I returned to Baker Street after one of the longest nights of my thirty three years, exhausted, filthy, and cold. I'd been to every contact I had in the slums of London, and even some of their contacts, but had turned up no information whatsoever to the whereabouts of John Watson.

Mrs. Hudson met me at the door, sympathy and worry etched on her round features. "No word, Mr. Holmes," she said softly. "I've had your Baker Street Ireg'lars running themselves ragged all over the city but they've found nothing."

It had, of course, been impossible to keep her ignorant of Watson's disappearance, nor had I really wished to. She was a member of the household, and had shown herself useful in the past, particularly with my little band of street Arabs who carried messages and spied for me. In truth, I think the little urchins were more fond of Mrs. Hudson than they were of me. Understandable: she fed and coddled them; I merely gave them pocket money. Sometimes they told her tidbits of information they neglected to mention to me, or considered beneath my interest.

Once inside the warm foyer I stripped off the ragged oilskin coat I'd worn, pulling a grimy knitted scarf from around my neck. "No, don't take them, Mrs. Hudson," I forestalled her as she reached for them, distaste written plainly on her face. "I'll take them upstairs to my dressing room."

"They need washing."

"Precisely why I don't wish you to get your hands on them, my good woman. It's taken a lot of careful and deliberate slumming to get them to the appropriate state of filthiness; I don't want you to ruin them with such a thing as a washing."

She snorted. "Of course. Oh! There's folks waiting for you."

I paused a few steps up the staircase. "Who?"

"A Scottish fellow, quite a dandy. And there's a lady with him. I've put them in the parlor–you should wash up before you see them. There's a bath already drawn upstairs. The other two gentlemen are still asleep. Shall I wake them as well?"

MacEiver and one of the female Jedi. "No thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Let them sleep. I'll ring when I'm more presentable, and you can send the newcomers up to my study." I would have preferred to see them at once, but I knew from the steely glint in my landlady's eye that she would brook no such insult to the house's reputation. In her eyes, one simply did not receive guests looking like a dockworker, and I was too tired to fight with her about it.

"Very good." She nodded curtly–the closest Mrs. Hudson ever came to a curtsy. "I'll get together a light breakfast as well."

"Just tea, Mrs. Hudson. I'm not hungry."

"Maybe you're not, but your guests might be. Go on with you now, Mr. Holmes. You smell."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

MacEiver leaned back in his chair, ostensibly relaxed. The expression on his face, however, said otherwise. "Qui-Gon told us what happened," he said.

"We've been looking all night," Maeve Stonehaven added. Though she was dressed more conventionally this morning, her clothes that of a woman of good fortune, to my mind there lingered about her a distinctly threatening air. I decided then and there that I did not ever wish to be involved in a fight with Miss Stonehaven. I wasn't entirely certain who would win. Perhaps my pride suffered from this decision, but at that point, I was less concerned with it than I was with how these people could help me.

"As have I," I said. "And I imagine that your results were the same as mine: negative in the extreme. It is as if John H. Watson, M.D., has ceased to exist."

MacEiver looked down at his hands. "We will continue to look," he asserted. "It is, I believe, partly our fault that your friend was taken."

"True," I agreed. "But never doubt that Moriarty would have done the exact same thing, provided the opportunity, in this situation or any other. He is trying to lure me into a trap."

This statement drew startled looks from both Jedi. "I know Moriarty well enough," I told them. "Too well, perhaps. There is a distinct possibility that this has absolutely nothing to do with the mysterious Mailen, his controller, or the plot to overthrow the world. Moriarty would cheerfully put all that on hold for a chance to capture or kill me."

"You seem very certain of his hatred for you," MacEiver said slowly. "It seems a lot to risk for a petty vendetta."

"Oh, trust me," I said with a wide, bitter smile, "this goes far beyond a 'petty vendetta.' I've managed to make his life extremely uncomfortable several times in the past few years. I've been told–several times and once by the man himself–that Moriarty has no fonder wish than to get hold of me and inflict any number of highly unpleasant things upon my person."

"That's a rather dangerous emotion to be carrying around," Miss Stonehaven observed. "Hatred is crippling–especially for a man of Moriarty's profession. Eventually it will blind him, and ultimately destroy him."

"I do hope so," I said fervently.

"You don't hate him in return?"

"I do not claim to be so great a Christian as to assert that I harbor no intense dislike for the man. I despise and abhor his actions...but no, I don't truly hate him. However brilliant he may be–and he's probably smarter than I am–he is still nothing more than a criminal. I don't hate criminals. It's a waste of time and energy better spent in catching them."

"Logical reasoning," MacEiver observed.

"Naturally." I steepled my fingers. "We seem to have drifted off the subject at hand. You came to tell me you'd found nothing about Watson, but that was not your only reason for coming to see me."

Miss Stonehaven lifted her eyebrows. "It isn't?"

"No," I purred. "Your secondary reason for coming here was to speak to my other guests. You are concerned because you still have heard nothing from Ilein, and you have also not heard from the one you sent to look for him–Derry, wasn't it? Naturally, you would come to consult with the only other of your kind on this planet who have the means to reach your ship."

I know it is considered rude to gloat, but I could not help the surge of satisfaction that passed through me as I watched the pair's expressions grow first surprised, then dumbfounded. "You seem...surprised," I added maliciously.

MacEiver suddenly let out a low chuckle. "I suppose I shouldn't be," he said. "You are Sherlock Holmes, after all. What gave it away?"

"The comlink on your cravat–I refer to the one cleverly masquerading as a cravat pin–is activated, or whatever you call it. It's a wonder no one noticed it blinking on your journey here. I can only assume that you are anxiously awaiting news. Now, that could be interpreted to be related to Watson's disappearance, but when one takes into account the not-quite-obliterated writing on your hand–a bad habit, I might add–where I can just make out the letters 'D-E-R', where you no doubt wrote a note to yourself to try and contact him again, and finally the fact that Miss Stonehaven's attire, while quite fetching, shows definite signs of hasty assumption, I can only conclude that there is more on your minds than poor Watson."

A wry smile tugged at the blonde woman's lips as she lowered her gaze to the smeared writing on her companion's hand. "You really ought to do something about your habit of writing on yourself, Taryn. And in the Earth alphabet for stars' sake!" She, however, began surreptitiously straightening the crooked fit of her pelisse and skirt and tucking away escaped wisps of hair.

"So I can see," MacEiver replied. Then he sighed, and lifted his hand as though to run it through his immaculately dressed hair, thought better of it, and settled for tugging at his cravat instead. "You are correct, Mr. Holmes. We have not heard from Ilein in almost four days and now, it seems, Derry has vanished as well. Along with the craft that would take us from the surface to our ship. Qui-Gon Jinn and his Padawan are the only ones save our enemy now who have another. I was hoping to request its use from Master Jinn after we had spoken to you."

"Are you certain that's wise?" I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "You now have two people missing in relation to your ship–doesn't that suggest to you that there is something very wrong with the ship itself? Or at least the area immediately around it?"

"It has," Miss Stonehaven said. "We were planning to send up more than one this time. Even in the event that Mailen somehow has other allies up there and they've somehow managed to overpower two separate Knights, no pirate in his right mind would want to deal with three or four Jedi all at once." She sounded, I thought, rather distressingly eager at the thought.

I shook my head. "It's a trap. Whoever is behind this–whether it is Mailen or some other, unknown person (much as I would like to say it's Moriarty, this truly is beyond his ken) clearly understands how you Jedi function. You don't think he, she, or it might be anticipating such a thing? I realize you people are quite...talented, but it only takes one bullet. Or," I amended with a thin smile, "one blaster bolt."

They both frowned mightily at this remark, but as neither said anything immediately I could only believe they were giving my words some consideration.

I continued. "Or perhaps this person wishes you to separate, to pick you off one by one."

Maeve Stonehaven folded her arms across her chest, a steely glint in her green eyes. "And what would you suggest then, Mr. Holmes?"

"I believe that Moriarty, though uninvolved in the events occurring off this planet, is still a vital part of this plot. Find him, and we may just find the string with which to unravel this whole tangled knot."

"Not to mention that we will find Doctor Watson," MacEiver said dryly.

I spread my hands. "Two birds with a single stone. Mailen is nowhere to be found; if there is another working behind him, we know nothing at all of this person. I know Moriarty, and though my efforts last night were, admittedly, fruitless, I will find him. The Professor will learn, to his great chagrin, that there is nowhere he can hide from me."

"You're very sure of yourself," Miss Stonehaven said cooly.

"As your companion mentioned only a few minutes ago, my dear, I am Sherlock Holmes, after all."

Her lips twitched, and she muttered something under her breath. I didn't quite catch what it was, but had no doubt that it was not particularly flattering to my character. I merely smiled at her.

A soft knock sounded on my study door. "Come," I called. Mrs. Hudson entered, bearing a heavily loaded tray. I rose quickly to relieve her of its burden.

"Thank you," she said, a little breathlessly. "There's a message come for you, Mr. Holmes. A policeman delivered it not five minutes ago."

I frowned. "I didn't hear the bell."

"Well, I was just going out to shake out the rug as he came up the steps. Here you are."

I took the envelope from her, recognizing my name and address on the outside written in Inspector Lestrade's painfully neat hand. While the landlady busied herself serving my guests I broke the seal and scanned the contents. Mrs. Hudson pressed a cup of tea into my hand, which I accepted absently, and seated myself again, rereading the message. "How interesting," I murmured.

"What is it?" Miss Stonehaven asked, smiling at Mrs. Hudson as that good woman passed her a plate laden with pastry.

"Inspector Lestrade–an acquaintance of mine at Scotland Yard–has just this morning come into possession of a body. Not an unusual occurrence, at the Yard, but he seems to think that something about the manner of death requires my 'expert' opinion." As I spoke I became aware of three gazes sharpening on my countenance.

"You think it's related to our current problem." It was MacEiver who spoke, and it was not a question.

I raised my gaze to his. "It seems...ridiculously possible. I'm not certain why I feel that way, but..."

"I think I hear our other guests stirring," Mrs. Hudson said abruptly. "Excuse me, I must see t' their breakfasts." She left, closing the door softly behind her.

"Are you going to the Yard, then?" Miss Stonehaven asked.

"Of course. Even if it were not related, Lestrade is a respected–if sometimes irritating–ally. I should not wish to leave him in the lurch when murder is the subject."

MacEiver nodded. "I want Maeve to go with you," he said.

"Maeve–? Good heavens, MacEiver, I can't take her to the morgue!"

"Other than Teodor–who is otherwise occupied at the moment–Maeve has the most experience with forensic science among the Jedi here. And if it is related to Mailen and his plot, she may be able to sense other things, through the Force. Violent death often leaves residual...impressions...clinging to the body."

"I...what do I tell Lestrade? He won't be pleased." I raised my cup of tea to my lips, wishing I could think of a better excuse not to take her along. I hated to imply that I cared what Lestrade really thought.

"You could tell him I'm your mistress," Maeve suggested blandly.

I choked, spraying tea, and began to cough. MacEiver rose to pound me on the back. When I could breathe well enough to speak again, I fixed the blonde woman with a chilly glare. The effect was somewhat dampened by the fact that my eyes were streaming. "Even if I subscribed to such a reprehensible practice as keeping a mistress, Miss Stonehaven, I certainly would not choose one so macabre as to find a trip to the morgue interesting." And you would not likely be the sort of woman I would choose, I added silently. Though I had to admit that I found the Jedi women to be a great deal more interesting than most women of my own world.

She shrugged, completely unfazed. "It was just a thought." Her eyes danced. "'Reprehensible' is it? You have an amazingly forward thinking mind, Mr. Holmes. I thought it was just a matter of course, around here."

I opened my mouth to deliver another scathing retort, then realized that she had succeeded in her aim to unnerve me quite completely, and to continue the argument would be to descend into farce. "Touche," I said, lifting my cup to her in mocking salute. "What objections Lestrade might have will be futile. You are a client, and you strongly believe this missing body is that of your...husband, brother, father, or whatever."

"Maybe all of the above," she suggested, grinning in a most unladylike manner.

"Lestrade is possessed of a far more delicate nervous system than I," I said disapprovingly. "Try not to give him apoplexy." Really, the woman's sense of humor was vile...

"Stop it, Maeve," MacEiver muttered.

"Oh, all right. If you insist."

"We should go at once," I said, rising. "I want to get this done quickly, so I have the rest of the day to plan the next step in the search for Watson. Miss Stonehaven?" I extended an arm to her.

"Be good, Maeve," MacEiver warned.

"And if I can't be good, I'll be good at it," she replied glibly.

In spite of myself, I smiled.