Lestrade's visit proved to be the most exciting thing that happened all afternoon. Our guests, despite the urgency they had displayed the night previous, suddenly became as inscrutable—and as lazy—as cats. I got tired of waiting for something interesting to happen, and left to pay a call on my fiancée before she called off the wedding entirely. Holmes, as far as I knew, planned to spend the afternoon pumping the two Jedi for as much information as they were willing to tell him. I did not envy them a bit—Holmes could be dauntingly persistent. Everyone was occupied with something when I decided to leave, so I scrawled a hasty note and left it on the hall table.

Upon exiting the house, I discovered the day to be very fine, clear and crisp, with just a hint of a breeze to keep the air sweet. I found my heart lifting for the first time since I'd become involved in this mess. Truthfully, I would never have the disposition required to find happiness in Holmes's line of work. Though I found working with him to be fascinating, exciting, and morally satisfying, I had long ago found that I preferred the sunlight world and the smiling faces of innocence to the world of shadows and smoke that Holmes moved in. Not for the first time, I wondered what, truly, had driven Holmes into his profession, and had continued to drive him through the long, lonely years.

I wondered if Holmes ever longed for the sunlight.

I pushed the worrying thoughts from my mind and tried to merely enjoy the walk. It had seemed an eternity since I had last done anything so simple as take a stroll–though in truth only a few days–and it was exceedingly pleasant, as was the prospect of spending a few peaceful hours with my betrothed.

The waning sun slanted in through the windows of my study, staining the scattered papers that cluttered every available surface a blood red. I sat in my favorite chair; the stem of my pipe clenched between my teeth, and did my utmost to hold onto my patience.

Forced inactivity has always driven me wild, even when necessary. Watson accuses me of being hyperactive. I disagree. I merely dislike sitting around like a lump.

At last I could stand it no longer, and leaped up from my chair to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace. The older of the two Jedi was seated across from me in Watson's customary place. "You seem agitated, Mr. Holmes," he observed.

I did not favor that blatant statement of the obvious with a reply, instead turning to the subject that was foremost in my mind. "What exactly are we doing here? You must know, 'James Brien,' that I highly detest waiting around on anyone's whim but my own. Why hasn't MacEiver contacted us?"

"He will once he has his orders. Patience, Mr. Holmes."

"I can be as patient as a spider," I flared, "when I have good reason to be. Give me a reason, and I will show you patience. This appears to me as nothing more than sitting around and waiting for something to happen."

The study door opened and the younger Jedi entered. "I'm sorry to disturb you," he said, with a small bow. "But Mrs. Hudson found this in the hall and thought you should see it." He extended a piece of notepaper to me. It was the heavy linen, 100 weight writing paper that Watson favored, and I immediately recognized his disgraceful doctor's handwriting crawling across the page.

"Thank you," I murmured, taking the note. Ben remained by the door, and though his face held its usual non-expression I could sense anxiety in every line of his tense body. Had he received word from MacEiver? Or was there something else?

The contents of the note, however, shoved any thoughts of my brother's bizarre acquaintance and Obi-Wan's agitation from my head. I felt my face go rigid, as I long ago trained it to do when I did not wish unwanted emotion to show through. It did not fool my guests, with their ability to sense emotion.

"What is it?" asked Jinn sharply.

I didn't answer, rereading the note. What was he thinking? We'd only just escaped with our lives the night before, and likely had an underworld's worth of criminals hunting us, and he decided to go off and see his fiancée without so much as a word? This was one of the many reasons why I long ago decided that romance was a ridiculous prospect. It addled the brains of even the most brilliant–and as dear a fellow and good a physician as Watson is, he is hardly brilliant.

"Doctor Watson left the house some time ago," I heard Ben explaining. "He left a note."

The paper crumpled in my hand. "The fool didn't stop and think," I growled. "Moriarty knows he and I were there last night, and he'll be looking for vengeance." I flung the note down and reached for my coat, lying in a heap in the corner of the couch. "I'm going to fetch him at once."

"It isn't safe for you out there either," Jinn said. "We'll come with you."

I eyed his ill-fitting attire skeptically. "I fear that you would only draw attention."

"Is the average person truly such a fashion critic?" he asked pointedly. "With a coat on, I hardly think anyone will notice."

My argument had been a feeble one, and he had duly shot it down. I could think of no other protest and, honestly, had little desire to. After seeing the pair of them in action the night before, even one of them as a companion would go far to settle my mind. I am not a coward, and have seen and dealt more than my share of violence, but I am not a fool. Whatever suicidal tendencies Watson has ever accused me of are largely unfair, though understandable coming from a man who was once an army doctor.

"Very well," I said, making no effort to disguise the relief and gratitude that colored my voice. "I think it would be wise, however, if one of you remained here. Moriarty is not above striking even at our dear, innocent Mrs. Hudson. You stay here, Ben."

I saw an odd expression cross the younger man's face–likely a prelude to a protest at my peremptory orders, or at being left behind, or both–but a rumbled "I think that's wise, Obi-Wan," from his master chased it away and left the complaint unsaid.

"Yes, sir." To my surprise, the expression now on his face was not one of displeasure, or even resignation, but faint amusement. Perhaps it was at the prospect of remaining within easy reach of Mrs. Hudson's generous pantry. "Shall I inform her of her bodyguard?"

"For heaven's sake, no!" I exclaimed. "There's no need to alarm her! Your master and I are going out, that's all, and you'd rather not."

"Very well. Safe journey." He bowed again and glided from the room.

"A well mannered young man," I observed. A silly comment, but I hoped it would prompt an informative response from Jinn. The man was damnably hard to read, but I guessed that if I wanted to get any sort of indication about his inner character, his relationship with his apprentice was the path.

"Yes. I'm quite proud of him."

"His parents must be as well," I suggested.

The glance he turned toward me was faintly amused, and my respect for him went up a few notches as I realized he knew very well what I was doing. "He never knew his parents. Jedi are taken into the Order almost from infancy. I took him as my Padawan learner–my apprentice–when he was ten."

"Ah." I smiled thinly. It would not do, of course, to thank him directly for being so obliging in giving me more information, but I think he understood. Of course, it told me little that I had not already guessed–that the relationship was less master-apprentice than it was father-son. But as Watson has often informed the world, I dislike guesses, preferring to know rather than hypothesize.

A coat from my collection fit well enough over Jinn's wide shoulders, though as with his shirt it was woefully short in the wrist. My adoration of hidden pockets in every available item of clothing made concealing his lightsaber an easy task. I exchanged my threadbare dressing gown for a walking coat and bowler, checked my own arsenal of hidden weapons, and we were ready to leave.

The bloodstained sunset was fading to lavender and grey overhead, though a great deal of light remained visible westward over the buildings. A pleasant evening, so far as weather was concerned. I could understand why Watson had felt such a keen desire to go out of doors. My friend is an incurable romantic, with all the quirks and defects that implied, but I would not wish him any other way. Watson reminds me, by his mere presence, just what it is I have dedicated my life to protecting. It would be a sad world indeed without the great, romantic innocents like John Watson, M.D.

The home of Watson's fiancee was not far from my residence on Baker Street, a walk of some fifteen minutes or so. Jinn and I, long-legged, managed it in seven, and I rang the front bell with perhaps a little more force than was truly necessary.

The servant who opened the door was nearly my height, but a bit too fond of rich foods, as his impressive girth attested. "Is Doctor Watson here?" I demanded.

"Who–"

I did not wait for him to finish before pushing past him into the foyer. "Watson?" My voice rang loudly in the modest house. "Watson!"

Miss Marston appeared at the top of the stairs. "Mr. Holmes! What are you doing here?"

"I must speak to Watson at once." Behind me, Jinn was attempting to soothe the ruffled manservant. "Where is he?"

A puzzled expression appeared on her delicate features. "He isn't here, Mr. Holmes."

"I must–what?"

"He isn't here. I haven't seen him since tea yesterday."

My stomach dropped, and I found myself groping for something to say. A very worried look was growing all over my partner's future wife's face. "Ah...I apologize for disturbing you then, Miss Marston. I thought...he had come to visit you." Lord, what a pathetic act! I hadn't done so poorly in a very long time. Of course, a small part of my mind observed, I hadn't been this worried in a very long time, either.

Jinn came up behind me. "If he is not here..."

"I know," I snapped softly. "Again, accept my apologies, Miss Marston. He must have gone to see a patient. Excuse us."

She called after me, but I pretended not to hear. That she was worried I knew, but I also knew that worry would increase a hundredfold if I shared my fears with her. I waited until we were a good distance from her residence before exploding. Jinn waited patiently as I made several observations on Watson's naivete, my stupidity, and the ancestry of our enemies. The last was made in a much quieter tone, the good breeding of my childhood preventing me from making so public a display of my frustration.

"They have him, James, I know it."

"Most probably. I feared something like this would happen."

"Oh, you know everything, don't you," I snarled. "Fortune telling?"

"I do occasionally receive glimpses of possible future events," he replied placidly, thoroughly unruffled by my rudeness.

Perversely, his calm demeanor only irritated me further. "Then perhaps you could 'glimpse' where he might be?" The part of me that always remained a detached observer winced at the sarcasm dripping from my voice. He really didn't deserve my anger, but there was no one else around to take it out on.

"The future is always in motion. Infinite variables from the choices we make can shift it."

"You just said you 'foresaw' Watson's kidnaping."

"Watson's kidnaping was a possibility, nothing more. As I told you last night, there is great danger present for the both of you."

I grunted in reply, my mind already leaving the conversation to trace the varied possibilities. That Moriarty had taken Watson I was absolutely certain. But was it a direct part of the strange plot that had brought the Jedi here? Or was it merely a continuation of Moriarty's personal vendetta against me?

A/N: I love getting reviews, so thank you! Glad you're all still enjoying it.

For the record, Holmes is not, and never will be, a Force Sensitive. Why, you ask? I did this because, in my opinion, that would demean his abilities. Holmes is a prodigy, a shining example of what an 'ordinary' human being can be. :D I promise you, I thought long and hard about making Holmes a Force user, but in the end decided against it.

Todays recommendation: The Catalyst, by Lady Rhiyana. A Labyrinth fic, but one that far surpasses the movie in depth and spirit. You like intrigue and politics? Well, no one does 'em better than the Sidhe of the Underhill court, and Jareth, the Goblin King, is one of the best. Well-written and fraught with tension, I highly recommend it even if you're not a fan of the movie. It's an excellent piece of fantasy work!