The Abominable Bride: Two Enemies

Jacqueline leaned back in the chair she was sitting in, Watson in one beside hers, with Holmes standing behind her, his hands on her shoulder in comfort as they waited for Mycroft to finish eating. She didn't just lean back to be closer to Holmes's comforting presence, but to get as far away from Mycroft as he ate, he was quite messy when he was hungry and he was always hungry. He was enormous, truly, with multiple chins and swollen hands and a gut jutting out so much he would never be able to reach the top of a desk if he sat at one.

"I expected to see you a few days ago about the Manor House case," Mycroft remarked, licking his fingers as Jacqueline grimaced, before wiping them on a cloth napkin, "I thought you might be a little out of your depth there."

"No," Holmes stated, "I solved it."

"It was Adams, of course."

"Yes, it was Adams."

Mycroft nodded and looked at Watson, explaining it to him, "Murderous jealousy. He'd written a paper for the Royal Astronomical Society on the obliquity of the ecliptic, and then read another that seemed to surpass it."

"I know," Holmes huffed, "I read it."

"Did you understand it?"

"Yes, of course I understood it!" he snapped, "It was perfectly simple."

"No," Mycroft rolled his eyes, "Did you understand the murderous jealousy?"

"Sherwood would 'ave no cause to," Jacqueline remarked, giving Mycroft an unimpressed look at his implication.

Holmes squeezed her shoulder in thanks, though he had never questioned her fidelity nor her his. One woman had tried to come between them, once. It hadn't ended well for her.

"I meant it is no easy thing for a great mind to contemplate a still greater one."

Jacqueline nodded, "And, as I said, Sherwood would 'ave no cause to."

Holmes didn't bother to disguise his laughter as a cough at her words, the implication that he was cleverer still than Mycroft not lost on any of them.

"How about we get to the point of this little summons?" Holmes suggested, knowing his brother, contrary to himself, would be petulant about being essentially called the 'stupid one' instead of the 'smart one' and may refuse to be upfront with why he'd summoned them. He had better things to do with his time than stand there and watch his brother gorge himself.

Mycroft huffed, "Our way of life is under threat from an invisible enemy," he stated, serious now, "One that hovers at our elbow on a daily basis. These enemies are everywhere, undetected and unstoppable."

"Socialists?" Watson guessed, leaning forward, all too familiar with enemies and war on the horizon and not wanting to experience it again.

"Not socialists, Doctor, no."

"Anarchists?"

"No."

"The French?"

"Excusez moi?!" Jacqueline turned a narrow-eyed look on the man, insulted on behalf of her people.

"I mean…the Americans?" Watson tried to recover, offering more suggestions to help pass up his flub, "The suffragists? The Afgans?"

Mycroft was unimpressed, "Is there any large body of people you're not concerned about?"

"Doctor Watson is endlessly vigilant," Holmes defended, it was one of the better qualities about the man, one of the main reasons he trusted his wife to be around the man when he couldn't be. If he was unable, Watson would keep her safe or die trying. He took a moment to eye his brother, debating whether to take the bait of a new case he was presenting, before nodding to himself, he could do with a laugh, "Elaborate."

"No," Mycroft waved it off, "Investigate. This is a conjecture of mine and I need you to confirm it. I'm sending you a case."

"The Scots!" Watson deduced, sure he was right this time.

"Scots?" Holmes cast him an odd look.

"Are you aware of recent theories concerning what is known as 'paranoia?'" Mycroft eyed him.

"Ooh, sounds Serbian," Watson remarked.

Mycroft shook his head and turned to his brother, "A woman will call on you, Lady Carmichael. I want you to take her case."

"But these enemies," Watson went right back to it, "How are we to defeat them if you won't tell us about them?"

"We don't defeat them. We must certainly lose to them."

"Why?"

"Because they are right, and we are wrong."

"What eez zis Carmichael case?" Jacqueline cut in, not wanting to lose the strand of the conversation before Mycroft gave them more details.

"Oh, rest assured, it has..." Mycroft glanced at his brother and smirked, "Features of interest."

"I never really say that," Holmes defended.

Jacqueline reached up to pat his hand on her shoulder, "I'm afraid you do," she told him with a smile.

Holmes let out a silent huff but focused on his brother again, "And you've solved it already, I assume?"

"Only in my head," Mycroft admitted, "I need you for the, er…" he tried to wiggle his leg but only managed a jerking kick, "Legwork."

"Why not just tell us your solution?" Watson frowned.

"Where would be the sport in that? Will you do it, Sherlock? I can promise you a superior distraction."

"On one condition," Holmes considered it, "Have another plum pudding."

"There's one on the way," Mycroft smirked.

Holmes held out his hand to help Jacqueline up, nodding to his brother, "Two years, eleven months, and four days."

"It's getting exciting now!" Mycroft chuckled, waving his brother off as they headed for the door, "Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock."

"Dohn't ever make me watch Mycroft eat again, Sherwood," Jacqueline hissed at her husband as they reached the door, "Or I will divorce you."

Holmes looked down at her with a frown for the threat, but smiled when he caught the softness in her eyes that made her threat empty. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to it, "I promise."

~8~

As Mycroft warned, it didn't take long for Lady Carmichael to approach them. She arrived the very next day to present her case to the most famous detective in London. Holmes and Watson sat in their preferred armchairs, Jacqueline having just prepared tea for the upset woman before moving to stand beside Holmes's chair, her hand on his shoulder as Lady Carmichael began her request.

"Mr. Holmes, I have come here for advice."

"That is easily got," Holmes nodded for her to continue.

"And help."

"Not always so easy."

"Sherwood," Jacqueline gave him a light tap on the shoulder.

"But we shall endeavor to try our best to assist," Holmes offered the woman.

Lady Carmichael's lip quirked into a small smile at how easily Holmes bowed to his wife's silent request, it was an attribute not often seen in men of these times and part of her wished her own husband could be so cordial. She sighed, focusing on her reason for being there, "Something has happened, Mr. Holmes. Something…unusual and…terrifying."

"Then you are in luck," Holmes remarked.

"Luck?" she scoffed.

"Zey are his specializations," Jacqueline reassured her.

"This is really very promising," Holmes remarked to his wife and Watson, sounding excited.

"Holmes," Watson sighed, jerking his head towards Lady Carmichael in a sign of being a little more subdued about it around the frightened woman.

"Please do tell us what has so distressed you," Holmes forced his smile into a line as he turned back to the woman.

She sighed, fidgeting, before she worked up the courage to do so, "I…I thought long and hard as to what to do, but then, er, it occurred to me that my husband was an acquaintance of your brother and that, perhaps through him…" she took a breath, "The fact is, I'm not sure this comes within your purview, Mr. Holmes."

"No?"

"Lord help me, I think it may be a matter for a priest. You see, we were breaking our fast with our children when my husband received a letter that had him quite out of sorts. He sat there, rigid, his eyes wide, his face pale, just…staring at the contents. It was so noticeable to me that I had to ask the children to leave the room before I felt I could seek what was wrong. It was an envelope with five orange seeds. I thought it was a funny joke, but Eustace…" she swallowed hard, seeming near tears, "He said it was a sign for death."

"Eet eez, I'm afraid," Jacqueline informed her solemnly, "Some secret societies would send dried melon or orange seeds as a warning to er…" she searched for the word, "Comply with orders or die. Always five pips."

"Dear lord," Lady Carmichael let out a breath, taking the teacup she'd set aside to take a long sip from it, startled.

"Did you keep the envelope?" Holmes asked.

"My husband destroyed it," she shook her head, setting the tea aside again, "But it was blank. No name or address of any kind."

"Tell me: has Sir Eustace spent time in America?"

"No."

"Not even before your marriage?"

"Well, not to my knowledge."

"Hmm. Pray continue with your fascinating narrative."

Lady Carmichael hesitated, not sure if he was being serious or taking a joke on her, but a glance at the man's wife, who nodded encouragingly, told her to go ahead, "Well, that incident took place last Monday morning. It was two days later, on the Wednesday, that my husband first saw her."

"Who?" Watson frowned.

"I'm honestly not sure," Lady Carmichael admitted, "I woke to find Eustace missing and went to look for him. He was in the hall, staring out the window at the grounds. He was utterly panicked, sobbing, when he noticed me. He kept saying 'she's come for me,' that his sins had been found out. So I turned to the window…" she trailed off, not sure how her next words would make her husband's mental state sound.

"You did not see anyzing did you?" Jacqueline guessed.

She sighed, "Nothing."

"Did your husband describe…" Holmes began.

But she cut him off, "Nothing," she repeated, "Until this morning."

"What happened this morning?" Watson asked.

"It was more what happened last night," the woman corrected, "I awoke, again, to find Eustace missing. He wasn't in the hall this time, I caught sight of him heading for the hedge maze grown along our property. I rushed to try and catch up to him, made a mess of myself trying, but I DID find him…he wasn't alone," she reached for the tea once more, her hands noticeably shaking now before she set it down again, "There was a woman, standing before him, in a wedding gown, with a thick veil covering her face. Eustace was just…standing there, but he was frightened, so terribly frightened. The woman spoke, she…she said…" she took a breath, "I'll never forget it. She said 'This night, Eustace Carmichael, you will die.' She…she began to lift her veil but Eustace collapsed. I managed to catch him so he wouldn't hit his head in the fall, but…when I looked back, the woman was gone! It was only a moment, but she vanished!" she looked at the two men, who were just staring at her, quiet.

"Holmes?" Watson asked after a minute of silence.

"Hush, Watson," Holmes murmured, his eyes focused on something past Lady Carmichael's shoulder, thinking.

"But Emelia Ricoletti," Watson insisted, "The Bride!"

Lady Carmichael appeared surprised, "You know the name?"

"Eet eez a familiar case," Jacqueline offered by way of explanation.

"You must forgive Watson," Holmes remarked, "He has an enthusiasm for stating the obvious which borders on mania. May I ask: how is your husband this morning?"

Lady Carmichael sighed, "He refuses to speak about the matter. Obviously I have urged him to leave the house."

"No, no! He must stay exactly where he is."

"Well, you don't think he's in danger?" the woman asked, seeming greatly relieved to think so.

"Oh no, somebody definitely wants to kill him, but that's good for us. You can't set a trap without bait."

"Oh, Sherwood," Jacqueline murmured beside him, shaking her head at his choice of words.

But Lady Carmichael was far more outraged, "My husband is not bait, Mr. Holmes!"

"No," he agreed, "But he could be if we play our cards right. Now, listen, you must go home immediately. Jacqueline, Doctor Watson, and I will follow on the next train. There's not a moment to lose. Sir Eustace is to die tonight."

"Sherwood," Jacqueline's tone was firmer now.

"And we should probably avoid that," Holmes added.

"Definitely," Watson agreed, sending Holmes a look.

"Definitely avoid that."

Lady Carmichael looked between them, nodding slowly, before her attention returned to Holmes, "Pardon, though, you…you said your wife would join you?" she said it in such a way that it was clear she had not expected the man to even think to include a woman in this endeavor, such was the behavior of so many men.

Holmes, however, nodded, speaking as though such a thought was beyond him and had never occurred to him, "I did," he reached up to touch her hand, still on his shoulder, to hold it as he looked up at her, "There were many a case I could never have solved without my better half seeing things I could not comprehend."

Lady Carmichael could only look on, a combination of touched, heartbroken, and hopeful as she watched Jacqueline lean down to bestow a kiss upon her husband, murmuring, "Flatterer," as she did so.

~8~

It was always lovely to travel by train, Jacqueline felt, to see the land spread out and rush by, it was beautiful. She glanced to her left where Holmes was beside her, he always gave her the seat by the window. He would claim to anyone else that it was for her protection, to put himself between her and the door where anyone could enter with any manner of intention. She knew it was because he knew she loved to look out the window at the scenery. It was times like these where she wished Watson was a bit more like her husband, and allowed Mary to join them on these cases, but alas, Watson and Watson alone sat across from them.

Truly, she would have understood if Watson had not wished Mary to be part of their investigations due to the danger some could present, the way Holmes would sometimes ask her to remain behind. But this was not one of those cases, as evidenced by her being there. No, the man seemed convinced this wasn't the place or work for a woman. While he could not demand Holmes keep her away, for as he often said she was not HIS wife, he could at least ensure his own wife did as he bid. She had come to understand he did not think Mary capable of being of use during these trips, due to being a woman, which was ridiculous as SHE was a woman and often helped.

Perhaps she should speak to her husband about alternating. Taking Mary on some cases and her on others. She supposed a reason Watson had for not including Mary was that there wasn't much she could do, since SHE was there already and helping with 'whatever women do' and so there was no cause for two women being there. If they alternated, he couldn't use that excuse.

She would have to be careful about it though, while she had no doubts Holmes could convince Watson to allow Mary to come, a part of her also knew that he enjoyed having her there with him and would not be as inclined to leave her behind just so Mary could join in. He truly did only request her to stay away when he deemed it dangerous, which wasn't as often as others would think. He loved having her there, he loved giving her opportunities to shine and show how well they worked together. He liked to tease that he could solve the crime scene and the victim, but it was her who excelled at understanding the minds of the perpetrators.

Watson was very skilled in his own way, helping to save the victims who still had life in them, saving some of the perpetrators as well so they could face justice.

Hmm, perhaps she should find a niche for Mary to fit in, something she could do that the three of them could not to appeal to Watson's sense of duty and purpose…

"You don't suppose…" Watson began, the comfortable silence of the train growing too much for him while his mind was so racing.

"I don't," Holmes answered, guessing his thought, "And neither should you."

"You don't know what I was going to say."

"You were about to suggest there may be some supernatural agency involved in this matter, and I was about to laugh in your face."

"You should 'ave," Jacqueline remarked, before blinking, realizing how that had come across at Watson's indignant sputtering, "Laugh, I mean. Not een 'iz face, but laugh," she turned to Holmes and smiled, "I love your laugh."

Holmes merely smiled as he sat beside her with his eyes shut.

Watson huffed, "But the Bride!" he finally managed to gather his words, "Holmes, Emelia Ricoletti, again. A dead woman, walking the Earth!"

"You amaze me, Watson," Holmes opened his eyes, a little peeved that the first sight after such an action had to be Watson and not his wife, but needs must when one was annoyed.

"…I do?" Watson blinked.

"Since when have you had any kind of imagination?"

"Perhaps since I convinced the reading public that an unprincipled drug addict is some kind of gentleman hero."

"Former," Jacqueline corrected with a firm gaze reminiscent of a mother scolding her child, "Sherwood 'as not touched a drug in years, John."

Holmes smirked at that, taking her hand and kissing it, he had hit a rather bad patch many years ago. It had been Jacqueline and her unfailing faith in him, her overwhelming compassion, and endless love, that had got him to rights. If the whole world thought he was out of his mind on drugs he wouldn't care, so long as she didn't think the same. Though, he did give some consideration to Watson's defense, "Yes, now you come to mention it, that was quite impressive. You may, however, rest assured there are no ghosts in this world. Save those we make for ourselves."

"Sorry, what did you say?" Watson frowned at him. But Holmes just closed his eyes and turned to rest his head against Jacqueline's as she lifted her hand to stroke his cheek in comfort, "Ghosts we make for ourselves? What do you mean?"

Jacqueline could only give him a soft look and lift a finger to her lips with her other hand to tell him to quiet down, Holmes, apparently, had decided to spend the rest of the trip napping.

~8~

The Carmichael home was lavish and large, befitting a man so titled as Sir Eustace Carmichael, his drawing room as well reflected the opulence of the rest of the grounds. It was large, carefully decorated, carefully maintained, with a large fireplace set in the middle of the room, before which stood Sir Eustace himself. He was trying to explain away his wife's story once they'd confronted him with her plea for help, Watson standing there, facing the man, Jacqueline having been offered a chair to sit in, while Holmes paced around, observing the room as they spoke.

"Somnambulism," Eustace defended.

"I beg your pardon?" Watson blinked, somewhat familiar with the term but not having expected it to be used.

"I sleepwalk, that's all. It's a common enough condition. I thought you were a doctor. The whole thing was a bad dream."

"Including the contents of the envelope you received?"

"Well, that's a grotesque joke," the man forced out a laugh.

"Lady Carmichael did not zink so," Jacqueline pointed out, the unspoken 'and women are often right to fret' was left unsaid.

"She's a hysteric," Eustace waved it off, "Prone to fancies…"

"No," Holmes shook his head, feeling something akin to how he often felt when someone insulted Jacqueline's intelligence rankling him. For that was how it sounded, the man did not sound like he was merely casting off the worries of his wife but making a general statement about women as a whole. And HIS wife was included in that demographic.

"I'm sorry? What did you say?"

"I said no," Holmes turned to face him, "She's not an hysteric. She's a highly intelligent woman of rare perception."

"My wife sees terror in an orange pip," he scoffed.

"As does mine," Holmes remarked, stepping closer to the man, "Are you saying MY wife is a hysteric?" his tone was very dangerous, daring the man to say such a thing.

Eustace swallowed hard, "No, of course not."

Holmes smirked, "Like my wife, your wife can see worlds where no one else can see anything of value whatsoever."

That, however, drew another scoff from Eustace, "Can she really? And how do you 'deduce' that, Mr. Holmes?"

Holmes looked him up and down, "She married you. I assume she was capable of finding a reason," he turned to step away, not even concerned when Eustace tried to lunge for him, continuing to speak, knowing his next words would give the man pause, "I'll do my best to save your life tonight, but first it would help if you would explain your connection to the Ricoletti case."

"…Ricoletti?" Eustace spoke, hesitant, which drew Jacqueline's eye to him.

"Yes," Holmes turned to him, "In detail, please."

"I've never heard of her."

"Liar," Jacqueline murmured, the man had hesitated too long before speaking for his words to be truth.

"Exactly," Holmes agreed, "Because I didn't mention she was a woman," he eyed the man a moment more, letting him know they'd caught him in his lie, before holding out a hand to help Jacqueline up, "We'll show ourselves out," he told the man, the two of them walking for the door with Watson close behind, "I hope to see you again in the morning."

"You will not!" Eustace shouted back at them, and they were sure he meant it to be insulting, that he would not allow them back into his home…but given the situation, it was not the reason Holmes drew for it.

"Then sadly I shall be solving your murder. Good day."

Jacqueline nodded her thanks to Watson as he stepped ahead to open the door for her, ever the gentleman, and stepped into the entrance hall with the two men, "Well, you tried," Watson shrugged.

Holmes merely pulled a small book out of his coat pocket and jotted down a message, ripping out the page and handing it to a nearby footman, "Will you see that Lady Carmichael receives this? Thank you. Good afternoon."

"Yes, sir," the footman nodded and moved to deliver the missive.

"What was that?" Watson glanced at him.

"I would say instructions," Jacqueline guessed.

Holmes nodded, "Lady Carmichael will sleep alone tonight, on the pretense of a violent headache. All the doors and windows of the house will be locked."

"Why would she…" Watson began.

"She went after 'er husband twice," Jacqueline answered, "Eef she eez zere, she may be, um, in ze way of ze one who wants Eustace dead. She will try to protect him, and be hurt."

"How do you know?" Watson frowned, "If the Bride is after Sir Eustace, she wouldn't hurt Lady Carmichael. She hasn't hurt any woman, now that I think about it."

"Because, zat is what I would do," Jacqueline said simply, the implication that a wife would try to protect her husband clear in the remark.

"And I you," Holmes promised her in return.

"And the windows…" Watson began, working it out himself, "You think the Bride will attempt to lure Sir Eustace outside again?"

"Certainly. Why else the portentous threat? 'This night you will die.'"

"Well, he won't follow her, surely?"

"'e could," Jacqueline warned, "'e knew his life was in danger days ago, and yet 'e still went outside ze first time."

Watson had to nod at that, it was true.

"It's difficult to say quite what he'll do," Holmes agreed, "Guilt is eating away at his soul."

"Guilt?" Watson startled, "About what?"

"Somezing in his past," Jacqueline sighed, "'e was too hesitant when speaking of Emelia."

"The orange pips were a reminder," Holmes remarked.

"Not a joke," Watson finished.

"Not at all. As Leena explained to Lady Carmichael, orange pips are a traditional warning of avenging death, originating in America. Sir Eustace knows this only too well, just as he knows why he is to be punished."

"Something to do with Emelia Ricoletti," Watson finally caught up as they reached the entrance landing.

"I presume. We all have a past, Watson. Ghosts, they are the shadows that define our every sunny day. Sir Eustace knows he's a marked man. There's something more than murder he fears. He believes he is to be dragged to Hell by the risen corpse of the late Mrs. Ricoletti."

Watson considered that for a moment, before he caught sight of Jacqueline fighting a smile and huffed, "That's a lot of nonsense, isn't it?"

"God, yes," Holmes snorted, "Did you bring your revolver?"

"What good would that be against a ghost?"

"Ghosts do not exist," Jacqueline stated, "Whoever eez after Sir Eustace, eet eez a person, real and solid."

"Did you bring it?" Holmes repeated.

Watson sighed, "Yeah, of course."

"Then come, Watson, come," he slipped his deerstalker hat on and led them off, "The game is afoot!"

~8~

Holmes rolled his eyes as Watson stood up from where he'd been crouching down, the three of them hidden in the greenhouse of the grounds, Jacqueline sitting beside him on a bucket, her head resting on his shoulder as she dozed. There wasn't much happening right now as they kept watch, so he allowed his wife a moment to rest. Unlike himself and Watson, who could fall asleep in any uncomfortable position or in any moving object, Jacqueline would get terribly sick if she fell asleep on a train or in a carriage, so he would let her rest all she could now. She was very sharp and would wake in an instant should anything happen so he was not worried about drowsiness or a delayed reaction.

If Watson kept moving around and making complaining noises though, he would undoubtedly wake his wife and he would rather she be as peaceful as possible given the circumstances.

"Get down, Watson, for heaven's sake!" he hissed as quietly as he could, without moving a muscle beyond his face.

"Sorry," Watson huffed, moving to sit on a bag of mulch, "Sorry. Cramp," he rubbed at his leg, "Is the, er, lamp still burning?"

Holmes glanced out the window, peering towards the house where two windows, separated, each had the soft glow of a lamp lit within, "Yes…" and, of course, because he had said as much, one went out, "There goes Sir Eustace," followed quickly by the second lamp in the other window, "And Lady Carmichael. The house sleeps."

Watson hummed to himself, "Good God, this is the longest night of my life."

"Have patience, Watson."

Watson snorted, it was easy for Holmes to say such a thing, the man appeared quite content with his wife beside him, allowing himself to be her pillow. For everything Jacqueline did for her husband, it was no shock to him to see Holmes return the favor in such a way. He let out a breath and pulled his pocket watch out, glancing at the time in the moonlight, "Only midnight. You know," he mused as he put it away, "It's rare for us to sit together like this. Two old friends, just talking, chewing the fat," he glanced at Jacqueline, still sleeping, "Man to man," he almost laughed when Holmes gave him an odd look, "She's a remarkable woman."

"Of course she is," Holmes rolled his eyes, "I wouldn't have married her if she wasn't."

"Sweet," Watson smirked, "But I was talking about Lady Carmichael."

Holmes rolled his eyes and seemed about to physically wave the statement off before remembering his wife, "The fair sex is your department, Watson. I'll take your word for it."

"YOU noticed it too," Watson defended, "A 'woman of rare perception,'" he snorted, "I know you only noticed because of Leen…Jacqueline," he huffed at the glare Holmes sent him for trying to use Jacqueline's nickname. He'd learned, very early on, that Holmes was the only person on the planet allowed to call Jacqueline 'Leena' but it didn't stop him from subtly trying to sneak it in over the years. He'd yet to manage it, but he tried, "You were comparing her to Jacqueline and saw some sort of similarity, enough to notice that at least."

He had also learned, quite early on as well, that Holmes had an odd way of perceiving the world, especially when it came to women, which most notably came about when Irene Adler got involved. He learned, in his own way, that there were only two women in Holmes's life. Jacqueline, and everyone else. He had never seen that woman so cross and desperate as when Holmes hardly acknowledged her, when all her tricks and seductive techniques had failed to garner any sort of reaction from Holmes beyond confusion. Yet, with one look from Jacqueline, he would be at her side or behind closed doors with her in an instant.

Irene Adler was not used to not getting what she wanted, to not being desired when she wanted to be.

It had been amusing to observe.

Especially when Holmes seemed to forget the woman even existed a week or so after they'd solved Mycroft's case and Irene had fled England.

There truly was only Jacqueline in Holmes's mind, eye, and heart, all other women just blended together into not-Jacqueline.

"If she's anything like Jacqueline," he continued, "She's far too good for him."

Holmes eyed him, seeming to get the comparison to himself and Jacqueline as well, "You think so?"

"No, you think so," Watson eyed him, growing more compassionate for the man. He always got like this, whenever a case eluded him or he couldn't work it out instantly, a feeling of failure, of not living up to expectation. And to add this on top of his lingering concerns for Moriarty and his fear that the man had somehow returned from the dead or faked his death and could harm him or Jacqueline at any moment…Holmes had a tendency to be too hard on himself. For all of Jacqueline's assurances that she could never see Holmes as anything other than extraordinary, no matter if he solved a case or not, Holmes sometimes failed to believe it. He wouldn't let his friend jeopardize his marriage over something so foolish if he could help convince him he deserved Jacqueline, "I could tell."

"On the contrary, I have no view on the matter," Holmes looked away, all too aware of the reason behind Watson's topic of conversation.

"Yes, you have."

"Marriage is not a subject upon which I dwell."

"YOU are married," Watson reminded him.

"And it is no one's business but my own and Leena's," Holmes pointed out, "I do not tell you how to treat your wife," he reminded Watson, even though he had made numerous comments about how Watson should allow Mary to join them should she wish it he had never outright told the man what to do or not do, "Why are you talking like this?"

"Why are you so determined to wallow?" Watson finally got to the point, "Don't think I haven't noticed your obsession with the Bride's case," he glanced at Jacqueline, still sleeping, "Holmes," he sighed, "Against absolutely no opposition whatsoever, I am your closest friend."

"As Jacqueline is my wife, I concede it," Holmes could admit.

It didn't bother him at all that Jacqueline had held the role of Holmes's closest friend before him, the woman was so much more now and it left the space open. One he was honored to fill, "I am currently attempting to have a perfectly normal conversation with you."

"Please don't."

"I just don't want to see you jeopardize your relationship with your wife by putting her to the side while you obsess over an unsolved case," Watson told him.

Holmes stared at him a moment, "Are we still speaking of Leena and I?" he asked, because he genuinely wasn't sure where that had come from.

He would never, ever cast his wife aside for a case, especially not when the woman had an uncanny way of getting him to give up and turn down cases with a single 'please.' Watson knew this, he knew there was no cause of concern that his relationship with his wife was in any danger of him not paying her enough attention.

If Jacqueline had been awake…he might think she would say Watson was 'projecting' his own fears about his own marriage onto them.

"Who else would we be speaking of?" Watson asked.

Holmes nodded, Jacqueline would have been wrong then. He looked down at his wife, and his eyes narrowed, noting the tiniest quirk in her lips, the lack of a scrunch to her nose that typically indicated a sound sleep. She had been awake the whole time…and she was clearly convinced she was right.

"Good god!" Watson suddenly gasped.

Holmes turned his head to look at the house, following Watson's gaze, to see, through a dark archway, a veiled figure, the Bride, seemingly floating above the ground, an eerie glow about her.

"Leena," he lightly touched the woman's shoulder, allowing her ruse of still sleeping to play out as he 'woke her' needing her to see this too.

Jacqueline woke as quickly as normal, taking one look at their faces before spotting the figure as well.

"What are we to do?" Watson gaped.

The Bride began to gesture towards herself, as though beckoning others to follow.

"Zat eez quite ze trick," Jacqueline murmured from beside him.

Holmes smirked, thinking the same, already having come up with half a dozen ways that image could have been created, "Why don't we have a chat?" he asked calmly, before turning to run out of the greenhouse with the others, across the garden, towards the house. They came to a stop only when they reached the front porch, a few yards away from the image.

The Bride lowered her hands, still seeming to float above the ground, but her one hand stretched its fingers at them threateningly.

"Pleasant night for the time of year, is it not?" Holmes asked, unperturbed.

"It cannot be true!" Watson gaped at the sight, "It cannot!"

The Bride merely floated backwards to the door, beckoning them to follow.

"No, it can't," Holmes agreed.

"And I dohn't zink eet eez," Jacqueline agreed.

Not a moment later a man screamed inside the house, startling them to looking in that direction, before the sound of shattering glass echoed, drawing their attention back to the doorway to see the Bride had vanished. Holmes ran for the door, trying to open it.

"Eet's locked, Sherwood," Jacqueline reminded him, "As instructed."

"That was a window breaking, wasn't it?" Watson looked around.

"There's only one broken window we need concern ourselves with," Holmes stated, moving to the nearest window he could reach and elbowing his arm through the glass, shoving the rest of it away with his gloved hand. He climbed in first, turning and smiling for a brief moment when he saw Watson assisting Jacqueline up before himself, helping her in, before Watson scrambled after. He hurried to a nearby lamp, picking it up and striking a match to light it, "Stay in here, Watson!" he ordered, rushing forward with Jacqueline.

"What?" he demanded, "No!"

"All the doors and windows to the house are locked," Holmes pointed out, turning to him as he passed his wife the lantern, "This is their only way out. I need you here!"

"But the sound was so close, it had to be from this side of the house."

"Stay here!" Holmes ordered, moving to Jacqueline who had reached the archway to the hall, following her off into the heart of the house. They ran up the stairs, sure that the scream had come from above, and heard another scream, a woman this time. They hurried in that direction, reaching a landing and moving around a corner to where Lady Carmichael was standing in her nightdress, a pool of blood on the carpet in front of her.

"You promised to keep him safe!" she accused when she saw them, "You promised! You…you promised!" she broke down in a sob.

"Ca n'est pas correct," Jacqueline murmured beside him, looking from the woman collapsing into the arms of her maids, who had rushed to her side, and the blood on the carpet, something about all of this screaming it wasn't right, that they were missing something.

Holmes reached out to take her wrist, turning her, and moving them into the hall again, back to the landing, and looking down at a trail of blood droplets on the floor. They moved up another flight of stairs, to the eave of the house, Jacqueline holding the lantern up high, when they saw something on the floor ahead of them. Eustace, lying dead on the ground, a dagger stuck in his chest. Holmes gestured for Jacqueline to stay back, taking the lantern from her to approach, crouching beside the man and observing his frozen, dread-filled face, the ornate quality of the dagger…

"Sherwood," Jacqueline called, "Ze house eez awake. Zey would 'ave to make zeir escape."

Holmes leapt to his feet, she was right about that, and the only point of escape was the window they'd left Watson guarding. He led the way down the stairs, heading across the main hall, towards the side room…only to crash right into Watson as he fled, heading for the stairs.

"Watson!" Holmes gasped.

"She's there!" Watson cried out, pointing back the way he'd come, "She's down there!"

"Don't tell me you abandoned your post."

"What? Holmes, she's there! I saw her!"

Holmes grit his teeth, hearing Jacqueline move to Watson to calm the man down, as he took off, heading for the window, but there was nothing there. Whoever it was, they had escaped, "Damn it!" he cursed, before storming back to the stairs where Watson appeared a little calmer, "Empty, thanks to you! Our bird is flown."

"No!" Watson turned to him, "No, Holmes, it wasn't what you think. I saw her, the ghost."

"John, zere are no such zings as ghosts," Jacqueline put a hand on his arm, "Only zose who pretend to be."

Watson swallowed hard, nodding, the…the ghost had seemed rather solid, not transparent like the stories said, "What happened? Where is Sir Eustace?"

"Dead," Holmes declared, very cross, because now...now they'd have to get the idiots at the Yard involved.

Wonderful.

~8~

Jacqueline would have huffed at how Holmes had positioned them at the top of the stairs when the Yard arrived to photograph the crime scene and collect evidence, had it not been sweet of him to do so. He and Watson were at the top of the stairs, Watson partly in the hall, with Lestrade by the railing, and Holmes with his back to the corner of the wall, facing the men. He was creating a barrier, in a way where she could not turn in that direction and spy the body at the end of the hall being photographed. He knew her memory was sharp, that she could remember anything she'd read or recall any picture she had seen and he always did his best to keep from exposing her to dead bodies at any length of time. Even when she would take notes for him on his experiments, he set things up so he blocked the body or covered up anything that didn't need to be exposed for the experiment.

She wouldn't complain about his consideration, it was not an image she would want in her mind any more than necessary.

"You really mustn't blame yourself, you know," Lestrade was speaking.

"No," Holmes agreed, reaching over to pat Jacqueline's hand as it rested on his forearm, her way of agreeing, "You're quite right."

"I'm glad you're seeing sense," Watson huffed.

"Watson is equally culpable," Holmes continued, "Between us, we've managed to botch this whole case. I gave an undertaking to protect that man; now he's lying there with a dagger in his breast."

"You DID say eef he did not survive you would investigate his murder," Jacqueline corrected lightly.

"In the confident expectation I would not have to," Holmes expressed with a breath of irritation, not at her, never at her, but his own failing here.

"Anything you can tell us, Doctor?" Lestrade called to Watson, who had stepped away when Holmes started on him to examine the body now that the photos were done.

"Well, he's been stabbed with considerable force," Watson stated the obvious.

"It's a man, then."

Jacqueline turned to him, her hands on her hips, "And what makes you zink a woman could not stab a man?" she defended, sounding offended.

"Oh, er, um," Lestrade fumbled, not quite sure how to answer without causing more offense, the smirk on Holmes's face telling him to dare to try. But there was no way to win. Say a woman couldn't do it, and it would be offensive to her that a woman could do anything a man could. Say a woman could have done this, well it seemed an offense to him to their general nature as carers and polite individuals.

"A woman is very much capable of anything," Holmes, in a surprising moment, took pity on the man. Though it was more that he was irritated enough and would rather do without the uneven gait Lestrade would be using as he walked around after Jacqueline kicked him in the shins for his assumption.

"Merci beaucoup, Sherwood," Jacqueline smiled at him, giving Lestrade a firm nod.

"In fact, I drafted a paper comparing the stab wounds inflicted by men to those of women," Holmes continued, gesturing between himself and Jacqueline, subtly telling the man that yes, his wife DID have experience stabbing someone.

It was a cadaver on a frame to stand, with only the torso exposed, but it was enough. She'd needed a bit more incentive to actually go through with it, going so far as to draw a rough version of Moriarty's face on the sheet covering the body's face to help. One would never think watching one's wife stab a rendition of his greatest enemy would lead to such a rush of warmth through the body, but it had. Knowing his wife loved him so much, knowing she hated Moriarty for harming him and putting him in the situations he had, knowing she would take a knife to the man for all he'd done to him...god, he loved his wife.

Lestrade seemed to grow a bit green at the thought of a woman murderer, and moved to join Watson by the body, examining the weapon in a desperate bid to change the subject, "A very keen blade, so it could conceivably have been a woman, yes."

"In theory, yes," Watson agreed, "But we know who it was. I saw her."

Holmes sighed, "Watson…"

"I saw the ghost with my own eyes!"

"You saw nothing!" Holmes snapped, "You saw what you were supposed to see."

"You said yourself: I have no imagination."

"Then use your brain, such as it is, to eliminate the impossible, which in this case is the ghost, and observe what remains, which in this case is a solution so blindingly obvious, even Lestrade could work it out."

"Thank you!" Lestrade called for the vote of confidence...even if he really had absolutely no idea who it was or how this happened.

"Forget specters from the otherworld," Holmes nearly shouted, until Jacqueline squeezed his forearm to soothe him. He took a breath, speaking more calmly, "There is only one suspect with motive and opportunity. They might as well have left a note."

"They did leave a note," Lestrade remarked, pulling Jacqueline's attention over to him, the woman pushing past Holmes to go see what it was.

"And then there's the matter of the other broken window."

"What other broken window?"

"Zere isn't one," Jacqueline nodded, following along with what her husband had said. While she did not possess his mental capabilities with deducing things around him, she had spent enough time around him that when he began to detail what he noticed, it was easier for her to piece it together along the way. She gave Lestrade a grim smile in thanks, he had turned the note this way and that for her to read it.

He had learned it was far easier to allow Jacqueline to see certain photos and evidence than have to provide Holmes with a second copy of it all. The girl's memory was astounding!

Holmes nodded, "The only broken window in this establishment is the one the three of us entered through, yet prior to that we distinctly heard the sound of...what did you just say?" he turned to Lestrade sharply.

"Sorry?" the man looked over, startled.

"About a note. What did you just say?"

"There eez a note," Jacqueline straightened up, "Even zough zere wasn't before," she gave Holmes a meaningful look, this was more evidence pointing to who had done this.

He strode forward and looked down at the body and, sure enough, there was a note on a string tied around the dagger. And his wife was right, it had NOT been there when they first found the body.

"Eet says 'Miss me?'" Jacqueline looked at him, cautious, knowing what those two words would cause his mind to jump to. She moved over to her husband's side as he stared at the body, knowing he would need her close when his mind was able to function again, to remind him they were together, both of them were alive.

And Moriarty wasn't.

~8~

Jacqueline did her best to sip the tea she'd been given as she sat across from Mycroft in the Diogenes Club, the man, thankfully, NOT eating for once so she could at least stomach her beverage. Holmes had been offered tea of his own but it sat untouched on the small table beside her. Her husband was pacing the room behind her chair while Mycroft observed him and his recounting of the Carmichael case.

"Do you?" Mycroft interrupted.

Holmes paused in his pacing to turn to him, "Do I what?" Mycroft merely held up the bloodstained note that had been left behind with Sir Eustace's body, "How did you get that? I left it at the crime scene!"

"'Crime scene?'" Mycroft snorted, setting the note down, "Where do you pick up these extraordinary expressions? Do you miss him?"

"Moriarty eez dead," Jacqueline stated, setting her tea aside.

"And yet…"

Holmes sighed, moving to his wife and placing his hands on her shoulders as he often did when his mind was racing too fast and he needed something to ground him in the now, "His body was never recovered."

"To be expected when one pushes a maths professor over a waterfall," Mycroft shrugged, "Pure reason toppled by sheer melodrama, your life in a nutshell."

"Careful, Mycroft," Jacqueline narrowed her eyes at him, "In your current state you cannot 'ope to evade a well placed kick."

Mycroft held his hands up in peace.

Holmes narrowed his eyes at the movement, "Have you put on weight?"

"You saw me only yesterday," Mycroft challenged, "Does that seem possible?"

"No."

"Yet here I am, increased. What does that tell the foremost criminal investigator in England?"

"In England?" Holmes gave him an offended glare.

"There are, I imagine, other criminal investigators in other countries," Mycroft mused, glancing at Jacqueline, "I'm sure your wife could hold her own quite well in France."

"Better," Jacqueline challenged, "But my 'usband and I are a team."

"Yes," Mycroft let out a breath, sounding almost regretful of that. Partly due to the fact that she could do so much for the French, partly because her bond with his brother was, he was sure, going to lead to an early grave despite his best efforts to keep them both safe, "You're in deep, Sherlock," he tried to warn his brother, "Deeper than you ever intended to be. Have you made a list?"

"Of what?" Holmes scoffed.

"Everything. We will need a list," he held out an expectant hand and Holmes pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, "Good boy."

Holmes made as though he was going to hand it to Mycroft, before he pulled back and bestowed it upon Jacqueline instead as she rose from the chair, "No," he told Mycroft, "I haven't finished yet."

"Moriarty may beg to differ."

Holmes huffed, "He's trying to distract me, to derail me."

"Yes. He's the crack in the lens, the fly in the ointment…the virus in the data."

"I have to finish this," Holmes declared, but more to Jacqueline who had moved to his side after perusing the list of all the possible ways Moriarty could have returned to hand back to him.

"If Moriarty has risen from the Reichenbach cauldron, he will seek you out," Mycroft continued to warn.

"Let him," Jacqueline turned her chin up in defiance.

"I'll be waiting," Holmes agreed.

"And not alone," she, at the last moment, to be polite, gave him a nod of her head, "Good day, Mycroft," before she and Holmes walked out.

A/N: Awww, some sweet moments for Sherlock and Leena :) I really liked making the parallels to their modern counterparts, giving them both those little changes to personality, but still aiming for it to be very much them, I hope it translated :) I have to say, I'm a bit more excited for the next chapter than this one, we get some modern moments, some more dream-like moments, and basically any time where Mycroft gets one-upped is good in my book ;)

I feel like the way John describes Sherlock's perception of the world is accurate, if it's not Leena then most women just sort of fade to the background :) I know there was much more angst with Irene in the modern telling than in this Victorian version, but as we'll soon learn this is more Sherlock's imagining of an old case, I felt like he'd take some liberties with that memory. He would want to imagine it the way he would have wanted it to go, where he one-upped Irene and Leena wasn't hurt and there was no confusion on her end for where his heart rested :) I feel like that might also be a bit more for why he's a tad more affectionate and open with his love for Leena in this imagining, it's in his head so he can express himself more and, so far, it's just him and Leena on the plane so he can spin it how he would have wanted it. Him and Leena married from the go, Irene not a threat, him protecting Leena from dangers and terrible sights and so on :) I can say there's a reason for that ;)

I also just want to apologize if there are any mistakes in this chapter. (Bit of talk of injury and tiny bit of blood to follow so skip this part if it's not something you can stomach reading, summarizes to I hurt my finger lol). I was helping my sister move some things around her house and basically ripped half the nail off of one finger when I lost my grip on one of her boxes, ripped so far down it was bleeding quite a lot, so typing anything has been painful and I've sort of had to adopt my dad's preferred method of typing, which is picking at the keyboard with just my pointer finger lol. So I may not have gotten all the errors when I was editing through it, but I'll go back again in a couple days when my fingernail hopefully grows or heals enough to not send a shooting pain through my arm each time something brushes against it or pressure is put on it :)

Translations:

Excusez moi?! - Excuse me?!
Ca n'est pas correct. - It is not correct.
Merci beaucoup. - Thank you very much.

Again, don't speak French so most of the translations came from Google Translate and if they are wrong or if there's a better way to phrase it, please let me know and I'll fix it :)

Some notes on reviews...

I'm very sorry it took so long to get back to Sherlock :( 2014 and on was a tough couple years. I tried to keep up with the writing and posting, and each time I got to a place to come back when I'd have to pause, something always seemed to come up and push me back :/ I can say, with the exception of Doctor Who (for the moment, not sure if I'll change my mind later), I plan to write each season of a show and each movie for a series out for that particular OC ;) The only time I would call a series complete is if I've changed something in the story that makes later seasons impossible to happen, like with my Supernatural and Star Wars stories. For the most part, if it has a new season/movie, I'll eventually be writing it :) It may just take a while since I've fallen so far behind lol :) But yup, we have Sherlock and Leena back in action :) And we'll have a Series 5 story if Series 5 happens ;)

I can say Sherlock, given his relationship with Leena, will definitely understand the women much more :) We see a glimpse of it here, in how he acknowledges John's relationship with Mary compared to his own with Leena that he knows many men don't treat their wives as equally as he does Leena, so once he works it out what's going on, I think he'll empathize with them, yes :) As for Mary's fate and Sherlock's spiral...oh, I want to say so much, but I'll have to leave it at just an evil smile for now }:)

Series 4 was a bit hard for me to get through too. There were some things that just felt a little off and sort of made me go 'if it hasn't happened by now, after everything, WHY is THIS what sets it off?' and 'with how clever he is, why didn't Sherlock find a way around this' :/ So I really try to get into the minds of the characters and to explore some other possibilities for how things played out while remaining true to not just their personalities and histories, but various traumas and fears they have as well to try and make sense of why they do or react the way they do :) There will be a defining moment in the last episode chapters that will show how much Leena may or may not have known about the dreaded East Wind ;)