My life is a weighted scale. When I want something, it goes to one side of my mind. All other attentions drop, and everything is focused on that one thing. Suddenly, I want something else. I want it easily, quick and without any argument. That desire takes over the rest of my brain, and balances out the scale. I have to sit and wait until they even out. Sometimes, I watch them wobble back and forth in my head, or wait until one sinks completely. One may dominate the other. They may be equal. I am not talented when it comes to certainty. I never was. I probably never will be.

Often, when I'm stressed about things, or uncertain about what to do next, cleaning is an escape for me. Polishing other things makes me forget that my own life is left tainted. I hadn't been at my home for nearly an hour until a knocking stopped me from my cleaning. It was brusque, strident and to the point. Whoever it was, they wanted in quickly. Only three more seconds until…

Knock knock knock knock knock.

Oh, I laughed bitterly to myself as I placed my broom atop the table, how perfectly spot on I was; the little things Holmes teaches me. And why so many knocks? They must be urgently wishing to see me. Who on Earth could that be?

My tired feet briskly slugged me over to the door where I pulled back the handle with hesitation. "Yes?" I mumbled before I even got the chance to look up and see my guest.

Brilliant blue eyes. Hair falling in chestnut waves. A smile as amiable as ever. A face unexpected, but one that would always be welcome in my heart and home. I had to clasp a hand over my mouth to stop my excited laughter. "John!" All formality between us was lost for the moment in my state of shock. "Could it be you? Are you back in London so soon? I feel as though I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Rena!" He said before stepping inside. His face was just as glowing as the first time I had met him and once the door was tightly shut he pulled me into his arms. I could feel my cheeks growing red at the mere touch of him, an almost married man, but I was undoubtedly gladdened to see him. "I realize it hasn't been extensive, but being away from you two does make for some stretched and quiet days."

"I'm sure Mary keeps you busy," I chuckled, nudging him playfully on the arm. "The wedding is coming up very soon, isn't it?" Wedding. Somehow the word struck me as lovely. I'd never thought much on the topic before, but at that moment the mere word sounded exquisite rolling off the tongue. Visions of white dresses, large flowers and charming hair flashed through my mind. Watson deserved a woman like Mary; kind, loyal, yet still with a mind of her own. She must have been dreaming of the upcoming day for months.

I, on the other hand, had never been the kind girl who dreams of her day in white lace. I often protested the idea with modest innocence. However, the more wrinkles began to appear in my face, and the older I began to feel, I could see why marriage was so appealing to some women. Professing love; love that will never fade. Till death do you part. It was sacred in a way.

"It's coming up sooner than I hoped," Watson replied. I was startled from my thoughts instantly. "Mary, however, doesn't wish to have too much help on this. I felt bad enough as it was working on this case, but now that I'm available she doesn't even want me around! I knew she was an independent woman, but I suppose I never really knew until about a week ago." Though his words could have been taken as bitter, the dreamy smile on his face portrayed his true affections. He was in awe. He was clearly in love. I sighed inwardly with admiration.

"I daresay I haven't seen you look any happier, Watson." He nodded in the sense that he had little words to express his glee. I noticed his hat and suddenly began to feel embarrassed. My mother was always the hostess. She never bothered to teach me. And she wonders why I'm not more of a lady. "Please," I smiled. "Do make yourself at home. There's not much around here, but I could fetch you a cup of tea, if you'd like."

"That's alright, Rena, don't trouble yourself," he said quickly with a raise of his gloved hands. "I'm not staying long. I would love to, but unfortunately I can't. Holmes asked me to fetch a few things for him, and is expecting me soon." Watson rolled his eyes. "I'm here for three minutes, and already he has me shopping."

"Perhaps you needn't get married," I smirked. "It seems you already have a nagging wife."

Watson rolled his eyes. There was no denying that. "I was a bit surprised to see you weren't there with him," he said softly. His eyes locked with mine, and somewhere in our gaze he read my thoughts. He didn't seem to want me there. "Whatever this is, don't let it trouble you. Holmes has a way of saying what he doesn't mean, and meaning what he doesn't say. It gets very frustrating, but I'm sure if I can manage to figure it out after all these years, you can too."

"Well, thank you," I chuckled gently. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

"I would love to stay and chat, but I'm afraid I really must be off." Watson's voice held an honest hint of resentment. "When he said you were home, I knew I had to see you. It was lovely. I know you'll be around soon, yes?"

I nodded gently, hoping that would be the case. My mind tricked itself far too often. One day I wanted to be with Holmes, the next I thought it would be best that I wasn't. Who knew what I would feel tomorrow? Just before Watson left, a thought landed itself in my mind. "Wait! Watson, what have you come back to town for?"

"Wedding preparations," he shouted just before crossing the street. "You know; only things London could have!" With a flick of his wrist and a wave goodbye, he was gone as soon as he had appeared. A sinking feeling rose in my stomach. It was a short farewell, but it tugged at my heartstrings. My dear friend Watson… Someone I would surely miss if they weren't around. Holmes had seemed distant today. I wasn't sure why, but in the back of my mind, I blamed myself.

~.~.~.~.~

The candles I had lit were drowning in their own skin. Their brims were spilling over with wax, and the flame grasped for air as much as it could. I sat quietly at my kitchen table, watching the flames suffer until their dying breaths. Outside, I could hear the evening crowd of London making their way to final destinations for the evening. Some were off to the theatres; some to their lovers. Some were walking about for no reason at all. Some had a reason, but had to keep it secret for moral reasons. They just wanted to get out into the yellow air of London; the putrid, yet somehow beautiful air of London.

The sun was setting, and my mother still wasn't home. She wanted to be away from me; we both needed time. Holmes wanted me to stay home. He too wanted to be away from me. How long had it been since Watson stopped by? Hours. With nothing but the candle and tea to keep me company, I found my thoughts taking over. Thoughts I didn't want to remember, but things I couldn't forget.

"Renadale," Edward smiled. "That's quite a charming name. Where did you get it from?"

I smiled, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. "My father was told that the name Rena meant melody. He didn't think it was enough, so he added 'dale' on the end, for whatever reason. My father had a… unique way of thinking."

"Like you," Edward nodded as his eyes glistened by the firelight."Some might be judgmental towards the way your father taught you. Some things seem to be beyond most women's reach, but you're smart. Your mind is a ticking clock, Renadale. Always moving, always taking a step forward."

Shakily, I raised my eyes to face his. I felt my hands instinctively move up to tuck another curl behind my ear, but his hand reached out and grabbed it. His fingers were cold against my skin, but I didn't mind. "Don't," he mumbled. "I like your curls."

I groaned and buried my face in my hands at the memory. His dark hair, dark like my own, sacrificed forever to the cold Earth. So many were dead, and I couldn't help but blame myself. What way was there to find solace? What way could there ever be to live a life like that?

"So, now that the case is over…" I said to Holmes as we traveled back from the hanging. "What will you do?"

Holmes raised his brows, snickering beneath his breath. "That is a very practical question, Miss Adkins. One that you and I should both find the answer to." The carriage bounced up and down for a while in silence over the cobblestones.

"Right," I mumbled. Thoughts of leaving him couldn't help but bring themselves up. Not leaving as in forever, but just as a partner. I didn't think I could handle much more. Watching a man struggle for his life changed things. It changed everything. Hesitantly, I reached for a falling curl, tucking it behind my ear.

"Did you get your curls from your father?"

It was my turn to raise my brows. "I'm sorry?"

"Your father… was his hair curled?"

"Yes… He had curls. Though, I can't remember them being any color other than grey."

"I see," Holmes muttered, redirecting his gaze back towards the spider on the glass. "Unfortunately, black and white photos wouldn't be much of a help to that research either, would it?" Somehow his question didn't need an answer. My head dropped, and along with it a curl. In annoyance and discomfort, I reached up to tuck it back again. Quickly, I felt Holmes snatch my hand in his. His fingers were gentle against mine. "Don't," he sighed. "If it can't stay away, then don't try to hold it back."

I think my eyes must have twinkled.

"It's just…" He coughed, letting my hand drop. "Gravity."

Slowly, I began to raise myself off of the kitchen table. His words echoed to me inside my head. Not the part about gravity; that was merely to shake off the uneasiness. "If it can't stay away," I whispered in the solitude. "…then don't try to hold it back."

I didn't want to stay away from him. Why should I hold back?

For a long time, I drummed my fingers on my table, wondering when the opportune moment would be to go to Baker St. The moon has already risen when I finally made my decision, and the river Thames was settled and asleep for the night. I wasn't, however. I wanted to see him, and I wanted to see him soon. He wasn't going to get rid of me that easily. After all, he was still my boss.

~.~.~.~.~

"Mrs. Hudson!" I grinned as Holmes's housekeeper opened the door for me. She seemed shocked to see me, but after a moment smiled back as well. Her mop cap was snug on her head, and the candle made shadows across her face. I could tell she was getting ready for bed. "If you could, please request for Mister Holmes to come down and join me."

She frowned, turning her head around to the clock behind her. "But… Miss Adkins it's very late in the evening." She pointed quickly to her plugged ears. "And the man's already pulled out that blasted instrument of his. I won't reckon he'll want to go out tonight." Whenever Holmes was bored, it was always the violin who suffered.

I nodded, unable to hide a smile. "I know and I'm sorry if I woke you. But, if he'd be willing to, I'd really appreciate him coming down to see me."

She looked at me for a moment with sympathetic eyes. I could see very clearly what she was thinking. That poor girl; fallen for a mad man who can't seem to play a decent note. Regardless of her opinion, she agreed and went upstairs to see if she could fetch him. I knew my mother would probably be home soon, and no doubt wonder where I was. But, I had a plan and she wasn't going to ruin it for me. Even if Holmes was bitter about seeing me, I wasn't going to let that spoil things. This was a piece of me that I wanted him to know.

I spun around on my heels, with my back now facing the door. As I breathed into my frigid hands, I stared across the road. People were still out walking around. It was London; it never slept. But, Baker St. always had a way of being much more serene than other streets. I watched a couple holding hands beneath their gloves, whispering sweet nothings to one another. Soon, they were out of sight. Their story would always remain a mystery to me.

"Renadale?"

I spun around. Holmes was dressed in his trench coat, his pipe loosely hanging from his mouth. He stared at me quizzically, obviously a bit displeased to be out in the cold and not knowing as to why. "Oh, hello Mister Holmes."

"Formality?" He mumbled through clenched teeth around his pipe. "Two people standing outside in the London cold and you're expecting us to be formal with one another. Why exactly is it that I am standing outside in the London cold a quarter past ten anyway… Miss Adkins?"

My heart was pounding in my chest. Though is level of sass was at an astounding high, I ignored it. I briefly glanced at his hand to see if it was occupied. Thankfully, it was not. "Come on," I said, putting his hand in mine. His eyes grew wide instantly. If his senses hadn't been in tact because of the wintry night, I believe his pipe would have fallen straight from his mouth. "Don't ask questions. Don't say anything unless I ask you to. Just hold my hand and follow me."

"Miss Adki-"

"Did you not hear what I just said?"

"Touché," he murmured behind a puff of smoke.

I smiled as he kept his silence. He was mindful of other eyes watching us, and having them glance at our clasped fingers. He kept his head down at all times, clearly ashamed of something. Somehow I didn't care. Holmes was a shy man but he was always himself. If he didn't want to hold my hand he would have let go by now.

"Will you grant me permission to speak?" He muttered as we began to walk down a deserted beggar ally.

"I suppose you may, though you'd be breaking my rules."

"I've never really had a knack for rules, Miss Adkins," he smirked. "But, have you been sitting my candlelight?"

I creased my brows together in confusion, but kept my pace. "Curious… How could you tell?"

"I will tell you how, Miss Adkins, but I must say that it is a sworn secret. You must swear to never tell."

I could feel the cold air seeping through my pores and making my bones shiver with excitement. "I promise." He stopped his feet for a moment, despite my tug to move on. "Well?" I mumbled, beginning to feel anxious. My hand slipped from his. "What is it? How can you tell?"

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. "I haven't the slimmest indication."

"So, the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't know how inquisitive he is?" I chuckled, though by realistic standards, I was very confused as to how he knew. "What a surprise. If you must know, my candle light burnt out about an hour ago. Therefore, I could easily say that you're wrong."

"Yet, we both know I'm not." He always had a way of making me at a loss of words. "With you, I can just tell these things. I can also tell that you've been doing nothing all day but cleaning and thinking."

"That's not fair. Watson came and told you what I was doing."

"Aha," Holmes said, gently pushing me along again. I had lost my focus and stopped completely. Clearly, he was curious as to where I was taking him, and put me back on track. "However, Watson told me that you were cleaning. The thinking part was one that I figured out all myself." We both smiled at one another. When Holmes was playful, it was a pleasant change in character.

As we began to enter the busier streets of nightly London, our voices were lost to others. "You never cease to impress, Mister Holmes," I murmured with a smile. He was behind me however, and surely could not hear me over the carriages and voices on their way to the operas.

"Miss Adkins," his voice mumbled behind me.

"Hold your thoughts, we're almost there."

He said nothing after that. I began to wonder if he was still following me. I glanced slowly over my shoulder to find him still there, but looking very uncomfortable. "Are you alright?" I chuckled, startling him. My voice made no notion to calm him, as his shoulders were still raised and displeasure was apparent on his face. His eyes scanned the people around him. Their eyes met his with some sort of familiarity, but none to express any greetings. "Oh," I mumbled. I knew what was wrong. "I'm sorry. Come, we'll take a quieter route."

Holmes shook his head, forcing a smile onto his face. "Quieter? What purpose would that serve?" Rolling my eyes, I led him towards an empty street. He wouldn't admit to his fear of public, but he didn't need to. I already knew it was there, and I completely understood.

"It's just this way," I sighed as my voice echoed in the calm street. Lamps outside of doors were twinkling in the darkness. Cats and mice could be heard scurrying around us, but I kept my head up and my eyes forward. "Almost there," I smiled back towards him. He merely raised a bow, and puffed out more smoke.

He followed my steps and eventually the clips of our shoes were all that could be heard. The street was certainly not a high end place to be, but it was familiar. I was comfortable there. Though, it'd been such an awfully long time. "Here," I paused outside of a faded olive door. "Open it." Holmes glanced down at the chipped and dented doorknob, clearly not interested at all. His eyes made their way back and forth between the threshold and my eyes, trying to decipher why on Earth I would bring him there. "Just open it," I frowned.

He sighed while tucking away his pipe. "I certainly hope this is worthwhile, Miss Adkins."

"Renadale."

"Renadale, yes," he said as he pushed open the door. "…that's what I meant." We both stood in silence, staring into the darkness of the room before us. The door was flung open, and no noise came from the inside. I could see a look of confusion on Holmes face, but I remained unafraid of the hidden room. "Am I to make an entrance?"

I nodded. But, before he could make his way forward, I felt my own feet tug me along. He watched me carefully from the doorway as I made my way inside the room. Tucked away towards the left side of the room near a fireplace was a single desk. I allowed my hands to run along its dusty top. Softly, I blew against my fingers, sending the dust twirling around my nose. "It's been so long…" My voice dropped. "… I'm not sure why I wanted to bring you here….out of all the people, though, I just wanted to bring you."

Holmes entered the room slowly, but he paid little attention to it as his eyes seemed to focus heavily on me. He watched carefully, trying to detect the emotions glossing over my eyes; something he was generally very good at. With a slight push of his hands, he closed the door behind him. The silence was even more solidified.

A window in the front of the room allowed for a street lamp's beam to coming shimmering in. It laid itself across the floor in a diagonal, yellow line. Resentfully, it reminded me of the museum and the light that spread across Jacob's face.

I watched Holmes make his way around the room to distract my thoughts. Both of our eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, and his interest was suddenly in a book shelf across from me. His fingers respectfully began to glaze over them. He asked no questions, and he held no judgment as to why I brought him there. I waited in silence, watching him.

"Marsh."

"I'm sorry?"

He pulled a faded black book from the shelf, holding it up to the beam of light. "James Marsh detected the presence of arsenic in the human tissue in 1836," His finger pointed to the book's author; James Marsh. Holmes nonchalantly slipped the book back to its rightful place. "Even though the case is over, it's as though the poison is still everywhere around us; even in books."

"What a shame. Books are the greatest gift." I said, and genuinely meant it.

He grabbed another from the highest ledge and carried it over to me. He set it firmly down on the desk in front of me as his eyes remained glued to the cover. I glanced at it briefly, but just by the color I knew what it was. "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," he smirked. "How exceedingly different. There's only one reason that book would be in a place like this."

Slowly, my eyes lifted to his face. We both knew why the book was there. He smiled, but this time it was not a happy smile. It was not a sad one either, nor one with hidden meaning. It was for my comfort.

"It's mine," I whispered, letting my fingers slip over the inscribed flowers dancing across the leather. "I read it every time I came here. I sat by that very window and read that little book so many times, I believe the cover would have ripped off if I hadn't grown out of it one year earlier."

"This is where your father worked," Holmes deduced. I nodded. "Why did you bring me here?"

My shoulders rose and fell quickly. "I'm not sure," my voice cracked. "You told me that I shouldn't hold back from things I couldn't stay away from." My hand was still pressed against the cold, crumbling cover. I wasn't sure if I would be able to move it, or if it was permanently there. "You can't understand how much I've longed to come back here for this; to smell the scent of this place once again and to feel his presence in even the slightest way." My hand fell slowly from the book. "But, I was afraid. I couldn't do it alone." My stomach began to feel empty, like someone was scraping the guts. "I… needed you."

"And will you continue to need me?"

My breath stopped short as I struggled with my answer. We were opposite one another across the table, but his gaze was a bit of secretive as well as mischievous. Was this the question I'd been asking myself? I couldn't lie to him and say yes. What if he wanted my answer to be 'no'? What about the doll beneath the bonnet; Irene Adler? What of my sanity, and my mother? How could I answer such a question to the man it concerned?

"To repeat yourself…" I whispered. "I haven't the slightest clue."

Gently, he scooped up the book in his own hands, and placed it back to its rightful place. I stared at it cynically from where I stood. "That book belongs here," Holmes said, seemingly switching topics. "It's been there for a long time. Somehow, it just needs to stay there with its brothers. It knows where it belongs."

I couldn't help to notice that Holmes wasn't just talking about the book. "Do you think that book is happy?" I asked with a sharp stare.

"I want nothing more than for that book to be happy."

We looked at one another for a long moment. I could feel my father's presence at the workbench behind me. I could hear his voice in my head. I want nothing more than for you, my dearest girl, to be happy.

The sound of my father's voice in my head only made the feeling in my stomach worse. "What of you?" I asked suddenly, trying to make his voice leave my head in any way possible. "Will you need me?" Holmes was taken aback by my question, but did not seem so startled as to not supply an answer. "I mean… will you need my help? Watson is here now. I'm no detective. I think we both know that is a key point."

Holmes scuffed the floor with the heel of his boot. His thoughts were lost within themselves, trying to make sense of the strange girl that stood before him. Even I knew how confusing I could be. I didn't blame him for not saying 'yes' right away, though it's certainly what I believed my heart wanted.

"No."

The empty feeling in my gut was flooding back. "No?"

"No, I don't need you to help me," he said calmly. I carefully turned back to him, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. Go away, I cursed at the pain as I gripped the edges of the desk. "Renadale, I neverneeded you to help me. In all reality, do you really thing my inquisitive nature even relied upon Watson to help me? Though he's a doctor, my ability and knowledge of forensics isn't halfway dilapidated enough."

"You're turning this around on Watson too?"

"There's no turning," Holmes said firmly. "I wouldn't have had it any other way."

"Then why keep us here?" I spun around and made my way to the other side of the table. "Why make us feel for you, if you know we do not need you? I know nothing about the life of investigation; all I know is the solitude of my own room, and the inventions that keep whirling around inside of my head… Even those are beginning to fade, and I feel as though you've given me little to hold onto."

"I said I didn't need you," Holmes explained. "However, I was speaking in the mere sense of business. You were not a very decent maid, I will tell you that much honestly."

"Debatable."

"At any rate, Miss Adkins, I didn't need you as a detective partner either. Logically speaking, I'm not exactly sure how you wound up in my home anyway."

"Haven't I heard this story before?"

"That doesn't mean I didn't want you."

"Want me how? Like you wanted Irene?" A gloomy look passed over his face, and if it wasn't so dark, I could have sworn his cheeks were red. "I think you hardly have any right to say what you do and do not want."

"I suppose you do?"

"What if I do? What if I understand you better than you think? Oh yes," I chuckled darkly. "The mysterious life of Sherlock Holmes is cracked by the one and only Renadale Adkins.; how quizzical of a thing to come about."

"You said it," he suddenly smirked.

"What? That I actually…" My voice began to trail off. "I actually try to understand you?"

"One of the very few, though I must compliment Watson on his impeccable effort," Holmes smiled, but I could feel the feeling of stupidity choking me and stopping my words. "And I compliment my brother as well-"

My irritation suddenly morphed into curiosity. "Brother?"

"Mycroft's the name," Holmes said with enormous ease and speediness. "Very intelligent. In fact, more so than I. He's a genius, to put it point blank and works for the government in matters that even I cannot deduce." I stood, flabbergasted. Here Holmes was, complimenting his brother so highly, and yet I had never once heard him mentioned. "In some situations, he's given himself credit to solve London's issues."

"So… Let me get this straight," I said slowly. "You have a genius brother who practically is the British Parliament?"

"Spot on," Holmes smirked. He always had a way of changing the topic to one less stressful. Inwardly, I thanked him for it. "And then there's myself, who is the Scottish Yard. However, I wouldn't wish to announce that, as I am rather blasé in comparison to them."

Slowly, I shook my head back and forth. "You are no Scottish Yard. You are an enigma in yourself."

"All the more of a challenge for you to solve. Consider it practice."

I shook my head and stared from behind the desk. As I slowly leaned forward, my inquiring brow began to rise. "What if I decide to take on that challenge?" Holmes merely smiled. Though he said nothing, and the room was silent as ever, I could hear a heartbeat in my ears.

The more I looked at him, the more ordinary he seemed. Bruises along his face and heavy bags beneath his eyes were more visible in the shadows of the study. His skin was scarred like any other man. And all this time he had a brother! He was absolutely a mystery, but one I would be willing to solve. "Holmes…" I mumbled, making my way around the writing table. "What are you going to do now that the case has finished?" We were close now, but neither of us flinched. There was no tension in the air; only comfort.

I watched his lip curl into a snarl. He obviously hadn't thought about that yet, and we both knew some of his preferable options; ones in which I did not approve of such as boxing. "That…" he muttered. "…is a sublime inquiry."

"I know I won't be living with you," I mumbled as the simple thought made nerves dance. "But, I'm worried about you eating correctly. I'm worried about your hygiene which, no offense intended, you often lack."

"Not a worry. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't allow lack of that for too long."

"That's not all that concerns me," I continued. "Your clothes will need to be washed." I took a step forward, my hands brushing dust from his collar. "You also need to be shaven regularly and your house needs to be kept tidy."

"Perhaps I underestimated your… maid persona."

I shrugged, smiling towards him. "I just want to see you well off." My hands still lingered upon his chest as I stared forward at his buttons. I could feel the warmth coming off from him, despite the unheated, old room. Everywhere, despite how much I tried to get it away, I could hear my father's voice. Renadale, hand me that book… and then I could hear my youthful voice in response… Yes, father! It had been years since I'd returned to his office; his safe haven away from my mother and the rest of life's demands. He always wanted to take me there. He taught me about things that most people said little girls shouldn't know about; the function of a heart, the diseases of the brain. I'd forgotten these things now without him there to remind me, but the mere presence of him was echoing off of the white washed walls and I could feel him hovering over me.

Holmes wasn't paying attention as I looked up anxiously towards his face. He was lost in thought, but he was there. That was all I needed at the moment. "I suppose now that-" Holmes began to speak, but as his very words were spoken, I found my arms instantaneously wrapping themselves around his broad torso. I placed my head against his chest and shut my eyes tightly.

"Sometimes I wish I could just forget." I whispered. "Let me move on. Help me let him go." I couldn't see Holmes's reaction, but I was certain it was one of stun. He made no notion to hold me back right away, but after a moment I felt his arms gently find me. "I try to forget about him," I mumbled. "Yet, every time I try, I just want to hold on even more."

Slowly, I felt Holmes lowering me to the ground in his arms. He leaned his back up against the wooden desk, one that I had hid under as a child many moons ago. I laid in his arms with my head still against him. Nothing felt better than the roughness of his well-worn jacket. The beam of light was now bent as it passed over Holmes's leg.

"I know that what you do is good," I began quietly. "You are the best man I know. But, it strikes me as odd. What do you gain from this; comfort in knowing that you did good?"

He waited a long time to answer. "The journey itself," he finally said. "…is the reward."

"That seems reasonable." My voice was soft.

"I sense a journey on its way," Holmes muttered. I could practically see his far off gaze without looking at him. "My work here is not even close to being refined."

"What makes you say that?"

"Think of the old man we witnessed the end of today… Where would he figure out how to find expert doctors, with similar thinking as he, in order to do his work for him?" Holmes was not exactly speaking to me rather than speaking aloud, but I listened regardless. "The pieces of the puzzle do not quite fit…" In his train of thought, his hand was gently sweeping over my hair. I wasn't sure if he was conscious of it, but I said nothing.

"Are you implying that this case isn't over?" I begged to any deity out there that the answer would be 'no'.

"The case itself is finished," he said firmly. "It's the fact that it is… part of a larger picture."

I quickly hauled myself off of him in frustration. "What are you talking about? This case is over. I watched it end this morning, and so did you."

"Where would a simple man like that, a man running an institution, know how to find those people?" Holmes sat up on his knees, his eyes holding a twinkle. I was not pleased to hear this. We were eye to eye, but our excitement was not matched.

However, although I didn't want to start thinking about another case so soon, answers to his question wouldn't seem to leave the boundaries of my mind. "Drawing from inquisition, it would presumably be another doctor. If the person in charge was comfortable with dispensing off all of his men, he would obviously have to be someone of high status." The words began to fall from my mouth with no intent of stopping. I could hear my voice rambling on and on, but Holmes made no effort to shut me up, so I let myself continue. "That way his name would never be tainted, and he could declare he had nothing to do with it. Certainly the man couldn't be mad himself, because who would listen to a mad man in all respect? He has given the image of being sane, at any rate, though he may very well not be. Very much like a teacher, or something-"

Quickly, something grabbed my face. I stared ahead to see Holmes coming at me, his lips pursed. I nearly screamed in surprise, but the force of his lips against mine was too shocking for me to utter anything. It was quick, but as he pulled away, he kept my head in his hands. "This is why I like you," he said quickly. "Sometimes, when you say things, you don't really say things. And yet, they give me some sort of heading. I'm not sure how that works considering I do an enormous amount of investigation with the facts, in depth and on my own, but it does. Thank you, Renadale Adkins. Next time I attempt to shut you up inside your pathetic excuse for a home, do not let me. I will not be in my right mind, as I was clearly not today."

He jumped to his feet, quickly lighting up his pipe. I remained on the floor, breathless and speechless all together. "I'm not sure if I should be offended or honored…Does this mean I'm being forcedto help you?"

"Yes," Holmes grinned. "When I figure out exactly where to start, then yes." His face dropped for a moment as he recalled a minor detail. "And of course after the… marriage." If I hadn't already known about his distaste towards the topic, I would have blamed his choking on his smoke. "You also have my permission to come in daily and check my water level, the cleanliness of my clothes and the well being of my mental state."

"…Thank you?"

"Flabbergasted, yes, I realize that you are." He offered me his hand, which I only stared at in uncertainly. He was on the verge of another case, or so he hoped, and was obviously on edge. I was glad that he would not have to sink into solitude once more, but I knew that his manic mode would be in progress. "I thank you for bringing me here. However, let me tell you that you do not need to rely on any physical place for a recollection of your father. Your mind may tell you that you are forgetting pieces of his face, or precise words, but you never really do. You can look in a mirror and see every piece of him that you wish to see. By the dandelion vase in the corner of this room, I can sense that your father was a sensitive man. He would want you to move on."

I slipped my hand in his and stood up steadily beside him. "Your deduction methods can be something of a cure, you know."

"I make an effort."

I sighed as I stared at his glowing face. It took all of my power to not smile at his boyish attitude. "So, now what?"

"Now…" He said as the light began to trickle across his face. It hit his brown eyes with a punch, making them practically golden. "We start over."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

ATTENTION! THIS IS SUPER IMPORTANT! SO READ IT! AND STUFF! YEAH!

Okay. I know you all went to go see Holmes on opening day, because that's just how we roll. This story only has ONE CHAPTER LEFT. In order to write a THIRD STORY I need to know what you guys want to read about. Here are options:

I can make up a new case that takes place AFTER this new movie. (Renadale would not take part in this new movie, because of reasons I would invent.)

Renadale CAN BE IN THE MOVIE. I would have to wait for it to come out on DVD, but I can certainly add her into the fun!

I can completely ignore the movie and create a new case, pretending that the Professor Moriarty case does not exist.

If you do not often leave comments PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT SAYING WHAT YOU WANT TO READ ABOUT. You have no idea how helpful it would be! Thank you! Thank you! :D

BTW HOW GREAT WAS THE MOVIE? Okay, why the eff was Mycroft naked? AND THE PONY PART WILL BE IMPRINTED IN MY MIND FOREVER. 3 Holmes is so cute. I think I may just have a heart attack.