Hey everyone! Sorry it's been a while since I've updated. School started, and I'm busy with language classes, regular school, and I'm currently in the production of "Jane Eyre" which is due to perform soon. So, any of you actors can understand where I'm coning from when I say; REHEARSAL GIVES ME NO TIME.

The actor's motto… "I can't. I have rehearsal."

AT ANY RATE :] I hope you enjoy this chapter, and chip chip cheerio gents and ladies, enjoy the show! *pulls top hat off head dramatically, twirling it, and descending herself into a bow*

~Mistro

~.~.~.~.~

I hadn't expected to be back there so soon. Though it'd been years since I'd seen my earliest home, it was still too soon. In fact, I hadn't expected to come back at all. Those distant memories poured back into my remembrance as though they'd been hiding for a long time. It was like the memories were waiting for vengeance. Now they had their chance to haunt me. I could feel my heart flouting beneath my dress, hoping my face showed less sign of grief than my heaving chest. I had to stay strong for everyone's sake. I couldn't allow my past to eat me up as it had so many times before. Things had to change.

"Miss Adkins," I heard Lestrade murmur. Hire voice was more empathetic now that he knew my issue. He could tell I was distressed. My face was not able to conceal my anxiety. "If this makes you feel uncomfortable in any sort of way, we can reprimand this. You do not have to accompany us. We can simply call the carriage back."

I did not answer him right away, nor turn to face him. My eyes stayed transfixed on the crumbling wall that I could see past the field. If there was someone in there, a murderer in my own home, I could just turn back down the road. Or, I could do something about it. I could make people proud. I could make myself proud. "I can't," I confessed. "I cannot not go with you. If he is really in my home, then I must see that he leaves."

Holmes's eyes locked onto my face; I knew that without looking at him. He was bothered by his decision to send me out here, but little did he know, I was becoming grateful. I began to feel as though this would be a sort of solace for me. I could let go of my past and do something I felt was imperative. I wanted to stop bitter feelings for my father's death. I only wanted to care for and cherish his memory in perfect preservation. I had a new life now; one with friends who accepted me for who I was. I needed to make them proud.

The sun was beginning to glance through speckled clouds, splashing a golden ripple over the field's soaring grasses. Winds were picking up as my bun's stray hairs brushed in front of my eyes. The scene was beautiful somehow; tranquil and soothing. I felt infinite. I was ready for something extraordinary. "Come on." The men still seemed disconcerted with my circumstances. "I don't want to wait any longer." Images of Holmes unconscious, cut up bodies, and bleeding victims flashed through my mind. The things I had seen were numerous and frightening. I could handle a weak, sick old man getting justice served to him. "I'm more than ready for this."

A smirk slid across Clark's face. "You're very brave, Miss Adkins. We'll end this today. There's no doubt about it."

"I know." I smiled genuinely. "I am a woman filled with conviction."

A small path on the left cut through the field and led towards my house. I recalled it instantly, leading the gentlemen to it with expertise. They seemed impressed, obviously glad that I had decided to tag along. Clark and Lestrade led the way once we knew where we were going, but quietly in case, "someone was hiding in the marshes" or, so Lestrade suggested. Holmes and I lagged to the back. He knew I was still hesitant and allowed me to calm my nerves by trailing behind. I didn't want to be the first one to reach the house or to open the door. It would shock me too much to see someone else overtaking my home.

My hands were clammy, the nerves in my veins turning to sweat in my pores. This game had become too twisted. There was no logic anymore, just murder. I wanted things to be quiet for a while. I wanted this to all end. We were nearly there, nearly finished. Holmes's knew it and so did everyone else. But he could sense the nerves written all across my trembling body and though I wanted them to stop, I couldn't help it. The closer we got, the worse I felt.

"Renadale…" He started to say. That affectionate tone was in my name, a sound nothing could compare to.

"I'm fine." I cut him off, attempting a small smile up towards him. I knew looking at him should have made me feel at ease, but I could feel my hands quivering against the textile of my dress. "I'm fine if…" I was humiliated to ask, but I had to. It would be my only source of comfort for the time being. "If you'd take hold of my hand, I think I'd feel better." The color was unable to hide from my cheeks.

He stared ahead, his face naturally unreadable. Without a word, he slipped hand his over mine. His fingers wrapped around my entire palm with a firm hold. He uttered no complaints, but rather held it cordially in his. Every time I began to tremble, a soft squeeze would be sent my way.

We were getting closer and things only became quieter. As we neared the house, I could see the flowers in the front yard. They were poorly taken care of. No one had been there in years. They were once trimmed into a beautiful garden, one I spent much time in. Now they were dominating. Flowers, weeds and grasses sprouted from the ground. In a way, they were terrifying. They had lost their beauty in my eyes. I turned my face away from them and back to the waving grasses.

Lestrade pointed between him and Clark. I knew what he was saying; We'll go in first. The independent Renadale inside of me was shouting; Why of course not! I shall enter the house first, for this is a predicament on my very land! But, I could not muster her up. My only response was a nod.

Holmes glanced from the men and then back to me. Where would he go? I urged him to follow Lestrade and Clark, just in case something went wrong. I would follow in shortly afterwards, if I could muster up the courage. But he made no movements. He stood by my side, flapping his hands at the two cops. "I will come," he mouthed. Lestrade looked less than pleased, but finally turned on his heels. I saw him pull his pistol from his waistcoat pocket, preparing for anything.

My luck only became more unfortunate. Something clicked beside me, and my head immediately snapped towards the direction it had come from. Sherlock had also pulled out a pistol. He cocked it into place, ready to use it at any second. "Holmes!" I screeched, despite myself. I instantly regretted it.

"Now!" I heard Lestrade shout from up ahead. The slam of a door rang out, followed by the sound of a struggle. There were moans of pain and grunts of weariness. I didn't know which belonged to whom, but clearly something had happened. "Holmes!" Lestrade's voice was furious. My shrieking had obviously given them away far too soon. "You're lucky she didn't mess things up! Get in here! Now!"

Holmes's shot me an unimpressed look. "Your innocence is not always fitting for you, Miss Adkins." He then took off towards the entrance.

I did feel a bit ashamed. Why did I always have to mess everything up? In my defense, guns had always frightened me. So, sue me. What could I have done?

There were more shouts and noises coming from inside my house. I imagined them attempting to pin the man down, to at least make him immobile somehow, so they could ask the questions they needed. As for me, I found my courage running low. "I am like a soldier…" I muttered. "… merely waiting for the Captain's orders."

"Renadale, come inside," Holmes called out for me. He sounded strangely calm, but with exhaustion and lack of air in his voice. I was afraid of the sight that awaited me. My skirt brushed against my standstill feet, like little hands pushing them to move.

"I'm on my way."

I could feel the dry land crunching beneath my boots. This place was like a war zone. It belonged to the Earth now. Vines were making their way up the frame of my front door. Berries curled up towards my window. I could see inside. Lestrade locked eyes with me, urging me to cross the threshold.

Inside, I stared at our living room. It had wooden floors with stucco walls that my mother said reminded her of Italy. I wanted to smile at the memory, but the warmth of it was gone. The walls were bare now and the room empty. Empty, except for the man leaning against the wall by the fireplace, his head bleeding and his eyes closed. He was still breathing; I noticed as I stared at his chest. He looked as tired and worn out as I felt. But we were not to be compared.

The man must have sensed my presence, because his eyes slowly managed to crack themselves open. His eyes scanned me up and down, something I did not fully appreciate. He recognised me from before we suspected him of murder. He was a sick man and I thought it then more than ever. Unexpectedly, however, he began to pull his lips back into a smile. I flinched at the sight of it. He was knocked down and bleeding. What could he be so pleased about?

"Why are you smiling?" My feet inched closer towards him. I heard Lestrade's gun cock, but I raised a hand to stop him. "Just let me talk for a moment. I can handle this." I didn't know if I could, but I wanted to try. I think I deserved that much.

"Because you and I both know where we are," he replied weakly. This was his end. He knew it. But he wouldn't leave without getting the last word in. "This is a happy place for you, Miss Adkins." The sound of my name upon his lips nearly made me sick. It wasn't beautiful like when Sherlock said it. "There should always be smiles in such a place."

I could sense the tension of the men around me. They were growing more anxious the longer the doctor and I stared at one another. What was his name? If only I knew that much, I would have some sort of advantage. Calling one by the name is a defense mechanism, or so I'd learned from working with Holmes. It startled the person, because it made things more personal. That way it was easier to give in or to give up. I could not even manage to utter a response let alone his name, but instead found myself staring into lackluster eyes. Why did the man do the things he did? For money. He was nothing more than a Scrooge. Yet, he would not become kind hearted in the end. His story did not end that way.

"Name them off," I said suddenly, the idea clicking inside of my head. The man stared at me with his brows creased in confusion. "Name off each person that you killed. Tell me something about them." It was hard to suppress my anger, when it was clearly being demonstrated through my gritted teeth. I could see nerves bouncing off from him. He wore his fear like a suit of armour.

"You're not-"

"Go on." I urged, stepping even closer to him. With a flick of my foot, I could touch him. I would keep a space between us though. It would give him cause to sweat. Who knew when I would pounce? For all he knew, I had a gun in my dress pocket. He was such a frightened thing, for all his bold talk. Now I was going to make him face the facts. "Tell me something about each person. Let's start with Michael, shall we?"

His grey brows dropped. He was not amused. Not in the least. I was getting somewhere and I knew it without Holmes's guiding eyes. "Michael. Was he the farm boy?" Bitterness and mockery chimed out of the man's lips when he said the name. He wasn't taking things seriously. It was all a game to him at this point.

"He wasn't just a farm boy. He worked to make money. He worked so he could take care of his family. He was interested in medicine and therapy and he visited those women to make them feel better about themselves; to tell them not to hide behind makeup and filthy men like you. Not many people have that kind of decency in them." I said slowly, making sure he heard every word I said without a mutter. "And you know that is the truth. But, what do you know about him? I'm assuming this is all news to you." I didn't know where my confidence was coming from. I felt in even more between the walls of my own home. As though my father was watching me, urging me to keep going, and to do the right thing.

"I know that he was my best specimen. He was the first one. His body was cut and sliced with precision." I wanted to hurl at the sound of his response. What kind of monster lied within such a man? How long had it taken for this monster to grow? "He was a young boy of little importance. There are many bad people with good traits in the world. And you must realize that there are good people with bad."

My face was growing hotter by the second as I began to realize that he was not as nervous as I expected. He was becoming more sinister by playing off of my words. I would have to make them tougher. I would have to scare him with the things he did himself. "He was perfectly conserved, wasn't he? Did you make much money off of that?" I hated saying such things, and even more, I hated the smile that was spreading across his face. "What about the man at the party? At my friend Edward's house? Now, that wasn't very successful. There was something lacking there. Not a strong enough poison? Perhaps it was the target's fault. Maybe your paid killer didn't insert enough poison into the drink? Whatever it was, you failed that time around. You grew weaker after that and it showed in your work."

Just as I had expected. The man had nothing to say. He stared at me with a heaving chest. A swirl of crimson blood trickled from his forehead wound and down onto his cheek. He didn't make a move to rid himself of it. His eyes were fixed solely on me.

"Then, of course there were the women: Emilia, Charlotte and Danielle. Naturally, their names weren't important to you."

"They were whores. Nothing about them is important to anyone."

"That's not entirely true, now is it?" My voice began to rise as the speed of my words picked up. I was no longer solving a mystery; I knew who the killer was and I wanted my justice. I wasn't going to hide my anger any longer, but I was still going to make him falter. He was going to crack soon. "Those girls were important to your check, weren't they? Without them, your IOU slip wouldn't be quite as large. But your men were sloppy. You rushed them. You threatened them to do better than the last time. You got very little out of that and it only made you more upset. Money wasn't coming in like you had hoped and then you turned against the one person you knew was causing the problems."

His eyes snapped in the direction of Holmes, before quickly returning back to me. "What's your proof?" His body rose from the floor a bit and closer towards me.

"Everyone you killed was somehow connected in a way with Holmes! You knew that, didn't you? Just in case he came around, you would have a reason to scare him off. You would have a reason to capture him like you did. It wasn't your intention, but just in case, you planned things that way. It didn't matter where the organs came from as long as indirectly they were connected to him!"

Feeling a bit better about everything, I allowed myself to glance up at Holmes. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't unhappy. His eyebrows were drooped in a quizzical manner, but his chocolate eyes held a twinkle. He was proud of me. I had done it without him. To my surprise a smile cracked across my face. I was like a little schoolgirl who had aced the test.

Except, I wasn't expecting what came next. The test had turned into a pop quiz and it took everyone by surprise, not just me. A growling started coming from my feet. Shocked, I looked down to see the asylum owner's mouth opening until he was shouting with rage. No words were spoken, but his screams of fury were startling enough for me to instantly run to the men with trepidation. He hauled himself off the floor, his withered body bending in a demonic way. The four of us all started in fright while Lestrade and Holmes quickly pulled out their guns.

My pride was vanished. I was as startled as ever, clinging to Holmes's arm from behind him. It was steady with his gun aimed in the correct direction. "First thing you do…" The man shouted, his mouth spurting out blood as he spoke. "Check a man for his gun!"

With the flick of his arm, he pulled something out from behind his back. I saw it's metal instantly: the shining, silver metal of a pistol. My heart pounded in my chest as my nails dug into Sherlock's arm. Before my shout of, "No!" was even heard…

Bang. Bang.

Two shots rung out. And from both directions.