One of Jacobson's staff was working for Stoper and was the one who has slipped the poison in the drinks. Our mission; to go undercover and discover who said person was- our gadgets; disguises, unsuspicious stories to go with said disguises and Holmes's multiple purpose tool kit. Did we accept the mission? Of course- we didn't have a choice in that.

The current members of staff under suspicion were Miss Isabella Crowe and Miss Eudora Fisher- the only two members of staff present at the time of Mrs Stroud's murder who were still have alive. The other staff had been dismissed on the grounds that they hadn't been there to kill Mrs Stroud.

"Makes it easier," I commented when Holmes told me.

"Is that so?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he fixed his disguise.

"Well we only have two people to investigate," I pointed out, unable to stop looking at the rings we were both required to wear. Holmes and I were to play a married couple- so aside from the blonde wig and pink dress (Why pink? I hate pink!) I was having to wear, I had to pretend to married to someone who tried to make me drink thallium sulphate the other day. "Surely it's easier than having to investigate the entire members of staff?"

"It depends on how easy they make it," he replied, checking himself over in a mirror set on top of a pile of books. "They aren't to be going walking around, bragging about it."

"I know that." I traced one of the fangs on the tiger skin tug I was sitting on, wondering if I could ever meet a tiger that was actually alive- they were my favourite animals next to foxes. I wondered if Holmes had got this as a reward for solving a case, and made a mental note to ask about it at a later point. "But you're an u'expert at this- and there not likely to be, so surely it doesn't matter how hard it is? You're a lot better than them- you're the great Sherlock Holmes."

He chose to ignore the light sarcasm that had laced my final sentence, and walked over to me with a smug smirk plastering his face. Pulling me to my feet, he kissed my forehead and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"I'm afraid you must be mistaken- I'm Nicholas Woodley," he replied, looking at me in a way that almost made me believe him. "And you are my wife Rowena Woodley, who has recently learnt that she is expecting."

"I'm glad that part's made up," I muttered, my hands resting on his chest- from where a steady beat could be felt, unlike mine which was racing at the close contact. When would I ever find out what Holmes felt about me? More to the point- when would he accept what he was feeling? Holmes looked at me with a raised eyebrow, amusement written in his eyes.

"So you would like to marry me?" he asked, then chuckled. "You are probably the only woman who would think that."

"What?" I looked at him with surprise.

"Well, being a man of irregular nature and habits I would hardly make a suitable husband," he explained, though he knew that wasn't what I was surprised about. "Women these days prefer to blend in with the rest of society, only an exceptional few have ever broke out of that mediocrity and gained my respect and attention- you being one of them."

"Aren't I lucky," I replied sarcastically, and stepped out of his arms. "So are we going, dear?" I held out my arm as I tried to laugh at the look of shock crossed his face before he realised I was 'in role' and linked his arm with mine.

"We are," he replied, and we proceeded to leave his bedroom. "The hunt is afoot."

Upon leaving the building, we quickly hailed down a taxi and went on our way to a bar called The Silver Serpent- a classier version of The Punch Bowl according to Holmes, and not as entertaining to fight in. It was like a pub combined with a boxing arena, and at day was a place for anyone- but at night hosted a series of matches in some kind of tournament. It was here we were to find Miss Crowe and Miss Fisher, who presumably came here during their lunch breaks.

Upon walking inside, I was surprised to find the atmosphere more like one you'd expect in a restaurant; groups of people sitting at their tables or at the bar, chatting and laughing. Holmes hadn't been lying when he said the place was classier, although from the way he had talked about the place you would have thought he hated it. We took a seat in one of the booths that filled one wall, Holmes sitting next to me and taking my hand in his, smiling at me with a love he would never know as he ordered some drink I'd never heard of.

"Do you see them?" I asked, keeping a smile on my face in case anyone looked at us suspiciously. I had given the room a quick lookover already, but suspected that Holmes would have a better chance of spotting them and not just because I couldn't really remember what they looked like.

"No- though my sources told me that they may turn up anywhere between eleven and one," he replied, also looking around the room. "So all that remains is to wait patiently until they turn up."

"So we've got to just waste time here until they turn up and then approach them and interrogate them without arising their suspicion or anyone who might be working for Stoper." I poured some of the drink- some kind of white wine- into a glass and looked at it with mistrust. "I hope Nicholas Woodley is as good as Sherlock Holmes."

"He's certainly closer than any member of Scotland Yard," replied Holmes with a chuckle, pouring himself a drink.

He held out his glass and I bumped mine to his before we both took a sip, the sweet taste of the wine surprising me- finally, something that tastes nice.

"Are you nervous?" Holmes asked, and I looked at him with confusion. "Your palm is becoming sweaty." I looked to our linked hands, fingers laced together, and became aware of a blush working it's way onto my face.

"Figure it out, genius," I retorted, and he raised our hands to his face, kissing the back of my hand gently- watching my reaction with careful precision.

"Most intriguing," he commented, using our hands to prop up his head. "It seems you do seek some form of romantic relationship with me- a notion that puzzles me, as you know my thoughts on love and other such emotions."

I turned my head away from him, taking another sip from the glass and trying not to pay attention to him or the heat seeping from his body into mine.

"How about we focus less on me and more on the case," I suggested, finding the wall suddenly much more interesting.

"We have time," he replied.

"Just drop it," I snapped, and got to my feet in all intention of leaving.

"Where are you going?" he asked, alarm on his face.

"For some air," I replied moodily, and left him.

/*/*/ Holmes's POV /*/*/

I stared in confusion at her leaving figure, wondering what it was he had said that had upset her- I had only stated the truth, and we both knew it. Perhaps I had been attracted to her physically- even I could not deny these basic instincts entirely, a thought which annoyed me to no end, but we both knew that any sort of notion of a romantic relationship between the two of us was impossible. So why had it upset her?

Perhaps his actions had caused her mind to allow itself to believe there was something between them- certainly Watson seemed to believe this, and on the rare occasions he had visited since the ball he liked to mention it.

"You like her," Watson said, after Miss Alex had left the room.

"Of course I like her," I replied, looking through some of the letters I had received this morning- trivial matters that even Scotland Yard could handle. "She is a trusted colleague- the only one who hasn't deserted me."

"Stop pretending you don't know what I mean." I saw, however, by his reaction that he wanted to remark on my final comment. "You don't treat her like you do other women- except perhaps Miss Adler."

"And that constitutes to me liking her how?" I asked, ignoring the reference to Irene. "Besides- you have shown her a fair amount of interest as well."

"Don't start that again," he warned, and I knew I had got to him. "I am engaged to Mary."

Engaged to Mary- a poor excuse, he'd worked cases where a man turned out to have a mistress whom he loved much more than his wife- even the other way around. Marriage meant nothing to people when love was involved- another reason why he disliked that emotion and its self-destructive tendencies.

"Yet you who usually shows restraint of physical contact with the fairer sex seem much more at ease with Miss Alex- even more so than with Miss Morstan," I commented in a nonchalant manner, watching his reaction carefully. "Perhaps this is a sign that you are not yet ready to give up on a life full of action? After all, you have often commented that Miss Alex reminds you of me- a disturbing notion as to why you show interest in her."

"I don't," replied Watson stoically. "If there is any sort of affection between us, it is as it would be between siblings. Besides, she obviously has feelings for you- I wouldn't want to be there when she met Irene, it's hard to imagine two women fighting over you of all people."

Alex meet Irene? I had to admit that Watson was right- in both that it was hard to imagine and that he wouldn't want to be present. Both were women of fiery nature and personality, so it would not be like the petty scraps of other women.

"How do you know that your mind isn't creating excuses for you so you can pretend not to care for her?"

"Holmes!"

"Holmes!"

I looked to see that Alex had returned, looking so unusual in her disguise, and obviously still annoyed at me.

"What is it?" I asked, when I saw the urgency in her eyes.

She looked over to the bar, and following her gaze I saw what had gained her attention- our two young suspects had turned up.