A/N: Hey everyone! I'm back and it seems as if I've gotten over my writer's block for the time being... I hope you all enjoy this chapter, I spent a lot of time on the phrasing and more technical aspects of it. Again, thank you to everyone who reviews and even reads this story, it really means a lot to me :)

Chapter XXI

"I really do not want to do this…" Clara mumbled to herself as she trudged over to Irene's room. There was a shuffling inside, as if someone was pacing. "Irene," she said, knocking on the door, "It's me, Clara." She tried not to sound as unenthusiastic as she felt.

The American slid open the door and glared at her. "What do you want?" she spat.

Clara swallowed the lump of anger burning in her throat and said, "I just wanted to apologize. What I said to you was rude and vulgar, and you don't deserve to be spoken to in such a manner. I hope that you will be able to forgive me."

"Did Holmes put you up to this?" she asked in a no-nonsense tone. When Clara didn't respond, she continued, "I thought so. He asked me to do the same. For whatever reason, he really wants us to be on good terms." Still, she didn't respond; she was afraid that if she started talking she wouldn't be able to control what she said.

"Clara, let's be honest, we're never going to like each other. I do, however, appreciate your efforts to apologize, even if they were only due to Holmes' will. I suppose I will be able to be civil to you, at least." That's when she realized what was different about Irene – she seemed flustered, distracted – as if something else was on her mind. It was like she was merely going through the motions to avoid conflict; something that, going by what little knowledge of Irene Adler she had, seemed quite uncharacteristic.

"Good," she sighed, letting out a breath that she didn't know she'd been holding in. "Well," she continued abruptly, "that's all I had to say. See you later then." She proceeded to leave hastily – she didn't want to spend even a moment more than necessary with that wicked woman.

(Later...)

"Did you speak with her?" Holmes asked when she appeared. He had been sitting in the dining cart, reading the newspaper. Oddly enough, it was an outdated American newspaper. Clara wondered why on earth he would be reading such a thing, but soon realized that questioning him was pointless.

"Yes," she answered shortly, taking a seat on the plush, red-velvet bench across from him.

"And…?" he prodded.

"We agreed to stay on polite terms," she finished stuffily, not quite looking at him. She hadn't fully forgiven him for pressuring her into apologizing.

He ran a hand through his already irreparably messy dark-brown hair and sighed, "I suppose that's all I can ask for."

"That's more than you can ask for," she snapped in half-jest. He gave her his customary sideways grin in response. For reasons unbeknownst to all, he sufficiently enjoyed it when she back-sassed him.

"Anything interesting in the press?" she asked, gently mocking his bizarre choice of reading material. However, he didn't seem to notice; or care, for that matter.

"No, but when is there ever?" he answered distractedly.

"True. This trip is quite boring, Holmes," she complained, resting her chin in her hand.

"I concur, but there's nothing really we can do about it. You've already tried to cause a scandal with Irene, isn't that enough drama to keep you entertained?"

"Oh, please. You know I didn't start that out of boredom – that argument had been impending since the very moment we met."

Holmes shrugged, his eyes never leaving the paper. Clara shifted in her seat and cleared her throat in annoyance; she wanted him to at least attempt to keep her entertained.

"You are a very peculiar creature," he commented, carefully annunciating each word.

"Why is that?" she asked. She was clearly baiting him, and he knew it.

"You're just so unusual. The level of excitement you wish to have in your life is uncanny. Whether it be physical or emotional, you are always in the pursuit of adventure."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"No, but it is a rare trait in a woman."

"What can I say, I'm just one of a kind," she joked. "Except for Irene, that is," she added with faux-solemnity, echoing what he had often told her. However, she then said with true sincerity, "Holmes, what exactly do you see in her?"

"I'm not having his conversation," he said, using the newspaper to create a palpable barrier between them.

"I don't mean it in a jealous sort of way – I'm genuinely curious."

"I really don't know," he began exasperatedly, "The same thing I see in you, I suppose."

Though she knew that the implications of his words were completely unintentional, she couldn't help but feel a disturbing fluttering sensation in her heart. She really wished such feelings would subside…

"Sherlock," she began hesitantly, "I have a theory to share with you, but you have to promise not to get angry."

"You are determined to make this trip more painful that it already is, aren't you? What is it?"

"I think… I think Irene may have had a part to play in all this."

Holmes looked at her skeptically, so Clara quickly added, "Wait! Just hear me out. Don't you think it's even a little suspicious that she's the only one who's been left unaffected throughout this whole thing? I was kidnapped, which hurt – at least I should hope – you and John. But Irene doesn't care about me at all – she was probably even happy."

"I wouldn't say happy, but I'm listening."

"Look, I know you don't want to hear this, but you of all people should know how to separate facts and emotions."

"So, what, you think she orchestrated this entire ordeal?" His tone was harsh, but she could tell that her comment had struck a chord.

"No, I didn't say that, but I do think she had at least some small part to play in it."

He mulled things over before saying, "I admit that you have a point, she has been acting a bit strange, especially since the Tress/Mala incident. Stranger than usual, that is. But what would her incentive be?"

"You," she said bluntly.

"If that's true, then that is a little more than disconcerting." Holmes didn't quite like the idea of someone obsessing over him to such an extent.

"Perhaps not you in the sense of being in love with you, but in the sense of stealing you – " she was going to say, "from me," but was able to quickly stop herself.

"Stealing me…?"

"For herself," she finished.

Holmes once again eyed her suspiciously, but did not reply – the last thing he wanted to do was bring up his nonexistent romantic interests. At this point, he found the best course of action was just to leave the issue alone.

"So," he said, changing the subject, "how is my dear friend Watson? I hope he's not too scandalized by the prospect of sharing a room with a lady."

"He's alright. He's growing accustomed to it, I think." She didn't like that Holmes was evading the discussion of Irene and her possible ulterior motives, but she let his diversion slide.

After a moment, she continued, "Holmes, what are we going to do once we actually arrive in India?"

"We're going to go to the temple. Even if the Patels aren't there, the diamond will be. The diamond apparently belongs to a statue that is inside the temple, and if it's unprotected then we can just take it."

"And if it's not?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," he said casually. However, Clara knew that that meant they would have to take it by any means necessary.

"Do you think Hope sent out any more people to trail us?"

"Probably, but they're not a threat – there's no way they could get to us in a timely fashion, we're too far away from London."

"What if he didn't dispatch them from London?"

"Still, the post isn't that quick."

"I suppose."

"You know you don't have to worry, Clara. Even when they did try to kidnap you last time, I did protect you, just like I said I would."

"Yes, but it was terribly close. What if I'm not as lucky next time?"

"Just try not to go anywhere alone until we have this whole thing sorted out."

"I have a very strange feeling about this case, for some reason. I can't exactly put my finger on it, but something is off. I don't understand why Hope is so desperate to get the diamond back, I mean we would try to retrieve it as quickly as possible regardless of whether or not he was pressuring us."

"Yes, but perhaps he doesn't know that – or, perhaps he does and just doesn't believe it."

"But also, after I escaped why did they try to kidnap me again? Why not John? I understand why they wouldn't take you or Irene, but why not him?"

"Well, I think Watson would be able to put up a much more viable resistance, no offense. Plus, didn't one of the men say that Hope wanted revenge on your for escaping?"

Clara nodded and remained silent, but was still somewhat unconvinced.

"I see you haven't been sleeping well," he commented after a while.

"What do you mean?"

"You have slight circles under your eyes and your skin tone is pale despite the fact that we've been in steady sunlight."

"I hate it when you do that… But yes, I do admit that I've had a bit of trouble sleeping – mostly due to worry."

"Tsk. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you – even though I probably shouldn't."

"What do you mean? When have I ever given you any reason to mistrust me?"

Clara raised her eyebrow challengingly, as if to say, "There isn't enough time in the world to list all of the instances." Needless to say, Holmes didn't press the issue.

"But you know I'd never hurt you..." she gave him another look. "… intentionally…" he continued. She still wasn't buying it, so he decided to just stop altogether.

(Later...)

Eventually, their tedious journey came to a much-appreciated end. The monotony had come the point where it was truly unbearable, and none of the troupe would have been able to last even another day. The trip had morphed into what felt like one endless day, with each minute resembling its predecessor.

Although the streets of India were dilapidated to say the least, their stability was a more than welcome deviation from the ever-moving train. From what they could tell, the village of Karnal was fairly small, but not desolate. The bustle of everyday rural life was ever-present, which was another welcome change from the train – they had been nearly the only passengers at the end of the journey. Though the relief of their claustrophobia was overwhelming to the point of distraction, they were not yet finished; they still had to travel to the village of Sitamai, which housed the temple.

Outside the railway station, Holmes hired an ox-drawn cart to take them to Sitamai (it seemed they didn't have cabs here). Unfortunately, however, the transaction hit a blip when he tried to explain that he wanted the driver to wait for them to take them back to Karnal. It was quite amusing to watch a man as intelligent and articulate as Holmes struggle to convey his intentions to a farmer who clearly didn't understand a word of English. However, many flamboyant hand gestures and an obscene amount of money later, the cart driver seemed to get the message.

"Well done, old sport," Watson laughed sarcastically, clapping Holmes on the back. "You do realize that I speak Hindu fluently," he added quietly. "I was stationed in India for quite some time, you know."

"You might have mentioned that before," his friend replied angrily.

"That's what you get for always speaking French in front of me," he quipped.

In response, Holmes muttered something unintelligible (but decidedly vulgar) as he heaved the bags onto the back of the cart. Clara couldn't help but smile affectionately at his distress, an involuntary reaction at which Irene scowled.

By the time they reached the tiny village, it was nightfall. The driver told Watson that he wouldn't drive them back until morning, so they set off to secure lodgings for the night. Once the matter was taken care of, the set off to the temple, which was in the center of the town. The streets were quiet as death as they made their way to the ornate structure, which seemed entirely out of place in the rural village. Clara was about to open the large wooden door, when Holmes stopped her.

"Wait," he said, "look." He pointed to the long brass door handle, which was illuminated solely by the moonlight.

"What is it?" Watson asked.

"It's very smooth – no fingerprints – see how the moonlight gleams off of it? One might expect that, in a place like this, such a frequently used structure would be a bit more dirty."

"What are you getting at?" Irene asked.

"The last person to open the door was using a cloth or wearing gloves," Clara tried.

"Yes, most likely. Do you think many people in this village are afraid of a little dirt?" Holmes asked.

"No," Watson said, "Which means it wasn't someone from this village – or even someone from this country, for that matter."

"Precisely," the detective stated, making a face as if he had swallowed something particularly sour.

"Hope?" Clara gasped worriedly.

"We're about to find out…" Holmes said, pushing the door open.

A/N: Ahh I know, I know, that was a cruel way to end it. There are still a ton of things that have to be explained, but everything will be revealed eventually. This story is definitely close to being finished, which is really sad... I said before that I might do another Holmes story, but I think I'm going to hold off on that for a little bit. They are making a sequel to the movie, and I think it would be more appropriate if I wrote the next one closer to when it will be released. But I just love Clara so much and I don't really want to let go of her completely, so I might write some Holmes shorts stories. They probably won't all include her, but some will. Anyway, sorry this A/N was so long! Please review!