Long after the sun had set on the Eurydice Arms and a full, pale moon illuminated the sea, Sherlock Holmes sat in deep contemplation across the armchair in the suite's sitting room with his dressing gown pooling off the cushion and a lazy plume of smoke rising from his pipe. One hand tapped a pizzicato variant of Bach on the armrest while he considered the events that had led him to this moment.

Shortly after Watson left, Celeste decided to check the room for anything unusual. Still being restless, she'd pulled him up from the sofa to inspect the backs of wardrobes, under the bed, and behind the paintings. The only unfortunate thing they managed to find was that the hotel, rather cheaply, had all the door handles and window latches made of cast iron and thinly painted over, severely limiting how much Celeste could touch them at all. Holmes had been spotting her as she inspected a perfectly normal air vent near the ceiling when a knock at the door made him lose his footing, bringing them both down onto the chaise with her pretty much on top of him. They hadn't had time to react beyond staring at each other before the waiter entered the room with their dinner. Like lightning, Celeste was standing and greeting the young man with a welcoming smile, her posture daring him to accuse them of anything untoward. The waiter, to his credit, was completely unfazed as he placed the two cloches on the table. Nevertheless, they said their awkward thanks and were left alone again.

With sunset rapidly approaching, Celeste made a crude sandwich out of a dinner roll and the roast while she got her reconnaissance gear together. Holmes laid out the sundry paperwork on the table, leaving a little room for his plate of salmon and greens. As she brushed the scuffs out of her boots, Holmes apologized for his earlier clumsiness. Celeste shrugged and managed to smirk with half a sandwich in her mouth.

"Think nothing of it," she said after washing down her dinner with tea. She looked back at him playfully before continuing. "Considering the alternative was us being caught looking for traps in the ventilation, I'd rather us just look amorous and impatient."

Holmes chuckled and hummed in agreement, electing not to dwell on Celeste's choice of words too much.

Done with her boots and her dinner, she peeked at the blueprints over Holmes' shoulder while she put on her gloves. "I thought you didn't eat on cases," she said, jutting her chin towards his plate.

"I thought you didn't read the Strand."

"Don't dodge the question."

Holmes rolled his eyes. "I don't eat heavy, over-filling foods while on cases. It just so happens that such foods make up the majority of both Watson's diet and British cuisine at large. So, early in our partnership, Watson made the erroneous conclusion I was starving myself for justice and the impression stuck among his readership."

"And I'm sure it helps to give any criminals reading the idea their pursuer is an emaciated invalid."

"Partially," Holmes said with a wink. "That, and there is nothing so detrimental to the urgency of a chase as indigestion. A malady you are born under lucky stars not to suffer, Leopard."

"I do have a sturdy Fae stomach. Not much could hinder me save iron, ash, and nettles," she boasted as she strode toward the balcony before stopping abruptly at the door. "Speaking of the former…"

"Of course," said Holmes as he opened it for her. "Good luck on your prowling, Officer."

With a crooked smile, she leapt from the balcony railing to the parapet above them and disappeared into the shadow, leaving Sherlock Holmes alone to contemplate the stars. He lit his pipe and focused again on his assembled papers, ignoring how much colder the room became in his solitude.

A couple hours later, Holmes had found little of interest in the resort blueprints, (aside from his sympathies for the staff, who were boarded in a subterranean level beneath the hotel and near the boiler room). However, he had made headway in cataloging their fellow clientele, and he decided to reward his efforts by drawing a hot bath. No sooner had he got the water running than he heard a tapping at the balcony door. Beyond the glass he could see Celeste, covered in large swaths of soot with her hair mussed and her eye twitching.

"Any luck?" He asked, barely keeping back laughter.

"I found the coal shed. Now kindly shut up." She crept through the sitting room as delicately as possible, avoiding the expensive pastel furniture at all costs.

It was clear someone needed that reward more than he did. "The sizeable tub in the toilet is at your disposal, Madame," Holmes said with a bow. "I will stay here, keeping well enough out of your way."

Relief washed over Celeste. "Derryn, you are a saint." She sprinted, still delicately, to the bathroom, a little cloud of soot trailing behind her.

Holmes collapsed into the armchair, his laughter spilling over as he relit his pipe. He slowly grew quieter, becoming acutely aware that two rooms with two not-quite-closed doors separated them as Celeste was… indisposed. It wasn't that he was tempted to intrude so much as being unable to disregard the awkwardness of the situation. In the same way he was sometimes hyperaware of Watson's journal sitting on the writing desk in the sitting room. He had no desire to impose on his friend's privacy, but the knowledge that those private thoughts, often concerning him, lay nearby sometimes proved difficult to ignore. And there was also the fact that Celeste was his actual, legal wife for the time being. All Watson's concerns over the train ride came barreling back to the forefront of his mind. But Celeste deserved the best of him, so there was nothing he could do in the moment but sit and stare and let his mind run its course until something changed.

The change came in the form of Celeste waltzing in with her dressing gown cinched over pajamas and her damp hair in a loose braid.

"Any dark secrets from the clientele so far?" She asked as she poured herself a glass of whiskey.

"Nothing too salacious yet," said Holmes as he rose to show his work. "Captain Armitage is on his third wife and all of them were Fae. His previous paramours are accounted for though," he added when Celeste raised her eyebrows. "Did you find anything besides the coal shed this evening?"

"Not very much," she answered with a roll of her eyes. "The resort was once a manor home and has endured multiple additions. They have a sizeable stable, and the riding grounds have access to the surrounding cliffs and countryside, something we can take advantage of later. Then there's the fact that most of the staff dormitories are between the boiler and laundry underground. They must be miserable."

"And for that fact, they are likely more easily bribed than their employer believes them to be. I would like to look more into Widow Forrester. Her unique situation intrigues me."

"A human woman owning her own land and staying respectable with high society? A novel position indeed."

"At least until human society embraces a bit more progress, I'm afraid it is. Though I'm not sure Ms. Forrester would be on the side of it, given the scrutinous inspection of our marriage license," he said a little snidely as he flopped on the sofa.

Celeste groaned and knocked back her drink. "You would not believe the number of diagnostic enchantments the concierge utilized. Luckily, no one has planned for our particular solution before."

"I doubt many men wish to actually marry their mistresses in order to go to a hotel. To say nothing of those couples to whom society has denied the privilege of matrimony completely."

"How peculiar for your human society to restrict such a thing," she said contemplatively as she leaned on the arm of the sofa. "All required in a Fae marriage is for both parties to consent and desire companionship."

Holmes leaned back to grin at her. "If only the humans on this sceptered isle were brave enough to learn from our wilder kin."

"In the meantime, you could at least go to a Fae honeymoon resort and bring along anyone you wanted without reproach. Even Doctor Watson if you wished."

All the playful warmth that flowed so freely between them suddenly was sucked frozen and dry as a suddenly silent Holmes awkwardly cleared his throat and looked down to fumble with his pipe.

Immediately, Celeste realized her mistake with a jolt of panic. "Oh, Derryn I'm sorry. I forgot humans don't even joke about that."

A fond smile crossed his face. "No, it's quite alright. Watson was in the army, and I went to boarding school. Neither of us are ignorant. And we're not ignorant of some of the quieter gossip about us. Not always meant in so gentle a jest as yours."

Celeste slid down to properly sit beside him. "This society is neither a kind nor fair one. And I am sorry if you've ever had to be… less honest about yourself than you desired. Know that any part of you could never be an offense to me."

Holmes had to hide the naked adoration that threatened to show in his expression as he looked to Celeste and saw the truth of her words. There was no judgement in her eyes, only support and pride.

"That is immensely heartening to hear, Leopard. Though in truth, those rumors are just air. Watson and I have always made better brothers. Better than either of our blood brothers, actually. And while Watson has pledged his support similarly to you, his interests decidedly lie elsewhere. Whereas I have not had to worry about keeping that particular secret in a long time."

"Any interesting story attached to it?" She asked, her grin twisting into the corner of her mouth. "Only if you're comfortable telling it."

"You scandalous busybody," Holmes teased lightly. She shrugged shamelessly in response. "When I was at Oxford, I had a very sweet, very short, romantic relationship with a dear friend. It was a lovely eight months. Then when we graduated, Victor and I went our separate ways with nothing but well wishes and fond memories."

"How charming you two must have been."

"It felt so intense and dramatic at the time, but we were young. It was a nice moment, and I've had the benefit of understanding myself more fully in the passing years. I now understand that I find myself not so much attracted to the image of a person, but their intellect. The challenge and fascination inform their loveliness, irrespective of the shape of the vessel encompassing them. Their physical form molds its beauty around what I've already seen of their mind."

Celeste's heart could have burst in her chest, it was so full. That one little butterfly in her midsection had birthed an entire flock of winged hopes. Holmes had been so open and authentic as he shared his story. A story that enriched the picture of the kind, brave, soul she'd already seen. If his attentions never turned towards her in the way she increasingly realized she desired, Celeste felt honored to see this glimpse of vulnerability revealed from her friend.

"And what of you, Celeste Lefay?" Holmes said softly, seeking the comfort of a mutual vulnerability. "Are any idyllic entanglements hiding in your past?"

She scoffed quietly. "None quite so complete, I'm afraid. As early as finishing school, I realized that it was a strength of trust and connection that drew me to those I desired. Similarly irrespective of the shape of their vessel. But my youth was also marked by being impetuous and wounded, which hindered trusting or being trusted by anyone."

Holmes nodded in understanding. He'd been vaguely aware of her unhappy upbringing since the day they met, but it had never been acknowledged before today. It was an unspoken shadow around her that she would unearth when she was ready, and he was a patient friend.

She continued, shaking off that shadow with determination. "Though it did not stop me from desiring that companionship and causing me no small amount of resentment when those I desired inevitably moved on. My initial… disappointment at Lila Weatherby's marriage was not solely from an overabundance of Fae superiority."

"I knew it," Holmes said as he leaned back with a sly smile.

Celeste blushed furiously and swatted at him lightly. "Stop it, you. It was years ago. We were basically children, and now I'm quite happy for her. She sent me a card last month."

Holmes smirked. "I too got little Cyril's picture. Fitting considering we're partially responsible for that child's health."

"He is certainly a happy baby. And well-fed too."

They shared a laugh. Then Holmes' expression turned contemplative again. "So, no one else has even made an attempt in these interim years?" She shook her head coyly, and he decided to get bolder. "Not even Tobias Grimm?"

Celeste threw her head back and cackled at that. "Oh, I'm sure Toby would be overjoyed to marry me. In the same way he'd be overjoyed to have his coffee materialize at his bedside every morning. He may be a good friend, but I know how he would play the role. No matter how much we partner in the field, I would be no more than a comfortable routine for him as a wife. A faster conveyance for things he enjoys about me. And on some level, he knows I would object to such an arrangement. So, he's never voiced himself enough to ask, and our status as colleagues and childhood friends remain."

"Is there any arrangement you would not object to? Aside from a technicality during an investigation, of course."

"I'm not opposed in theory. Though it would be difficult to find someone I could put up with and who could put up with me in turn."

"I'm sure someone in this world is perfectly capable."

Holmes had meant it as teasing, maybe even a little reassuring, but it felt much more affectionate and self-referential coming out of his mouth. How had they gotten so close to each other during this conversation? His arm was casually slung over the back of the sofa. Two inches and gravity and it could be around her shoulders. When did the room get so warm? The fireplace had certainly gotten low as it was crackling away, casting enchanting highlights on Celeste's face. He knew just how dangerous a path he'd gotten them both into, and it took considerable effort to pull himself out of it.

With a flourish of his dressing gown, he leapt from the couch and looked out the balcony window, completely missing the look of confusion and disappointment that rapidly passed over Celeste's expression. "Well, it does seem to be rather late in the evening, and at this rate, I fear no one's going to scream murder in the courtyard and make it easier for us. Therefore, I suggest we turn in and steel ourselves for picking one of our gossipy informants as lunch companions. I say we get Captain Armitage over and done with as soon as possible. Don't you think so?"

It took a moment for Celeste to register the sudden change but accepted it with a bemused smile. She stood and stretched her back. "That suffices enough for me. I would certainly like to ask his young bride some questions. In the meantime, sleep is important. And I don't want to hear any claptrap about thinking better without it." She leaned on the edge of the half-closed pocket door and indicated to the bed behind her. "So, which side do you prefer?"

Holmes cleared his throat incredulously. "The chaise, actually."

"Do not kill your back on account of chivalry. We're both adults and can act accordingly," said Celeste with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh, I'm sure. There just wouldn't be much room for me, given how accurately you mimic a starfish in your sleep."

Right on cue, Celeste's jaw dropped, distracted by his deduction. He leaned on the other door, letting the implied barrier bisecting the suite come between them.

"Well at least I don't sneak ginger nuts in my pajamas." She shot back, thumping his shoulder so some telltale crumbs fell from the crease of his shirt collar.

Holmes was nonplussed. "Something you won't have to worry about disturbing you."

"You're being obtuse, Derryn."

"Goodnight, Leopard." And with a cheeky grin, he closed the doors between them, ending the conversation with a click. It took all of three seconds for the smug victory to evaporate from Sherlock Holmes. He stood for a long moment staring at that door, thinking about just how close a call that interaction had been, and how he was going to keep up his resolve for an entire week. What he did not know was that Celeste stood on the other side of that door for the same length of time, thinking the same things.

Neither got a restful night's sleep that night, despite the softness of the furniture. And it would be a long time before either would confess their dreams from that night to a soul.