It took the better part of an hour for the marriage license (and it's accompanied annulment) to get into the right hands for a legitimate copy could be made, so it was with little time to spare that Holmes, Watson, and Lefay tumbled into their train car for Brighton.

"A private berth," exclaimed Celeste as she entered. "How luxurious of you, Mr. Holmes."

"Only the best -of convenient places to conspire unheard by others- for my new bride," he answered teasingly.

Watson rolled his eyes, quickly claiming an entire bench for himself, leaving the other two to sit together. Celeste curled up by the window and gave it a couple taps. Magenta sparks briefly jumped out from the contact.

"Don't worry about leaving to smoke on my account, gentlemen."

Holmes gratefully lit up a cigarette, watching the smoke curl upwards and usher itself swiftly out the cracked window with the aid of magic. "Marvelous," he said before pulling the copy of the marriage certificate from his coat pocket. "Now, let's make a forgery."

Celeste gleefully took the certificate from him, holding her silver hairpin in her mouth while she settled everything, letting the tip glow with her magic before she rewrote their identities. "I assume the names we discussed earlier still suffice?"

"Of course," said Holmes with a wave of his hand. "We shall still be Basil and Amelia Lynley, a nervous yet respectable clerk and his patient, practical new wife. And Leopard, I hope you don't mind I've taken the liberty of contacting some regular patrons of the Eurydice Arms in order to ingratiate ourselves further."

Celeste smirked. "Not at all. I've been doing similar as well. Amelia met a lovely Mrs. Bembridge at her sewing circle just the other day. She regularly visits the resort each summer."

"Oh, we shall have to compare notes. She can't be half as candid as the contact I found. And lest I forget," Holmes pulled another set of papers from his coat pocket and handed them to Watson. "Everything you'll be needing for your bachelor weekend."

Watson skimmed over the hotel reservations and bits of identification for his alias, eyes narrowing as he saw the name. "Duncan MacGregor, MD? Are you serious, Holmes?"

"You've used it before. I thought it would be easier for you to adopt with familiarity established."

"And I only took it last time because we were in Dumfries and my brogue is better than yours."

"Be that as it may," said Holmes with the tiniest hint of petulance. "Doctor MacGregor is close enough to yourself for you not to muddle your fictions. Which you only need to get access to our room. The rest of the time you can spend at the buffet, lounging in the salon, and sleeping in without fear of violin music at all hours."

Watson huffed and leaned back in his seat. "If you'd have told me sooner, I'd have brought my kilt."

Celeste was trying so hard not to laugh her hands shook.

"Are you quite finished with your complaints?" Asked Holmes.

"I am, if anyone was asking," Celeste interjected, flourishing the finished marriage license between them. Nothing looked changed, save the names, but everything else was perfectly mundane. Both gentlemen complimented her charm work as they looked it over. Pleased, she handed back the paper before standing and stretching her back.

"As much as I would love to stay for the second act of your Mr. Punch act, I am a bit puckish and am going to prowl the dining car before hunger affects my mood. Shall I bring you anything back?"

They declined and she left, sliding the door closed behind her. Watson looked out the window, while Holmes took a couple long drags on his cigarette as a thick silence settled between them.

"Out with it," he finally said. "You've been sullen since the wedding."

Watson pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are in over your head, Holmes."

The detective snorted out a laugh. "I fail to see how. Officer Lefay and I have carefully laid out our roles, we are aware of the location, we've done our research, and the three of us make a formidable team. I find us well prepared for this case."

"Oh, I'm not talking about the case."

"Then what on earth are you talking about?"

"The fact you got married today," said Watson, visibly straining not to shout.

"For this case. And as soon as it has concluded, I am one telegram away from no longer being married. No complications."

Watson narrowed his eyes and gave his friend a long look. "Only that you are in love with her," he said slowly and deliberately.

"What if I am?" Holmes asked, his voice hollow and his face stone. "What would it change if I am in love with Celeste Lefay?"

The fact that he finally said it out loud stunned them both into silence for a moment. Watson with his eyebrows almost to his hairline and Holmes scowling with indignance for having to admit it at all. His expression shifted into something more contemplative as he found his voice again.

"Even if I feel like she brings the dawn into every room she enters, it does not matter. Even if I cannot control my pulse when she looks at me sideways, it does not matter. And even if I haven't been able to get that bloody -beautiful- crooked smile of hers out of my head since the day we met, it does not matter. It will never matter because nothing will come of it. Ever."

Watson stared in shock for a moment. This man was not just in courtly, flirtatious love; Sherlock Holmes was gone. Twitterpated. Lost at sea. Head over heels. And in utter denial he could ever make it a reality. "What makes you so certain?" He asked, his curiosity softening his tone.

When his friend met his gaze again, there was pain in his eyes. "Because I have nothing to offer her, Watson. She lives unfettered by society, completely independent enjoying the power, comforts, and respect of her people. Any need, she can easily fulfill herself. There would be no part of her life I could enrich; I would only add hindrance."

"Have you asked Miss Lefay how she feels about that?"

Holmes scoffed. "Oh, I'm sure such a proposal would go over swimmingly," he said sarcastically. "Excuse me, Officer Lefay, daughter of demigods, how would you like to give up your social independence, your place in the Fae District, and your very name to attach yourself, legally and personally to a flighty dilettante who hides cocaine and plays midnight violin. You should be flattered, Officer, really." He dramatically rolled his eyes and shook his head. "It is better this way. It is no insult to accept help from the eccentric colleague who holds no further intentions. I am better for her as an automaton. As… a brain without a heart." His voice broke the tiniest bit on the last phrase, and he turned to face the blur of scenery passing by.

"Then let it die." Watson's voice was calm and quiet in contrast to Holmes' earlier outburst. It caught his attention immediately. "Acknowledge what these feelings are, then excise them from your head as brutally as you must. Or you can confess to Miss Lefay and accept whatever the outcome may be -if you're brave enough. But this? This fear of confirming to your own mind the mere possibility is going to tear you both apart. Already you are behaving of two minds toward her, acting interested and denying it verbally. And one day, you are going to cross a boundary you never meant to cross. And you will say it is to keep her safe but really it is to keep her. And she will know all you have hidden, and you will lose her in every way that matters. So, accept it and share it, or kill it dead, but do not let your love fester."

Holmes was frozen as the full weight of the conversation dawned, then his head slowly dropped to the cool glass of the window.

"I don't mean this to be admonishment," continued Watson. "Or even discouragement. I just don't want to see two friends resent each other because one has his eyes clouded by denial. I wish you the best of luck Holmes, truly."

Having said his piece, Watson curled up in his seat, determined to sleep off the tension. And when Celeste returned from the dining car, she found both men seemingly deep in slumber. While true for the doctor, Holmes was wide awake and acutely aware of when she sat back down beside him. He was even more aware of when she dozed off herself, and her head slowly came to rest on his shoulder, the slightest smile twisting at the corner of her mouth.

This was going to be the longest week of his life, he thought.