A/N: here you go guys, sorry for the delay again...

Holmes took a deep breath in through his nose then exhaled slowly, as he sat down on a wooden bench in a small square a few streets away from where they had left the hansom cab.

'Where to begin?' he asked

'…Mr Hertford agreed…' Ida started, defensively

'Rhetorical, Miss Greene, that was rhetorical…' he snapped, and she clenched her teeth silently and stared at her knees, feeling her cheeks redden.

'Miss Greene,' said Holmes at last, 'I have thought long and hard about this, and I cannot for the life of me figure out why it is that you seem to have made it your business to…to dog my footsteps, to impede whatever it is I may be doing…'

'Now just a minute!'

'I must admit that your mental processes, indeed, those of all your sex, are somewhat incomprehensible to me, but it seems almost as though you are in the grip of some sort of infatuation, and…'

'Infatuation…?' repeated Ida in disbelief,

'Forgive me if my directness is somewhat uncomfortable, Miss Greene, but…'

Realisation started to dawn, and Ida found her shoulders starting to shake slightly with repressed laughter,

'Miss Greene…Miss Greene, please don't distress yourself, but…'

Holmes' discomfort was palpable,

'…I…can I lend you a handkerchief…?'

This was too much, Ida let out a great peal of laughter. She turned to look at Holmes, whose face was now a picture of mortification.

'Sorry,' she said, 'I don't mean to be rude, but…'

'…I think,' he said, in a voice of unnatural calm, 'that maybe we should pay a visit to my friend Watson, you remember Watson don't you, he's a good fellow…'

'…I'm not mad, Mr Holmes,' said Ida, finally getting her laughter under control. He looked at her rather doubtfully, and she fixed him with her most serious expression.' Please believe me that I do not, I absolutely, categorically do not have any sort of infatuation with you… What I do have is a firm intention to find out why Miss Emily Hertford ran away from her home. And I have been employed by Mr Hertford, in my capacity as a private investigator, to do so.'

'In your capacity… as a private investigator?' repeated Holmes incredulously,

'That's what I said.'

Now it was Holmes' turn to suppress laughter.

'I might as well ask,' said Ida, throwing all caution to the winds, 'what you are doing impeding my investigation?'

There was a moment's silence, in which Ida regretted the rashness of her words, then Holmes said softly,

'Your spirit does you credit, Miss Greene.'

Ida opened her mouth to reply, but he had not finished,

'But without rationality, sensitivity and subtlety, spirit will only get you so far.'

The forceful criticism of his words slid like silent daggers from underneath the crisp calmness of his tone and left Ida momentarily speechless.

'This matter in which you have, inexplicably, decided to involve yourself is one of great personal interest to me. I do believe that once before I told you to cease meddling. That time you paid me no heed. This time it is infinitely more important that you do as I say.'

'Mr Holmes,' Ida found her tongue once more, 'I did not embark upon this with any intention of treading on your toes. I was alerted to this affair by the advertisement that Mrs Hertford placed in the Times to communicate with her daughter, and…'

'…excuse me? What advertisement?'

Ida crowed inwardly, but merely raised an eyebrow as she turned back to Holmes, saying,

'Why, the advertisement for a maid which Mrs Hertford placed in yesterday's Times. It was in code.'

'Do you have a copy of it?'

'Mr Holmes,' said Ida, 'I would be delighted to share what information I have with you, but I fear that it might be construed as meddling…'

'There is no time for this nonsense, Miss Greene…'

'I'll tell you everything, Mr Holmes, if you first tell me why it is that you refused to help Mr Hertford, and yet are now investigating his daughter's disappearance in secret.'

'I…'

'…oh,' said Ida, remembering something, 'and who is Daniel Trelawney?'

'Miss Greene, there really is nothing you can usefully contribute to this case other than telling me what it is that you know and then…'

'…oh no! You aren't going to get rid of me until I know what's what. If it is so important that I don't meddle, perhaps your story will convince me.'

'I am not in the habit of bargaining over information, Miss Greene…'

'That's a shame.'

They glared at each other in impasse. Then Ida dredged up a name from the conversation she had heard between Holmes and Mr Hertford yesterday, and played her final card.

'Who is Morris?'

An ace.

Holmes' whole face stiffened, and he closed his eyes for at least three seconds. Ida held her breath.

'Morris Hertford,' began Holmes, in a voice with a strange edge to it that Ida had not heard before, 'was a friend. My…my best friend, in fact, when I was at university.'

Morris Hertford, thought Ida to herself, I see…

As if reading her thoughts, Holmes continued

'As you have probably guessed, he was the son of Mr and Mrs Edward Hertford, whose daughter Emily is now…missing.'

Holmes swallowed slowly, and seemed to hesitate.

'You said 'was'…' Ida prompted, gently, 'do you mean he…'

'He's dead,' Holmes finished for her, 'he died some fifteen years ago, when his sister was a mere child.'

'I'm sorry,' said Ida, 'Um…how…?'

'He was murdered.'