AN: ACD owns stuff. It¡¦s a long chapter (for me anyway)!

Chapter 8

Holmes and I arrived at San Francisco without further incident, though it did relatively little to relieve my nerves- or Holmes¡¦, for that matter. It seemed that he had reached an even more heightened sense of alert, scrutinizing our surroundings every three minutes. We were currently sitting in a grassy area off Polo Field in San Francisco¡¦s Golden Gate Park, munching on deli sandwiches in a comfortable silence. Nearby, two youth league soccer teams were playing what appeared to be an intense game; parents were screaming all sorts of disruptive phrases.

¡§You never wanted children.¡¨ Holmes broke the silence.

I was still surprised how often he could read my thoughts. ¡§No. I didn¡¦t. James did though.¡¨

¡§How did you and James ever meet anyway?¡¨

The question was harmless. ¡§In college. We were both in Senate and worked on a few projects together. And you know, things progressed from there. We were dating through most of senior year and on through grad school; he was working on a joint PhD in math and computer science, I was in med school. We married, and then things went downhill from there.¡¨

¡§Why?¡¨

I sighed. This was always a sticky point. ¡§My parents never approved of James. He was white, and they always said that we were too different to last. My mother almost had a heart attack when I told her I was going to marry him. My father¡K well, we haven¡¦t spoken since. They couldn¡¦t understand that James and I wanted to build something new. I mean, even Watson is a combination of our last names, Wang and Johnston. So it¡¦s always been a battleground; James despised my parents, and I tried to defend them.¡¨

¡§I see.¡¨

¡§And you know, they were right. Here I am, going on thirty, estranged from my folks, already divorced, and still trying to hang on to a last name that doesn¡¦t even mean anything anymore. I mean, James even took on his mother¡¦s maiden name instead of even going back to his old one. He¡¦s moving on, fashioning himself a new life, but I don¡¦t seem to be able to. Instead, I¡¦m hanging around dead bodies and smell like a walking lab accident.¡¨ I let out a short, bitter laugh.

¡§Somehow I doubt that James¡¦ name change had anything to do with that,¡¨ Holmes commented. ¡§But really, Watson, has working as an ME been that boring? I mean, you get to work with me, and it¡¦s anything but dull.¡¨

I threw a crumpled sandwich wrapper at him. ¡§Taxing would be a better word. Since we¡¦re being all talkative today, how did you ever end up at Lestrade¡¦s beck and call?¡¨

Holmes appeared slightly peeved. ¡§I help Lestrade because I like the flexibility of not having to be official. Furthermore, Lestrade¡¦s ineptness gives me a freedom that I normally wouldn¡¦t have.¡¨

¡§Have you always been interested in detective work?¡¨

He had a faraway look on his face as he answered. ¡§Actually, not really. I used to be a research chemist. It was the most exciting thing in the world, doing hands-on research, and analyzing hard data. I was interested in crime as an aside then, but only in physical evidence. Lawyers lie, witnesses lie, defendants lie, and juries can be wrong. Evidence, on the other hand, never lies.¡¦

¡¥So I began to study how physical evidence is gathered, and soon, I was hooked. I quit my job and started working in forensics. I became obsessed with blood splatters, and even wrote the first official work- Bloodstain Pattern Interpretation- on that subject. I was concerned with truth, not motives- that aspect I left up to detectives.¡¨

¡§So when did motive begin to matter?¡¨ I asked.

¡§When Jason was murdered.¡¨ The last sentence was a whisper, which I almost didn¡¦t catch.

Jason Holmes. His brother¡¦s keeper. ¡§Your brother?¡¨

Holmes didn¡¦t answer. I took that as a yes.

¡§I¡¦ve set it up so that he thinks we¡¦re in Arizona,¡¨ Holmes announced suddenly, changing the subject, as he started brushing bread crumbs off his shirt. ¡§So we¡¦ve lost him temporarily.¡¨

¡§So how long do we have? ¡¨ I mumbled through a mouthful of roast beef.

¡§They should all be in custody Monday night. Lestrade¡¦s handling it,¡¨ he replied. I detected a bit of anxiety in his voice; Lestrade was not best person to carry out a detailed trap. But it didn¡¦t seem like there was much choice.

¡§So that gives us three days to spend here. Are we going to spend it all here?¡¨

He smiled a little, traces of the last conversation topic all gone. ¡§If all goes to plan. Why, you don¡¦t like San Francisco? I¡¦m personally quite fond of the trolleys myself.¡¨

¡§I¡¦d like it a lot better if I knew where we were staying tonight. Park benches are not my style.¡¨

He looked hurt. ¡§Come, Watson, you can¡¦t possibly think I¡¦m that heartless.¡¨ He began cleaning up. ¡§We¡¦ll head down there now.¡¨

I followed suit, brushing the grass off my coat, glancing wistfully at the carefree soccer players on Polo Field one last time before I ran after Holmes.

*****

We hopped off the trolley forty minutes later at Fisherman¡¦s Wharf, Holmes leading the way. We ended up at a quaint little bed and breakfast that began to look sickingly familiar. It couldn¡¦t possibly be¡K

¡§O ye of little faith,¡¨ Holmes remarked dryly as he walked straight into the bed and breakfast. I swallowed uneasily, and followed Holmes, who was already at the check-in desk.

I glanced around the entry, comparing it to the last time I was here. A new coat of paint was the only difference; even the furniture was the same. It wasn¡¦t that long ago, I told myself. Two years.

¡§Come Watson, let¡¦s go.¡¨ Holmes¡¦ voice broke me out of my stupor. He directed us to a room down the short hallway, opening the door with a flourish.

¡§We¡¦ll stay here for tonight.¡¨

I surveyed the room- two beds, a couple of chairs, a bathroom, and a cozy fireplace, which Holmes was lighting up at the moment.

I plopped down on the nearest bed and closed my eyes, trying to organize my thoughts on what was a tumultuous twenty four hours. I barely got a couple of minutes before there was a knock at the door. I cracked open one eye. Holmes was reclining on one of the chairs, not moving, lost in his own little world.

I shook my head, rolled off the bed, and opened the door. ¡§Message for Mr. Holmes.¡¨ The clerk at the front desk held a folded piece of paper to me, which I accepted.

I nodded my thanks, tipped the guy a dollar, and shut the door. Turning around, I started to open the paper, but Holmes, who had leapt out of his seat, immediately snatched it out of my hand.

I tried to read his expression (a futile action) as he read the note. He held the paper steadily in his hand for what seemed several moments. His hand than began to shake, and he crumpled the note up and tossed it in the fire in one swift action. Then, without saying a word, Holmes stalked into the bathroom, slammed the door, and let out the longest string of curses at LAPD (Lestrade in particular) that I had ever heard. It probably would have been longer, except he had turned on the shower, and the rushing water drowned out any other choice words he might have had for the ferret-like detective.

I glanced at the fire, wondering what on earth caused this rage from someone who had never lost his temper. I then noticed that Holmes had missed his mark; the note that he had intended for the fire had landed only to the side, it¡¦s edges barely starting to singe. Using a pair of tongs I found next to the fireplace, I fished it out.

I gingerly opened the note and read it.

Jake:

Circumstances forced us to put the plan in action earlier than expected; however, we were able to apprehend everyone in the gang, with the exception of James Moriarty himself. Do not worry, as we have the best police officers on his trail.

Lestrade

James Moriarty. No, it couldn¡¦t be.

Besides, something came to light tonight that reassured me of your safety; this man¡¦s rage against me will be all the greater when he finds me with you. Holmes was after James, my ex-husband.

I sunk down into the nearest chair, gripping the armrest tightly. I needed answers. Holmes couldn¡¦t shower forever, and I would be ready when he came out.

AN: Ah, showdown! Anyways, much thanks to my reviewers as always. (I love you guys so much that I¡¦m writing this in the midst of congestion and sore throat-y-ness; plus, I¡¦m also out of the country!) Silent Beatnik- your insistence was what made me write this chapter earlier than planned; Fowl-Star- hope your vacation was super fun, thanks!; Pinkpanther- thanks so much for your encouragement, I think I¡¦ll be done with this after this story, though there are some still plot kinks that might have me write a sequel (though I don¡¦t think it¡¦ll be as strong a story- anyway, will ask for your opinion when the time comes); Finely- you¡¦re really too kind, my story¡¦s not that good (in fact, I think it stinks in so many areas- especially characterizations); and last but definitely not least: snowwolf: You are one amazing person! Thanks for all the detail/attention you give my story! You all are awesome; you all definitely deserve better than what I¡¦ve written, especially since you all might wring my neck after the next one.