A/N: Sheesh! Between collage, homework for four different classes, spring cleaning, exams, planning for the next Sherlene Holmes story and babysitting 8-year-old nephews, it's a wonder I found time to work on this chapter all! But I prevailed over these obstacles and got it here for anyone willing to read it! Besides one or two people, is anyone else reading this?

tapd0g, who has been most my encouraging reviewer (he/she has been doing most of the reviewing), had pointed out a mistake in the last chapter. The line Langdale Pike speaks at the party was actually, "La belle dame sans merci," not "Not very dumb, some merci." That error was made due to my crappy volume speakers hooked up to my computer. I don't own any of the episodes on DVD, so I'm stuck finding the episodes and playing them on the Internet. Right now, I'm not very sure if I want to go back and fix that error or not with the story being so close to completion. MAYBE I'll fix it when I get around to doing more editing, but we'll get wait and see because I had liked how that.

Anyway...hope you enjoy!

"Ms. Holmes! Ms. Holmes! Wake up!"

Mrs. Hudson knocked insistently on her lady tenant's bedroom door that was connected to the hallway. She knew Ms. Holmes had come home last night from wherever she had been for most of the evening hours. Ms. Holmes had told her to expect a telegram in the morning from Dr. Watson. She then retired early to her room, an unusual thing for the bohemian lady, who was well known for staying up until well into the night. Sometimes she even stayed up all night for days. Her new case must have been going exceedingly well if she decided to turn in early.

But the telegram Mrs. Hudson had received from the boy just a few minutes ago told her that something bad had happened and Ms. Holmes was needed without delay.

"It's bad news I'm afraid!" the landlady called through the door.

But Ms. Holmes didn't open the door. Mrs. Hudson turned the doorknob, finding the door unlocked. Without hesitation, the old woman pushed open the door and entered the bedroom, intending on waking her tenant. Sometimes Ms. Holmes slept so deeply that she needed to be shaken awake.

"Wake up!" she called, heading toward the bed. But then she stopped. Her worried mind catching up with her eyes, registering that although the bed had been slept in, Ms. Holmes wasn't sleeping in her bed.

"Ms. Holmes?" Mrs. Hudson said confused. She was sure Ms. Holmes had retired to her room. Confoundedly, the landlady looked around the room for a moment and spotted the door to the sitting room had been opened. She looked into the sitting room, calling again for Ms. Holmes.

At first glance, the sitting room seemed to be as deserted as Ms. Holmes' bedroom. But then a slender hand slowly appeared over the top of the back end of the settee, sleepily waving at her. Apparently, for whatever reason, Ms. Holmes had moved from her bed to sleep on the settee. As Ms. Holmes righted herself up, a little fogged-up from sleep, Mrs. Hudson hurried to the settee and quickly sat down next to her tenant.

"It's bad news, Ms. Holmes," the old lady told her urgently.

"Hm?" came the sleepy reply

"It's the doctor!"

Some of the drowsiness dissipated and Sherlene snatched the telegram the out Mrs. Hudson's hands and she quickly opened it, reading it swiftly, though all the message said was for her to return immediately.

"He's been brutally attacked in Harrow!" Mrs. Hudson enlightened her, her voice rising a bit with worry.

Sleepiness gone in a flash, Sherlene threw the telegram away from her and stood up. She knew something had gone wrong during the night when she had woken up earlier with dread filling her senses. No longer able to sleep comfortably in her room after waking up with that strong of sense, she had moved to the sitting room settee, hoping her intuition wasn't as bad as she feared. She scowled at herself for that since her instincts were hardly ever wrong.

"No, no! He's alive!" Mrs. Hudson tried to sound reassuring but her own concern for the good doctor was making her slightly hysteric. Sherlene quickly wrapped the old green-gray knitted blanket she had been sleeping with around the old landlady's frame, as she continued, "He wired, or rather the lawyer did, to say I was to find you if you want in! And you're to get there as soon as possible!"

Pulling the blanket closer to her frame, calming herself down, Mrs. Hudson finished with: "And I got him a nice piece of mackerel* for his tea."

But Sherlene had already headed towards the hallway.

Both the double front doors on the entranceway opened and banged hard against walls as Sherlene pushed them. She had forsaking putting on a skirt or brushing her sleep-ruffled hair. She did not even change the clothes she wore yesterday and slept in, having not changed out of them when she fell asleep. One could hardly give a care about one's own appearance when your only real best friend had been brutally attacked, and was most likely seriously injured because you ask/told him to stay behind.

The woman detective stood in the doorway for a moment, looking around with her eyes. She quickly spotted the maid sitting on the stairs with a lacy white handkerchief in her hands.

"Dora!"

Having not heard the door bang upon despite being rather close to the entrance, the young maid gasped and jerked her head up in surprise at the sound of Sherlene's loud voice. Her eyes were glassy and the skin around them was red and puffy. The poor girl had been crying for quite some time but Sherlene couldn't find any sympathy to give at the moment.

She had spent the train drive to Harrow and then the cart ride up to Three Gables in a subliminal fit of worry. On the outside, she appeared as normal as she could be for someone like her, save for the fact she wasn't wearing her skirt over her trousers. But on the inside, she had an unshakable need to make sure Watson was alright. It had taken all her willpower to keep herself clam, as there was no way in god's name she was going to lose control of herself in public. Only two people were ever allowed to see her at her weakest without question. One of them could be found at the Diogenes Club, while the other was currently here at Three Gables.

"Where's Doctor Watson?" the woman detective demanded to Dora, her tone skillfully hiding any trace of worry she felt.

Though shaking in a combination of worry for her mistress and slight fear of Sherlene's disposition, Dora stood up from the stairs and walked down them, while the woman detective moved away from the entranceway. They met a few steps away the stairway.

Dora took a deep shaky breath and told Sherlene in a still upset and trembling voice. "He's upstairs, miss."

Sherlene let out a quiet sigh of relief, the storm of trepidation in her mind quieting down, allowing her body to relax from its anxious tenseness. In a calmer and far more soothing tone of voice, the woman detective asked, "How is he?"

Her alleviated tone of voice calmed the young maid out of any fear of receiving the bad end of Sherlene's mood. "I don't know, miss," Dora answered, "But he had a good breakfast."

Another sigh of relief escaped from Sherlene. If Watson was eating properly, then his injuries were either weren't as bad as they were made to sound or they were not affecting him too badly. It always brought relief to know nothing was as bad as you feared it would be.

Dora sniffed and held the handkerchief to her nose for a second before Sherlene asked, "Your mistress?"

"She's resting, miss," Dora answered, though her voice was choking up with concern worry, "She won't badly hurt, but she's had a nasty shock…" She paused for a second to gather herself before adding, "…we all have."

Sherlene reached to place a comforting hand on the young maid's shoulder but she paused when she heard footsteps coming from nearing the stairway on the floor above. The sharp ears of the woman detective told her that the footsteps belonged to a man since the trend was not as light as a woman's would be. It could only be Watson since he was the only man in this house.

Both Sherlene and Dora turned to the stairway just in time to see Watson starting to walk down the stairs. But he stopped when a wave of dizziness hit him unexpectedly. He leaned forward, nearly tumbling but he managed to grab a hold of the rail to steady himself and was able to regain enough of himself to making it to the landing. From there, Sherlene saw Watson had a black eye, blue bruises on his face and a bandage wrapped tightly around his head, though he was fully dressed.

"Good lord," she said, letting her some of concern drip into her voice when she saw the doctor's bandaged head, "What have you run into? What happened?"

Instead of answering, Watson shook his head and waved a bandaged hand Sherlene had not noticed until that moment at her as he slowly lowered himself to sit down on the landing to help regain his bearings from his almost tumble. He didn't want to talk about what happened to him, so Sherlene let her observation and detection powers tell her what she wanted to know.

The size of the swelling on Watson's bruised eye told her that the attack was someone with large well-muscled hands. But the eye itself was relatively undamaged so the attacker knew how to punch with some relative safety. Someone would have a long history of training how to fight using their fists in order to know how to fight with some safety in mind. Also most of Watson's injuries were on the upper parts of his body. All this signaled that the attacker had been a boxer since boxers favored hitting above the beltline, aiming more for the stomach and head areas.

That meant the attacker was Steve Dixie, Sherlene realized. If it had been the other thug, Watson would have injuries to the lower parts of his body. Sherlene knew this because she had observed that the second thug's strength was in his legs, suggesting someone who was fast and rather agile. If the smaller thug had fought he would have used his legs and feet because they would have been stronger then his fists. He would have hit Watson's knees and legs if he had been the one to attack instead of Steve Dixie.

Dora's worried voice brought her focus away from Watson, though the maid did not look away from the doctor. "Madam said she wants to see you as soon as you arrived, Ms. Holmes madam."

"Oh…" Sherlene walked around Dora and started up the stairs.

"Holmes…" Watson said, his voice tired from standing and moving so much in such a short amount of time since being injured "She's in a very frail condition."

"'Physician, heal thy shelf," Sherlene told him, patting his nearest and thankfully unwounded shoulder as she walked past him, continuing up the stairs without pause. Without saying it directly, Sherlene told him that he too was in a delicate condition, and that she wanted him to take it easy on himself, if only for her sake if not his own. It was because she minded his own shredded dignity for failing in his task of guarding Mrs. Maberley that Watson would do what Sherlene asked without directly asking.

Having taken Watson's warning to heart, Sherlene didn't touch Mrs. Maberley in order to arouse her from her calm but not really peaceful napping. Her client was exceedingly white from the combination of shock and fear she had endured just last night. She was lying quite still in her bed, several pillows propped her up in a slight angle. A scarf had been draped on her head for comfort and to give her a sense of security. From the sound of her breathing, Sherlene knew the old lady still had some awareness of her surroundings. It was to be expected since the scare kept her from falling into a deep restful sleep.

Improvising a different solution in waking her client, Sherlene slowly raised her arm, forming an arch in the air. The strong sunlight coming from the window behind her created a shadow on Mrs. Maberley's form. She watched the shadow of her arm fall on Mrs. Maberley's face. Mrs. Maberley's closed eyelids squinted in confusion at the loss of the sunlight and stayed squinted when the light returned. The old lady opened her eyes, her confused gaze falling onto Sherlene, who slowly reached to over to place the tips of her fingers on the old lady's hand.

"Ms. Holmes…" Mrs. Maberley said her voice tired but clearly happy to see the younger lady sitting next to her bed, despite seeing Sherlene's tangle-filled hair, unwashed clothes and wearing no skirt. The old lady was too exultant with relief to see Sherlene had finally arrived to be bothered by such a disgraceful state of being.

"How good of you," Mrs. Maberley sighed

"How are you feeling?" Sherlene asked

Mrs. Maberley managed to give her smile, "I'm alive, thanks to your brave friend, Dr. Watson. Did he get it back from them?"

"Get what?" Sherlene cocked an eyebrow in confusion. No one mentioned anything to her that something had been stolen. But it would explain why Watson had been so harshly injured. The thugs would have no reason to attack the doctor unless they had something in their possession they didn't want to give back.

"Oh," Mrs. Maberley's happy mood faded, replaced curiously by…

Repentance?

"Of course you wouldn't know," Mrs. Maberley went on to say, "I didn't…" She paused for a second then sucked in a deep breath to continue, "Ms. Holmes, I owe you an apology. I…I prayed it would have no bearing but it…it does."

Sherlene's eyebrow rose higher as she leaned closer to the bed, partially to listen closely to the words but also to keep an eye on the poor lady's state. Despite his own condition, Watson would have her head on a silver platter if she let Mrs. Maberley get too excited in her weaken condition. She had seen if happen before, thankfully with someone other then herself.

"Oh, it was so stupid of me," Mrs. Maberley went on without pause, "It's the reason for everything." Mrs. Maberley closed her eyes, gathering memories she had forced into a dark corner of her mind. "Douglas was writing a book."

Sherlene's eyes widen in realization. That was it she realized. The thing Isadora Klein was so desperate to get from Mrs. Maberley.

"He said it would explain it all," Mrs. Maberley continued not noticing Sherlene's expression even when she reopened her eyes. Her mind was still remembering what she had not wanted to remember for so long. "He started it in Rome, and later, when they brought him back here, he…he sat for hours in that…drafted little summerhouse, writing sometimes in the most dreadful weather."

Mrs. Maberley could still see her fragilely ill and slowly dying grandson writing nearly nonstop in her mind. She often brought him food from the house to feed him since he only came inside the house to sleep for only a few short hours before going back to the summerhouse to continue writing his book. It didn't matter to him if it was raining or cold outside. All that mattered to him was finishing that book that he had entitled "Sweet Revenge."

"And later when he could no longer leave his room, he still struggled with it." Mrs. Maberley paused to swallow back a lump growing in her throat before continuing, "Two copies. One he gave to Violet and told her to deliver it to someone…I…I don't know who."

But Sherlene did.

Douglas had told Violet, who was, no doubt, a good trusted old friend of his, to send a copy of his book to Isadora. That was how Isadora became aware of the danger Douglas had presented to her.

"He had sworn her to secrecy. And she kept it from us. The other copy…he urged me almost with his dying breath to send to his publisher."

In her mind's eye, Mrs. Maberley could see Douglas in his final moments. He had somehow managed to slide off his bed and stood on his knees before her, his eyes pleading for her to do something for him. She had ran her hands through his muddled hair and pale thin face comfortingly as he used his final strength to thrust the papers of his book against her chest. She knew what he had wanted to her to do and she had nodded to him. Life faded from his eyes after that moment, his body fell against his bed and then almost glided down onto the floor.

"I should have done so but…on the night of his funeral, missing him so much, I…I read it through." Mrs. Maberley's eyes began to blaze a mix of emotion. She let out a shuddering breath but continued on. "I knew exactly what it was! His life!

"That woman! I didn't even know her name!"

She took another breath in, trying to calm herself even as her emotions pouring out of her after repressing them for so long.

"But the scandal it would cause, and I…" Mrs. Maberley closed her eyes and pressed the heel of the palm of her hand against the side of her head, as through in pain from the memory. "I shut it out of my mind!"

That explained why Isadora had taken so long to come to Three Gables, Sherlene realized. She had been waiting for the published copy of this book to make its appearance. But when the book had not come forth after a period of time, she must of have realized that the second copy had not yet made it to the publishers.

"Tuck it away," the old woman continued, "And then last night…Dr. Watson reminded me…"

"And they were waiting for you?" Sherlene guessed

"Yes!" Mrs. Maberley answered sitting up a little in order to turn more on her side, so she could face Sherlene better, "They snatched it from me as I was bringing it up to him!"

So that's it then, Sherlene thought dejectedly. The book is now in Isadora hands and beyond my reach. Dash it all!**

But then Mrs. Maberley, as if knowing what the younger woman was thinking, regained her attention by holding up a finger. "All but this…" she said, almost whispering as she did.

The old woman stuck the hand she held up under one of her many pillows and pulled out a scrunched up and slightly ripped piece of paper from underneath it. As she held it up to Sherlene, the paper slightly un-scrunched itself and revealed parts of a single paragraph written in writing made by a dying man's hand.

"I tore it from the brute," Mrs. Maberley explained, as Sherlene gently took the paper from the older woman's still slightly shaking hands and fully un-scrunched it up. Once the page was out of her hands, Mrs. Maberley nervously began biting a finger, as afraid of what Sherlene's reaction would be towards her for not being able to give her the book and only able to show her the ending of the book her grandson had written.

But Sherlene, after examining the paragraph for a moment, simply scrunched the page back up, dropped it one of her trouser pockets and left the bedroom. She had bothered Mrs. Maberley quite enough and she needed to get Watson home.

But now, she quite possibly had the answer to this interesting if bizarre mystery in her pocket.

"'…face bled,'" Watson read from the last page of the book Sherlene told him that Douglas had been working feverously on during his last days. Not long ago, he and Sherlene had finally made it back to the comforting familiarity of 221B.

Watson was happy to be back in the comfort of his and Sherlene's shared home, even if he had to subject himself to Sherlene's care. It was not often Sherlene had to be the one tending to him (if was often he had to tend to her), but she was thankfully far from smothering. She knew his pride and she respected it, though she would demand him to sit down if he was swaying or tell him when his bandages need redressing or could come off.

He obliged her by sitting down, but only because he was still seeing grey spots on the corners of his vision. He also allowed her to remove his forehead bandage because she was right that it could now come off. When she had finished gently removing the bandage, he was about to apologize to her for failing her but Sherlene had thrust the piece of scrunched up paper in front of his eyes. When he took it out of her hand, she went to sit in her chair. She lit a pipe for herself and asked him to read the paragraph written on the paper for her.

"'His stomach burned from the savage blows," Watson continued reading, "But it was nothing to the bleeding of his heart when he saw that lovely face, the face, which he had been prepared to sacrifice his life for. She smiled—yes by Heaven! She smiled, like the heartless fiend she was. It was in that moment that love died and hate was born.' "

As she listened, Sherlene stopped smoking her pipe as Watson finished, " 'If it is not for your embrace, my lady, then it shall be for your undoing and my complete revenge.' "

""My" complete revenge?" Sherlene said, "The "he" becomes "my"?"

She got up from her chair and leaned over Watson's shoulder to look at the paragraph. "Yes," Watson said, having also noticed the change of pronouns, "The writer imagines himself as the hero."

"Two copies…" Sherlene said, looking up, "One to Mrs. Klein."

"And this for publication," Watson added

"All of London would recognize the wool from the lamb," Sherlene finished. That was what these events between Douglas and Isadora were all about and Mrs. Maberley had been unwittingly caught right in the middle of it. "Sweet revenge," the woman detective sighed.

Revenge cases were nothing new to her. Many of her cases had been about revenge. And the heart of most of them was love. The case of Jonas Oldacre and the case of Maria Pinto Gibson*** were fine examples of that one. Burning love turning into a burning hatred. And with that hatred, a person becomes willing to do the most spiteful things in order for the former love to know the pain he or she was put through, and call it justifiable.

Wait a moment. Sherlene paused, frowning. She checked her memory, and then double-checked. "Read me that first sentence again!"

Watson did so without question. "'…face bled. His stomach burned from the savage blows."

Sherlene's face went dark with realization. "The cause of death."

Watson looked up at her in confusion, so Sherlene clarified. "Pneumonia from a ruptured spleen the old woman said."

Watson eyes widened in realization. "Oh heavens. Ruptured from a kick! That's murder!"

"He could never prove it," Sherlene sighed. Because he could not prove Isadora's part in the causing of his death, all that was left to him was to write a detailed confession without saying any names.

But the details would be enough for people to realize on their own whom the lady Douglas had described was. Douglas' confession would have brought Isadora's true face into public view, something she could not afford to happen if she wanted to keep her luxurious lifestyle and her new fiancée.

The only flaw in Douglas' planned revenge was that he had warned Isadora what was coming, not knowing that his grandmother would fail to carry out his dying last request. Because in her heart of hearts, Mary Maberley could not wish revenge on anyone, whether they deserved it or not. Her heart was too warm to do something so cold.

But Sherlene's heart was not so warm or so cold. She could not allow Isadora to go unpunished but she had to stay with the confines of the law. The written cause of death on the paper was not hard enough proof that Isadora had a hand in Douglas's demise. It could have easily been Sherlene herself who wrote that paragraph. Without proof, Sherlene could not prove Isadora of any wrongdoing. So now all that was left was to use the last resort Pike had given her to use.

But first…Steve Dixie.

"I'm leaving for Cricklewood."

*Believe it or not, it's a fish.

**Otherwise known as "damn it all" in 19th century times

***The Adventure of the Norwood Builder and The Problem of Thor Bridge

Hope you've enjoyed and don't forget to review!