affronted look. "Of me? You must be joking!"

"The level of activity, her curiosity, her desire to involve herself, those glares…" He counted each point off on his fingers. "When those eyes of hers look to me for an answer, I sometimes expect them to be grey rather than brown."

I could not retain a chuckle, although I hoped that Eve would grow up to be a great deal more normal than my friend. Society barely tolerated him, let alone a woman of that personality.

After the tea pot had been emptied we headed back to Baker Street. I had hoped Holmes would get a good night's sleep in preparation for the attempt at arrest tomorrow, but instead he buried himself in his scrapbooks once again, looking for anything he might have connected the Orpheum theatre with.

"Holmes, you need rest," I said softly, stifling a yawn as I did so. "We both do."

"You do, my friend, but I must apply myself before the event," he murmured, holding a seemingly random paper up to the light. "This rat will be trapped soon or the earth may swallow me whole. He must be held accountable for his heinous deeds."

I was quiet and began to head to my quarters. I then paused, however, and turned to face him once more. "You've put not only your heart into this case, Holmes. You've put your soul into it."

He actually looked up; I had managed to catch his attention. "That's one way of putting it, I suppose."

"Why? Why this case?"

A grin flickered across that sharp visage I had come to know so well. "Because it is so important to you, my dearest Watson. Because you want nothing more than to see Jackyl either behind bars or swinging from the rope." He gave a content sigh, returning to his papers. "And I suppose because Mycroft, as usual, was right. Eve reminds me a bit of myself, and any spark of aptitude like mine must be nurtured in a healthy environment."

I smiled, shaking my head. "Hopefully she has your modesty as well. Good night, Holmes."

"Watson," my friend spoke again, gaze still on the papers but sincerity in his voice. "Old man, are you truly comfortable with the girl being sent to an orphanage when this mess has been straightened out? You were rather stiff about it."

My heart plummeted, but I continued my smile to keep it from my face. Of course I harboured a fondness for the child when she had been taking refuge in my arms for the past while. Of course I was not entirely happy to see her go. At the same time, however. I was not a naïve fool.

"She needs a home, a mother and a father," I finally replied. I did not sound as sure as I hoped I would. "She doesn't need to be shot at, to be exposed to your chemicals. And I'm sure Mycroft will be happy to be left alone once again." I knew that a strong family was what she needed for a normal life. A house in the country, perhaps with a few ducks for her to chase and siblings to protect her when I had moved on to the next case…

"You are right, I suppose." Holmes's voice was airy now; he was back in his world of clippings and criminals. "Get some sleep, my friend. Tomorrow will likely be quite interesting."

I had lived with Holmes long enough to know what he considered interesting, and therefore I slept as best I could.