A/N: Wow, we're getting pretty close to the end! Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and hopefully you'll all enjoy this one!

Chapter XXVI

"Where have you been?" Watson greeted Clara as she ascended the stairs, precariously balancing a large paper bag filled with various items.

"You shouldn't be carrying that," he said, tearing the bag out of her grasp.

"I was just – " However, before she could finish, he thrust a small piece of paper under her nose. Her blue-green eyes quickly scanned the parcel. Oh no.

"Where did you find this?"

"It was on his desk."

"He didn't…" she started, dreading the answer.

"He did."

Clara's expression instantly dropped and she hastily made her way to her room – she needed to get behind closed doors before Watson could see her suffer. Tears were pricking the backs of her eyes – she didn't even try to stop them. Many, many feelings were rushing through her body, but the most prominent one was betrayal. Unbelievable. No, actually, it wasn't. It was very Sherlockian. Except she'd thought they were past that. She had thought that she was special, that he would stick around. But no, he was going to push her away like he had done before. They were back to square one. She was about to shut herself in her room, but Watson wedged his arm in the door, preventing her from closing it.

"What are you doing?" he asked incredulously.

"What do you mean? I want to be alone, can't you understand?" she snapped angrily.

"You're just going to let this happen?"

"You think I have any control over this situation? Do you honestly think he would have left if I did?"

"You need to tell him how you feel, Clara."

"What do you mean – I feel for him the same way you do."

"Oh, please – no you don't. This is no time for you to keep up those silly pretenses."

She stayed silent – perhaps he was right, but that didn't matter.

"Fine, but don't you think he knows? He's one of the most brilliant men on earth; I think he could figure it out without me telling him."

"This is Holmes we're talking about – he won't believe anything until he has solid evidence – he needs tangible data. And for someone so observant, he can really be blind sometimes. You're right, he is brilliant. But he fails to empathize with people – the one enigma that he cannot understand is that of emotion. It's his only shortcoming." Well, maybe not his only shortcoming, Watson thought. But now was not the time to be overly wordy.

Clara bit her lower lip thoughtfully before asking, "What time is it?"

"Quarter to six."

"I'm too late…" she started dolefully, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

"No, you're not. You can still make it if you leave now."

Clara glanced at him briefly, and then hurriedly started down the stairs without a second thought. Watson was right – even if she didn't get Holmes to stay, she had to at least tell him how she felt. She couldn't have him leave without knowing the truth.

And so, she ran. Or flew, rather, would be a better description, for her feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. The only thing that mattered was reaching Holmes in time. It was only when she reached the boatyard that she realized a small wrinkle in her plan. There were hundreds – maybe even thousands – of people; she didn't even know where to start.

She tried to calm her racing mind and focus on the task at hand; quickly, she located the H.M.S. Oceanic. That was the first step. Next, she had to find where the passengers were boarding. Holmes and Irene would surely be among the first class, which meant that they would be boarding first.

She spotted them just as Irene was climbing the ladder onto the ship. Holmes was close behind. She rushed to the side of the boat as quickly as she could, calling, "Holmes!" repeatedly.

He heard her, but appeared to have difficulty figuring out just where the sound was coming from. He stretched his head above the crowd and allowed his eyes to dart quickly around the area. Once Clara was close enough, he recognized her immediately.

"Clara?" he asked in disbelief, stepping out of line. "What in God's name are you doing here?"

Irene, who was already onboard, looked at the two of them with undisguised frustration.

"Don't go, you can't go," Clara managed to get out while trying to catch her breath.

"How did you – ? Ah, you found the letter, I presume."

"Yes, but – I can't – I can't believe that you would – "

"Clara, it's not – "

"No, let me finish for once in my life. You can't leave. You just can't. You can't abandon Watson and me. What'll I do without you?"

"I'm not abandoning you," he said lamely, surprised at how affected she was.

"Come on, Holmes!" Irene cried in annoyance from over the side of the ship.

"I must go," he said.

However, before he could walk away, Clara grabbed his wrist, preventing him from doing so. Her grasp slipped down to his hand, and she allowed her gaze to drop to their palms. "Please," she begged weakly.

"I – I'm in love with you," she said awkwardly, finally looking him in the eye.

"I don't expect you to say it back," she added hastily, "I just thought you ought to know if you are to just up and leave like this. Although, I can't imagine that you didn't already, and I don't think that it'll change your mind about leaving. I just had to get it off my chest."

His gaze softened, but he seemed a bit flustered. She looked at him expectantly, but he didn't know quite what to do. In a rare moment of clarity, he thought, Oh hell, these feelings aren't going to go away, so I might as well just enjoy them while I have the chance. Torturing myself isn't going to change anything. So, he tilted her chin up and kissed her softly. However, much to her dismay, he broke away prematurely.

"I'll be right back," he assured her.

Once he'd reached Irene, he said, "I was going to wait and verbally explain everything to you before doing this, but it seems I'm needed elsewhere. Irene Adler, you're under arrest."

"What?" she asked quietly, sure that she'd misheard him. She was still in shock from having watched him kiss Clara – he was supposed to be going away with her.

Holmes felt a surge of triumph – finally, finally he had outsmarted her. Her current state of disbelief made up for the two times she had outwitted him in the past.

"I said, you're under arrest."

"Why?" she half-shrieked.

"Oh, don't worry – I'll explain everything at the Yard." Of course, he knew she would escape almost immediately. But the satisfaction of having caught her – if only for a little while – was enough to put him in an excellent mood. That, combined with Clara's recent epiphany.

(Later…)

"Oh, Lestrade!" Holmes bellowed into the crowded halls of the building.

"What is the meaning of this, Holmes?" the inspector asked angrily, storming over to the overexcited detective.

"Well, now, is that any way to greet me? Especially when I've done you such an enormous favor. Tsk, tsk, you really should pay more attention to your manners."

"What is it?" he asked, forcing himself to remain calm.

"I've brought you a gift," he said, pushing Irene in front of him.

"Ah, Miss Adler. We meet again," Lestrade said.

"Hello, Inspector. I really don't know what the meaning of this is…"

"Well, I can think of several reasons why you should be here right now, but I look forward to hearing Holmes' explanation."

"As do I – I really have no idea why I'm here. This time, that is," she said sweetly.

"All in good time, all in good time. However, I'd like to wait for my associates to get here before I begin my account. I think they'll be wanting to hear this."

And so, they waited until Clara arrived with Watson. He'd asked her to go fetch him. Once everyone was seated and focused on him (a feeling that he enjoyed immensely), Holmes began his speech.

"Now, you all are probably wondering just what exactly is going on – you especially, Lestrade – and I intend to tell you. First, let me preface this by reminding everyone of the circumstances of the case. A few months ago, Miss Adler contacted me and informed me that her lover, Lord Hope, was missing a very important and expensive diamond. I found the situation to be intriguing, and I decided to investigate."

"It seems that Lord James Weaver held a party attended by several of his friends and their respective mistresses. At said party, he employed his usual staff of maids and cooks as well as extra ones. Among the extra ones was a waiter, named William Tress. Mr. Tress, as we later found out, is – excuse me – was the illegitimate child of Weaver and his cook, Katherine Graystone. The entertainment for this party was in the form of a troupe of travelling Indian musicians, the Patels."

"The diamond was stolen the eve of the party. Peculiar – it was stolen right out from under Miss Adler and Mr. Hope's noses. Peculiar, that is, until we found out that Mr. Gregory Blake, a member of Hope's social circle and avid botanist, had devised some sort of chemical that would put whoever ingests it into a deep, almost comatose, sleep. But, it turns out, Blake couldn't go through with his plan to drug his companions and steal the diamond – Hope was too good of a friend. Tress, on the other hand, had no qualms about doing so. He pick-pocketed the vial from Blake and drugged the drinks of all the partygoers – an easy feat, seeing as he was a waiter."

"But it only gets more interesting. Mala, a member of the group of performers, was pregnant with Tress's child, and they intended to pawn the diamond to live comfortably. That is, until they were killed by Hope's henchmen. But the pawning – that's where everything went astray. The diamond should have been there when we went to the pawnbroker's in France – there rest of the Patel family should never have got it."

"Wait," Clara interrupted, "what do you mean 'went astray'?"

"My dear, if you would allow me to finish. Irene had planned the entire situation – until the incident at the pawnbroker's, that is."

"Oh my gosh, do you honestly think that I could have orchestrated all this?" Irene asked in disbelief.

"I know that you orchestrated all this."

"Please explain," Watson asked, voicing what everybody wanted.

"My first clue to realizing what'd happened was Irene's behavior after the incident – Clara helped alert me to that. My suspicions were negated by the fact that I didn't think Irene could pull it off – I didn't think she was a good enough actress, to put it in blunt terms."

Irene fidgeted in her seat.

"Until," he continued, "I stumbled upon an old American newspaper that had been lying amongst her belongings. The one I was reading on the train, Clara, perhaps you remember. It wasn't a very old one – only a couple months. It also wasn't very extraordinary, other than the fact that there was an article about a woman named Adele Riner in it. This woman bore a striking resemblance to Miss Adler, if I do say so myself. The article was an appraisal – it was commending her performance on Broadway as Ophelia in Shakespeare's Hamlet."

"This led me to question the reason for which she kept the newspaper. Now, I daresay, if Irene Adler is one thing, it is vain. It is easy to imagine her keeping an article about herself – I was quite inclined to believe that she was Adele Riner – the name itself is an anagram for Irene Adler. But something was odd – narcissists love to boast about their accomplishments. ("You would know very well," Lestrade muttered). So, why hadn't Irene mentioned her performance? Perhaps because she didn't wish to reveal her theatrical prowess?"

"But that alone is not enough to condemn her, I will admit. So I remained quiet. Plus, I couldn't quite place an incentive for the theft. A few weeks later, however, something extraordinary occurred. As Clara, Watson, and I were taking the train to Cairo from India, I noticed an international newspaper stand. They, like Irene's paper, were all outdated. I almost didn't pay them a second glance, but I remembered my discovery about Adele Riner and decided to scan through The Times, just to be careful.

"I am immensely glad that I did. In it, I discovered an article that I hadn't seen before, which struck me as odd because I nearly always skim the crimes section. Even more odd was the fact that it directly pertained to the Hope case. It was an advertisement, written by Lord Hope, offering a reward for the return of his precious diamond. A ₤10,000 reward. Which, needless to say, is an incentive if ever there was one."

"So are you saying that Hope didn't know Irene was behind this entire scheme?" Clara asked curiously.

"Yes, that is precisely what I am saying."

"But how could Irene return the diamond to Hope? That would be terribly suspicious," Watson said.

"You are quite right, my dear Watson. I do not know the exact method of return that Miss Adler intended to employ, but, if it were I, I would hire an ignorant street urchin or some such character to complete the transaction. Someone who didn't know what they were trading."

"But what of Tress, Mala, and Blake's cooperation?" Clara questioned.

"You may recall that Tress and Irene seemed to know each other more intimately than a brief meeting at a party would permit. I believe that Irene secured his assistance by promising him the profits from pawning the diamond. I'm not entirely sure of how she enlisted Blake's botanical skills, but I think she might have commented on the diamond's beauty in front of his mistress, Miss Margot Smith, consequently making her jealous. She knew that Miss Smith would bring the matter to Mr. Blake's attention and insist that if he loved her, he would display his love in the form of jewelry." He said the last part in an especially mocking tone.

"But why would she go through all the trouble? Hope let her wear the diamond – he bought her all that she wanted," Watson insisted.

"Yes, but why not have all that in addition to ₤10,000? And she'd been with Hope for what, almost a year? I'm surprised he lasted so long – she was probably planning on leaving him soon. And I think the whole ordeal became much more elaborate than she anticipated, am I right Miss Adler?"

Her chalk-white expression betrayed her guilt, but she maintained, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"But why did she ask for your help if she had planned the entire thing out?" Lestrade finally spoke up.

"Ah, you see, Lestrade, that's where she made her first mistake. I do not know, but I suspect it is because she enjoys torturing me. This whole case added a little excitement to her otherwise-boring life, and there was a profit to be made from it. She thought everything was very controlled, but her second mistake was underestimating Hope's determination to retrieve his possession. She also failed to anticipate the Patels' religious affiliation with the origins of the diamond. All in all, her plan was not flawless, which resulted in its failure and the deaths of Tress, Mala, and Hope."

"Wow. That's what criminal masterminds do when they're bored?" Clara asked in disbelief.

"Apparently," Holmes said.

"And where is the diamond now?" Lestrade asked dryly.

"Just a moment," Holmes replied, reaching up the first layer of Irene's dress. The diamond was sewn into the side of the dress, between the silk over-layer and her petticoat.

"Oh," she gasped flirtatiously, "Aren't you supposed to buy me a drink first?"

The detective scowled, but did not grace her with a response. There was the distinctive sound of fabric tearing, and then Holmes' hand reappeared gripping the enormous diamond.

"Well then, Miss Adler," Lestrade began, "That makes you responsible for a very serious theft and the deaths of at least three people. I'd say that gives me sufficient grounds to arrest you."

"You have to understand – if I knew what was going to happen to them…" tears were welling in her eyes. Holmes wanted to believe that it was true guilt, but, given her deceitful record, he didn't allow himself to.

"Tell that to the judge," Lestrade said, escorting her away.

Clara knew not to be surprised by Holmes' supernatural talent for deduction, but she couldn't help herself - she had never met someone so intelligent. And she was very happy that the case was over; the whole thing seemed to have lasted for nearly a century. But what gladdened her most about the whole experience was that Holmes had gone to the boatyard to arrest Irene, not elope with her. In fact, gladdened is not the correct word – her heart swelled with joy, a feeling that she had almost forgotten. It had been a very long time since she'd experienced proper happiness.

Watson left first – Holmes had to stay behind to give Lestrade the newspapers and other small bits of evidence that he had, and Clara elected to remain by his side. After what had happened, she was not keen on letting him out of her sight. Watson seemed exceedingly thankful that the two of them had reconciled – when she had gone to get him, she'd explained the circumstances of Holmes' being at the boatyard. The doctor was very proud of his friend – it was moments like these that reminded him of why he stayed with the eccentric detective in the first place.

A/N: Good God, it's so hard to make a Holmes romance story. Why did I choose this? I can imagine him loving someone, I guess, but it wouldn't be like a crazy love, I don't think. What I tried to set up with him and Clara was sort of a mutual respect thing that blossomed into a romance. Hopefully it's come across that way, so far. Please review, and let me know how you think I did in approaching this issue!

Oh, and by the way, I started a story for the TV show Sherlock! It's called I Will Burn You. Lol, I come up with the strangest titles. But honestly, I don't know what I think I'm doing, writing 3 stories at once. But if you saw the show and liked it, you should check it out!