Ok… I know… I'm a terrible person for not getting this up sooner. I'm sorry. And I really have no excuse at all, as I've had the end written for a lot longer than I've had everything else written. This is the last chapter (less an epilogue, which should be up at the end of the week, if I get enough requests for it), so I do hope it's worth the wait. Again, sorry about the delay and thank you to all of you who are still reading.

Chapter Nine

The urgent call from Liz was actually urgent. I hadn't expected it to be; when we got that close to the wire, she tended to make mountains out of molehills. However, when Matt met us at the doors to the auditorium with compressed lips in a chalk-white face, I knew that Liz wasn't just being her usual anal-retentive self. He wouldn't tell us what was up, but ushered us to the front to sit next to Liz. She said nothing as we sat, just took my hand. This was BAAAD.

Apparently, we were the last to show up. Matt took the stage in typical fashion, drawing all eyes to him and waiting for absolute silence before he started speaking.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I know this will come as an enormous shock to you, but considering the circumstances, you need to be told." There were murmurs of confusion in the audience. Liz, Holmes and I knew at least some of what was coming, but not all of it. "This will be hard for you to hear, I know, but hear it you must." That was Matt, a ham even in the most sober of times. "Sam, our beloved cast member and friend, was murdered." Cries of shock, disbelief and outrage from the audience. Holmes took my free hand as Liz squeezed the one she'd captured earlier. "The verdict has just come back from the inquest and it pains me to have to be the one to tell you this. I would like to take a moment to remember Sam." He bowed his head, his shaggy blonde hair flopping over eyes bright with tears. He was good, I'll always give him that. There was a sob from somewhere behind me, probably Amber. Matt let the silence go for about a minute and a half before he went on. "I am afraid that is not all I have to tell you today. Sam was murdered because of this show." Holmes snorted softly beside me; that was something of an exaggeration. "There is someone who is holding a grudge against something about the show, whether it is the cast," Gasps of outrage from the audience. "The director," Silence from the audience (and I could tell that Matt was a bit peeved about that). "Or the show itself, someone is out there," he made a wide sweeping gesture. "With murderous intent. Compounded to that, we have to push the show up to tomorrow." Chaos erupted. People were screaming at Matt that we couldn't pull it off; that we shouldn't try to pull it off if there was a psychopath out there who already killed one person and was likely to kill the rest of us. They had a point. Of course, Matt wasn't finished. "I have been in touch with the police, who think they can catch this person on opening night of the show, as they believe this person will be very likely to attend. I have taken the liberty to agree for all of us, but if any of you want to back out, I completely understand."

No one said a word. Drama queens we may all be, but none of us were ones to back down from a challenge or to call off a show for anything short of apocalypse. Someone from the back, Andrew/ Captain Lombard I think, shouted, "The show must go on!" We broke into applause and the meeting was over.

I don't really remember what happened between the end of Matt's meeting and the show. Another gray fog had settled around my mind, though this one was a good deal less pleasant that the previous fog, and I couldn't see through it. Holmes must have made dinner, because I know I didn't, though I've never been able to get him to admit it. We watched some movie on TCM and I fell asleep on his shoulder. I woke up as he carried me from the couch to my room, and he stayed with me again without me having to ask him.

The entire cast showed up two hours before curtain. They dressed in relative silence, fingers shaking. I did up more buttons and zipped up more zippers that night than in any week of rehearsals combined. Make up was applied carefully and thickly, so no one would see the worry lines in foreheads or the paleness of cheeks. Ten minutes before the show was to go on, Matt brought us all together to give us his usual pre-show pep talk. I was impressed; he did not ham it up at all. He told us he thought we were all brave for going out there despite what we knew would probably happen, he told us we were one of the best casts and crews that he had ever worked with and he told us he was proud of us. We gathered in for one big group hug, and then he told us to get in our places, "For the show will go on!" And it did. The thunder crashed and the first lines were spoken. Everyone started to relax and get into the swing of the show.

I sat in the wing backstage left on one of the old mauve double-wide armchairs that had been deemed too ugly to go onstage waiting for Holmes to come off so I could help him into his next costume before he missed his cue. I'd been knitting, but the "storm" on stage caused the lights backstage to be put out and I couldn't really knit and hold a flashlight at the same time. So I sat there in relative darkness, trying not to think of the psychopath that was probably lurking somewhere backstage with me waiting to kill someone. I think it goes without saying that I was a bit jumpy.

Holmes finally got off stage, throwing his hastily unbuttoned vest at me. He switched shirts while I turned away to transfer his pocket watch from the pinstriped vest to the dove gray one he was to wear until the end of the show. I held the garment out for him and he shrugged into it and started buttoning from the top as I started up from the bottom. "Thank you," he whispered, kissing my hand quickly before he all but ran back to the door to make his cue.

I rolled my eyes at his back, grinning like an idiot, and settled into my chair again to wait for the kid playing Wargrave to come off to have his custom made bullet-hole-to-the-head attached for his "death" scene.

The very dim lights in the alcove behind me flickered and the floorboards creaked. I swallowed hard, picking up one of my knitting needles from the floor with one hand and held my mini Maglight with my other. I'm sure I looked ridiculous, but it made me feel better.

The lights onstage went out, to a mixed chorus of shrieks from the cast and audience, and Wargrave came out. He wrapped himself in the scarlet shower curtain, I stuck on the bullet hole with liquid latex, and he put on the bad white wig made of yarn to complete the bad mock up of a British judge. He flashed me a grin and went back out.

I cleaned up my supplies and brought them back to the make up room. I heard the audience clapping as I padded my socked way back to my chair. Or tried to in any event. I slipped in a puddle of something and went down hard. I switched the Maglight on in disgust and swallowed a scream. Amber was dead and I was sitting in a pool of her blood. The psychopath struck again. I scrambled to my feet, nearly hyperventilating with the effort not to scream my head off, and ran to find Liz or Matt. Liz, shaking and white faced, went out and told the audience that we were having technical problems and to please bear with us. The police, most of whom were sitting in plane clothes in the audience, were called back stage and I could hear Richard and Holmes shouting at each other. Holmes wanted to go on with it because he was certain he could catch the murderer on stage and Richard was of the opinion that the theatre should be cleared and the murderer tracked down like in a "normal investigation". I was in the dressing room, cleaning up and changing. I had to wear one of Amber's costumes, as I didn't have any other clothes there. I finished dressing and sat down hard on a costume trunk in shock, and stayed there until Holmes came in.

He stopped abruptly in the doorway when he saw me, I can only imagine how terrible I looked, and pulled me to my feet and into his arms. He held me, expecting me to cry but I couldn't. I couldn't get the image of Amber, lying in a pool of her own blood from a slit throat, out from behind my eyelids. I stood there numb in his arms and shaking a little, until he put me back a step and told me,

"The show will continue. He will, almost assuredly, come out as Wargrave and we will catch him." I nodded. "But you need to take over for Amber; you know the lines and you're already wearing the costume." He was very calm about all of this. I was not.

"Scott, this is ridiculous! He'll kill all of us; there's nothing stopping him coming out with a twelve gauge shot gun for Christ's sake! Much as I hate to agree with my brother, maybe it's time to let the cops take over." Blinking tears away, I looked up into his eyes. He tried to smile for me, but it didn't entirely work.

"He'll just melt away Elizabeth. This is our only chance. You know I wouldn't put you in danger if I could possibly help it, if there was any other way. I know how he thinks, I know he will not be able to resist the urge to be in front of the audience. He'll want Wargrave next," I smiled at the fact that Holmes had picked up our habit of calling the cast by their character's name. "But he is with your brother and thus already out of the way. I have a revolver in my pocket," My brother would have a fit if he heard Holmes call a police issue pistol a 'revolver'. "And I will take the first clear shot. Everything will be alright, my dear." He touched my cheek lightly and I nodded, knowing I was the world's biggest idiot for going along with this. But then, I took Holmes in off the street, not knowing if he was a psychopath himself. This was only a little worse. He smiled at me thinly and guided me out with an arm around my waist.

To this day, I don't know how we got through the third act of that show. I knew Amber's lines because I'd helped her learn them, but my terror was real. Holmes went off the balcony to look for Armstrong's body; I went to the liquor cabinet and discovered that someone (probably the murderer, but I wouldn't put it past Liz) had switched the apple juice for real whisky. Holmes came back and we resumed the lines. By the time I pretended to faint to get the gun, I was so terrified that he had to hold me a moment before I could stand on my own to shoot him.

"If you take one step nearer, I'll shoot!" I yelled at him, my hands shaking badly. The audience was silent, watching is. He moved and I pilled the trigger. And screamed.

He'd given me his revolver. Not the starter pistol that looked old and fired blanks. I'd just shot Sherlock Holmes with his own gun. If I hadn't been terrified out of my wits, I would have laughed. As it was…

I heard laughter from off stage left and froze. I saw the handle of the door in the flat turn and I seriously considered just jumping off the stage into the audience and making a run for it. I didn't, of course, but I thought about it. A man I'd never seen before came out in a dark gray suit with a noose in his hands. He started Wargrave's lines and reacted automatically, screaming and banging on the doors. I'd left the gun within easy reach of Holmes's hand. I knew he wasn't dead because he was still breathing, but I didn't know if he'd be able to sit up and shoot the psychopath who was currently chasing me around a very small set with a noose.

He caught me, swinging said noose around my neck, and dragged my to the center of the stage. He took the tail end of the rope and started to swing it up over the lighting bar shouting, "I must have my hanging-my--" BANG! I let out a shuddering sigh of relief as the madman fell. Holmes emptied the chamber of the revolver into the body for good measure, then looked to me to finish the play.

"Phillip- Phillip-" I went to him on the floor, my knees buckling and causing me to fall hard on the boards. He sat up painfully and pulled me against him.

"It's alright, my darling, it's alright." His voice was strained from pain and loss of blood and I was near to sobbing. What a pair we made.

"I thought you were dead. I thought I'd killed you!"

He laughed a bit. "Thank God women can't shoot straight. At least, not straight enough."

I wiped my damp face on the sleeve of my costume. "I shall never forget this," I told him truthfully.

"Oh yes you will," he said forcefully. "You know, there's another ending to that Ten Little Soldier Boys rhyme." He slipped the noose around his neck as well, and took my face in his hands. "One little soldier boy left all alone/We got married and then there were none." He pulled my face closer to his and kissed me. The lights faded to black and the curtain swung closed, but he didn't let me go. The curtain started to open back up for the company bow and we scrambled off the stage, Holmes leaning heavily on my shoulder.

I don't remember much after that, except the weird looks I got in the waiting room for wearing a 1930's cream colored wool suit drenched in blood.

The hospital people finally let me in to see him at three the next morning. He wasn't awake, but I took his hand anyway, and I brushed his never tidy hair out of his eyes. A moment later, they opened and he smiled.

"Hello, you."

I choked on a watery laugh. "You're a nut, you know that Scott?" I continued to use the pseudonym so no one would think we were too crazy.

He ignored the half hearted insult and asked, "Has everything been taken care of?"

I nodded. "I've spoken to Richard. They've taken the body and the guy… he's a freshman who wanted a part and held a grudge because he didn't get one. That's got to be about the stupidest reason for killing people I've ever heard of!" he said nothing to my outburst. I sniffed. "Why did you give me the real gun?" I asked softly.

Something changed in his face. "I wanted him to think I was dead. That there was nothing in the way of his hanging. I am sorry; I know it distressed you."

Distress was rather an understatement, but I said nothing, turning away from him.

"What is it, Elizabeth?" His hand on my wrist gave gentle pressure, but I didn't turn back to face him.

"I talked to Pip as well. She's fixed her machine. You can go home as soon as they let you out of here."

About a week later, Holmes was discharged and Pip, Frank, he and I were standing around Pip's laptop.

"Just let us know when you're ready," Pip told me, dragging Frank out of the room.

Holmes turned to me as soon as the door closed. "Come back with me."

I smiled sadly. "I can't. No more than you can stay."

Something flickered through his eyes, but he nodded tightly. "Then this is goodbye."

"I suppose it is," my voice cracked and I turned away. He came around in front of me and lifted my face with two fingers under my chin.

"Adieu then, Miss Elizabeth," he said very quietly, pressing his mouth to mine quickly. He took my hand and pressed something round and cold into my palm, then broke away from me and called for Pip.

She came in and set everything up. "Are you ready, Mr Holmes?"

He nodded; I looked at my hand. His pocket watch sat there, shiny nad ticking. "Wait!" I went up to him and slid off the claddagh ring I wore every day and gave it to him. He looked at it for a moment, then slid it onto the littlest finger on his left hand, heart facing in. He took my hand and kissed it, just as he had done when we first met. I stepped back and he nodded at Pip. I did not break eye contact, taking him in as he was the first time I'd seen him: dark Victorian suit with the greatcoat over it, hair slicked back. He looked as though he was doing the same with me. I heard the click of a keyboard in the background and there was a flash of light.

When my eyes cleared, he was gone.

I smiled tightly at Pip and Frank. "I'm going home. Thanks for everything Pip." She nodded and I left.

The radio in the car came on when I turned the key and was blasting The Scientist, by Coldplay. I laughed at the appropriateness of it all, then started crying as I drove the twelve blocks back to my apartment.

I'd be fine, I knew. I'd just have to learn to live in that apartment alone again.

AN: Ok. So that was the last chapter. I do hope you all liked it. Most of the dialogue from the end came from Agatha Christy's And Then There Were None/ Ten Little Indians, which I don't own. Holmes is public domain, but he was Doyle's first and I don't own Coldplay or any of their songs. Now that all that is over with, I can tell you that there is an epilogue written and ready to post, but I'm going away for a week, so you'll have to wait 'til then, but I do promise a Happy Ending. I'd love some reviews. Also, I want to thank all of you who are sticking with this even though I suck as posting regularly. J