Terribly sorry for the delay. School is quickly winding down and with that, comes dreaded finals and such, so please bear with me. Take solace that summer is here and I will soon be free to write on a more regular basis.

"Now, Sherlock, do take care of this," Mycroft implored in a soft voice as he deposited something into his brother's hands. "You know how—"

"Yes, Mycroft, I know," Holmes interrupted him with a sharp voice and a dismissing wave of his hand as he placed it inside his pocket. I stood on the tips of my toes to try and see what he had placed into Holmes' palm, but he was much too quick for me; he placed the handkerchief-wrapped object into his breast pocket. A sigh of exasperation seemed to signal my arrival. Holmes' head leaned upwards and a small smile curved his thin lips. "Morning, Charlotte."

"What's that?" I inquired, completely ignoring his polite greeting.

"Nothing you should concern yourself with for the moment," Holmes answered with another indifferent wave of his hand.

My arms automatically folded themselves against my chest in frustration. "Now, why does that statement sound so familiar? Oh, right, because you told me the same thing yesterday."

"I will be outside waiting for your hansom," Mycroft said as he hastily made his way out of the parlor.

"Seriously, Holmes, what is it that Mycroft gave you?" I asked once again as I made my way towards him with wide and ungainly steps. He still did not provide me with any answer but, instead, walked towards the window. It was much too early for this sort of prevarication. "I refuse to be ignored."

He whirled around in annoyance and I was instantly met with the icy gust of his stare. "Well, I am afraid that you will have to become accustomed to being ignored if you continue to ask impertinent questions." He carefully peered through the curtains of the window as he said, "As I previously told you, Charlotte, I will tell you when the time is appropriate and now is not the time. Ah, I see the hansom has arrived." With that, Holmes brushed past me and went out the front door.

It was during times like this in which I felt compelled to take up smoking. I went back to my room to fetch my valise and my walking stick. While retrieving the items, I happened to glance out my window and noticed Mycroft and Holmes speaking to the hansom driver on the pavement. My eyes traveled toward the corner where we had seen our "gentleman" follower the night before; he was not there and neither was his friend, the bespectacled young man. Good for us, I mused as I walked out the door and down the stairs. Once outside, the hansom driver tipped his hat towards me in greeting, took my bag out of my hands, walked across the street, and placed it inside the hansom.

Mycroft turned to his sibling. "Well, do take care of yourself, Sherlock."

"Yes, of course, and you as well," Holmes replied as both of them shook each other's hand.

"Thank you, Mycroft," I said as he turned towards me. "You have been extraordinarily patient with the both of us." He gently shook my own hand as a genuine smile passed across his doughy face. "Do send my regards to the good Mrs. Costello. That woman is an utter angel."

"I shall tell her so," he warmly assured me. "Now, you and Sherlock must hurry along if you do not want to be spotted."

"Yes, we must head for the station. As Horace once said, 'While we're talking, envious time is fleeing: seize the day, put no trust in the future.'" Holmes took hold of my wrist and then proceeded to pull me across the street towards the waiting hansom. "Farewell, Mycroft!"

Holmes informed me on the way to the station that he had known about the two followers before last night; the bespectacled youth would watch from sunrise to sunset whereas the grey-haired gentlemen watched from twilight to approximately two or three in the morning. This ultimately meant that there was a considerable amount of time where neither of us was under surveillance.

Of course, this did not stop him from taking extra precautions. We changed hansoms at several different places at several different times. Our hansom weaved its way down several indirect routes that must have covered all of London. The sun hung low in the pale sky by the time we entered Victoria Station and I felt as though I had been awake for more than a day.

"You look absolutely dead on your feet," Holmes declared as he approached the ticket window.

"It's because I am," I muttered as I pinched the bridge of my nose. A headache began to painfully throb in my temples. "If it weren't for the cup of coffee this morning and the threat of public humiliation, I would probably collapse onto the station's gleaming floors." A loose strand from my precariously tied bun fell onto my eyes. All attempts to blow it away from my face proved fruitless.

Holmes lifted his hand and tucked the offensive strand behind my ear. My face suddenly tingled as if it had been splashed by ice water. I attempted to keep the expression on my face as nonchalant as possible. Meanwhile, he acted as though nothing had happened as he started to say, "You do not need to stand in line with me. Why not take a seat at one of the benches by the platform? Leave your bag; allow me to carry it for you."

I decided to take advantage of his kindness and rushed over to the benches. I went to the farthest bench and all but keeled over in my seat. My legs unconsciously stretched themselves in front of me as I leant my walking stick against the left arm of the bench. Ah, now this felt quite good. My body had relaxed yet my mind refused to do so and fixated itself on what had just occurred.

Now, why did he do that? My mind tried to grasp on a particular reason but nothing immediately came to mind. Perhaps Holmes was only trying to be a gentleman…yes, that could be possible and absolutely plausible. After all, he did not act as though it were anything out of the ordinary. Yes, that must be it, I convinced myself. Still, there was the question concerning my own reaction. The tingling sensation I felt from his touch…I had never felt anything like that before and, quite honestly, it felt very nice.

Oh, dear God, now where did that thought come from? Associating Holmes with something pleasurable? Surely, fatigue must be playing foul with my thoughts for me to be even thinking like this. Yes, that must be it, I convinced myself once again. After all, Holmes and I are extraordinarily incompatible. Nothing could ever work out between us…right?

The sound of a throat clearing itself fell upon my ears and thankfully broke my perverse chain of thoughts. My brow furrowed in irritation as I lifted my hand to my closed eyes and stated, "First, you tell me that I should rest for awhile and, just as I am thoroughly relaxed, you are about to tell me to get on my feet once more. Firecrackers, Holmes! If I weren't so tired, I'd murder you."

"Look, I just wanted to know if the seat next to you is taken."

My eyes snapped open and I hastily removed my hand from my brow to see to whom I was actually speaking. The first thing I noticed about the man standing to my right was his hair; it was a mass of light brown curls that hung around his long pale face. A pair of cornflower blue eyes looked at me with a curious gaze from a slightly hook-shaped nose.

"Oh, I apologize," I muttered as I instantly sat up in my seat and smoothed my skirt. My face flushed crimson as I tried to maintain any dignity I had left. "Yes—I mean, no—the seat is not taken and you may sit down."

"Thanks," he replied with a crooked smile as he took the seat next to me. I immediately noticed that he was a nervous or impatient sort of man; he leaned forward in his seat with his arms crossed over his knobby knees while his right leg jiggled up and down like a piston. Up and down his leg went, strongly reminding me of the wag of a dog's tail.

I massaged my temples as I vainly attempted to alleviate my headache when I heard a reedy, brittle, biting, and, yet, pleasantly musical sound next to me. I looked towards my right and saw the gentlemen next to me with what appeared to be a metal bar placed against his lips. His spidery fingers caressed the shining metal as though it were the hand of a loved one. I also noticed that his jostling leg had ceased its jerking rhythm. Suddenly, he stopped playing and turned to me with that same crooked smile.

"I'm sorry. That must be disturbing you. I can be so damn inconsiderate sometimes… well, most of the time, anyway," he said in a quick rush of words. Much to my amusement, I noticed that his voice was very similar to the instrument that he played; his voice possessed a slightly nasal and thin quality that managed to sound pleasant. It was also clear that this man was not a Londoner; he did not seem British for that matter. He sounded American, I thought. He pulled a checkered handkerchief from his coat pocket and began to wrap up the minute instrument when I stopped him.

"No! No, it wasn't disturbing me at all. I'm actually curious to what instrument you're playing. I've never heard anything like it before."

His blue eyes widened in interest as he angled himself towards me. "You've never heard a harmonica before?" He inquired in that reedy voice. I shook my head in response. He loudly cleared his throat and then coughed as he held the harmonica in his hands. "Well, this is a harmonica. It's a lovely and simple, little thing. All you gotta do is blow through the holes on the side here and the sound comes out like this." He demonstrated as such by blowing a tentative note. "See? Simple and easy; you can probably do it. I'd let you try, but that would be disgusting and all with the saliva and everything like that."

A laugh gurgled in my chest for the first time that day. He returned my smile with his own crooked, close-mouthed smirk. He briefly rubbed his chin in a nervous manner, placed the harmonica to his lips, and began to play a slow, melancholy tune.

"Charlotte," a familiar voice said from behind me. I turned and saw Holmes twirling the walking stick in his hands. "We really must be boarding the train right now."

"All right, then," I answered as I stood up from my seat. I turned to the man next to me, who was still playing on his harmonica. His light blue eyes met mine and he nodded his good-bye as I did the same. I added, "You play wonderfully."

His gratitude was illustrated in the same way as his good-bye: simple nod; yet, I thought I caught the ghost of that crooked smile on his face. Holmes and I walked towards our train and boarded it just as the steam whistle blew and nearly deafened me. We discovered an empty compartment just as the train started to move out of Victoria Station.

Oxford! Oh, I could almost see all of it sprawled before me. I was returning to my terra firma and relief flooded through my body at that delicious knowledge. Holmes chuckled at the apparent happiness on my face.

"You really miss Oxford, I gather?"

"No," I naturally contradicted. "I am actually looking forward to not sharing a roof with you."

Another chuckle bubbled from Holmes. "I may actually agree with you on that point, Charlotte. Yet, I must say that the experience was not as horrible as I thought it would be."

Now, what did he mean by that? Suddenly, my earlier musings abruptly resurfaced and my face turned red. It was lucky that Holmes was not looking in my direction at the moment and I decided to switch subjects. "What do you think our gentlemen will think when they find that we are no longer at Mycroft's residence?" I asked as I twirled my walking stick with my fingers.

"They will follow us to Oxford as that is the most logical place," he started to say as he pulled out his cigarette tin. His eyes glanced up toward me as he tapped a cigarette on the metal tin. He briefly stood up and pulled the window down about an inch. He then returned to his seat and proceeded to light his cigarette. Tendrils of smoke oozed from his nostrils and mouth as he spoke once again. "However, I believe that it will take them a long time to figure out that we have slipped under their sights and we shall be long gone by then."

"Where are we going then?" I asked despite the look with which I had become familiar spread across his face. He opened his mouth to provide that answer, but I stole the words out of his mouth. "You will tell me when the proper time comes."

He leaned back in his chair with his index finger tightly pressed against his mouth. "Exactly."

"You know, Holmes, you can be extraordinarily infuriating," I grumbled as my grip slipped on my twirling walking stick. His cat-like reflexes seized it before it fell on the floor. "Thank you," I said as I placed my walking stick in my lap for safe-keeping.

"Yes, I tend to have that effect on people," he retorted in good humor.

"Holmes?"

"Yes?"

"What did Mycroft give you?"

"Charlotte…"

"Oh! All right, I won't ask anymore. I'm almost afraid to know what it is."

Oxford was the same as I left it. The silver clouded skies with the lush green of the countryside welcomed me back. A light shower of rain was falling as Holmes and I disembarked the train yet my spirits could not be dampened.

I was home once more.

I logically understood that I had only been gone for three days yet it felt that I had been gone for a much longer period of time. The knowledge we had obtained during our stay in the capitol was relatively vast, which perhaps made our stay seem longer. However, I felt that being around Holmes for three straight days was the actual reason.

Holmes peered up at the light drizzle that greeted us. "Ah, Oxford, she welcomes us back into her arms."

"Indeed," I answered in a peaceful tone when my mind suddenly fastened on a troubling thought. "Holmes, we should have sent a telegram to my mother yesterday. After all, she will not be expecting us back and it is rather rude of us to not send notice."

He winced at this realization and quickly gathered his thoughts around him. He answered after a quick moment, "We shall simply tell her that there was a rather blustery storm that passed through the area and temporarily knocked down the lines." He cleared his throat and took his Gladstone bag and his violin case into one hand and then looked at my bag. "May I take your bag?"

"No, I have two hands, Holmes. I can manage to walk and carry my own bag, you do know." I sardonically replied as I started to walk towards the end of the station where several hansoms were waiting.

Holmes quickly caught up with me in about two steps and lectured, "You know, Charlotte, you must not try and take every attempt to be polite as condescension towards your handicap." My face soured at the final word while a bittersweet smile flitted across Holmes' features. "I know how capable you are despite your…" he stopped for a moment to consider what word he should use and then said with a sidelong glance towards my direction, "Your difficulties," I shrugged as it sounded slightly better than the other word. He continued, "Very well, I know that despite your difficulties you are a well-rounded young woman capable of handling herself."

"Why, thank you, Holmes. I must say that that previous statement is probably one of the nicest things that you have ever said. It must have been terribly painful for you to say something like that."

Holmes laughed and then said, "In my defense, dear Charlotte, it must be horribly difficult for you to actually show your gratitude towards me without adding some sort of sarcastic reply."

For no other reason that I could think of, besides proving him wrong, I told him in an honest voice, "Thank you, Holmes. You do not know how much it means to me that you are helping me."

His face was unreadable as I stole a glance towards his direction. Not a word came from his mouth and we continued to walk in awkward silence. Damnation, I silently cursed myself. Here I was, actually opening up to this man and I felt as if he had slammed a door in my face. I was immediately regretting ever saying anything at all when I heard a very soft reply from next to me.

"You are quite welcome," he said with a genuine smile upon his face.

We boarded one of the available hansoms and soon bustled towards our destination when I called Holmes. He stopped his inspection of the countryside and turned towards me with raised eyebrows that waited for what I had to say.

"Yes, Charlotte?"

"What was it that Mycroft give you?"

His eyes bulged as he buried his head in his hands in exasperation. The only response I received was a rather loud, "Damn it, woman!"

Apparently, now was not the time.

I was greeted by an ear shattering shriek and a bone crushing embrace. My mother was a petite figure yet she managed to ensnare my weed-like stature like a bear trap. Normally I would have tried to pry myself away from a potentially embarrassing scenario like this but I had honestly missed being coddled like this. She finally released me from her vise-like grip and gently held me at arm's length to inspect me.

"Oh, Charlotte, I do believe that Sussex has done you some good. How was your time at the Downs?"

"It was quite lovely," I simply replied; the less details I divulged, the fewer chances I had of making a mistake and saying something wrong. "Everything about the place was just lovely. Mr. Holmes' aunt was so kind to us during our stay."

"Well, that is very good to hear." Mum beamed as she briefly clasped her hands in mine. She then turned her attention to Holmes. "It is very good to see you once again, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes politely smiled and returned my mother's greeting. He then cleared his throat and said, "I must apologize for what appears to be our abrupt return. We would have sent a telegram to inform you of our return home but the weather caused the lines to be out of service for a good while."

"Oh, that is no problem at all. I am simply glad to see the both of you back in Oxford once again." She asserted as she walked inside the house. "Do make yourselves comfortable. Josephine will tend to your bag and unpack it for you."

"Mrs. Andrewes, if it is at all possible, may I have a private word with you?" Holmes inquired as he hung up his coat on one of the open hooks on the wall.

Mother replied with a nod, "Yes, you may. I am about to have a quick luncheon in the kitchen so perhaps you may join me there."

"That will be fine, Madam," Holmes acquiesced and then headed for the kitchen after my mother.

A clatter of footsteps shook the staircase as Josephine jostled down the steps. She gave me a quick wave as she took my bag into her capable hands. "Good to see you again, Miss Charlotte. Good day, Mr. Holmes."

"It is good to see you too, Josephine," I warmly greeted her in return.

"Good day, Josephine," Holmes addressed her with a polite nod.

"Oh, Charlotte," Mum's voice came sailing into my ears once again. I turned to see her head peeking out from the kitchen threshold. "I neglected to tell you that Anne and Geoffrey are here."

No sooner had Mum announced this, I heard the lilting gurgle that could only come from a small infant followed by a maternal cooing sound. Anne soon emerged from the hallway with little Veronica perched on her shoulder. Anne smiled when her eyes met mine and she took the baby's hand in hers and made Veronica wave in my direction.

"Look, Ronnie, there's your Auntie Charlotte."

A wide grin threatened to break my face in half over the little bundle of joy in my sister's arms. I all but ran towards Anne to inspect the little cherub in her arms. Little Veronica was a darling little thing; she had her mother's brown eyes and her father's fair hair. Anne instructed me to place a finger in the child's open palm. I did so and to my delight Veronica ensnared my finger into her chubby little hand.

"Oh, Anne, I believe that a child's hand is one of the most beautiful things in the world." I declared as I smoothed Veronica's hair over her brow. Veronica's protuberant eyes met mine and she gaily gurgled her greeting. I could not help but coo at the lovely child, "Yes, Ronnie, I'm your Auntie Charlotte and I'm going to spoil you rotten."

"Yes, your Auntie Charlotte will probably be sending packages of Dickens and Poe to our doorstep before the little one can read." I looked up and saw Geoff appear above me on the staircase. He bounded down the stairs and took me in a firm embrace. "Hello, Charlotte."

"Good to see you, Geoff." I mumbled into his shoulder. "However, I must correct you; the Dickens is what I shall be sending. The Poe is much too frightening for a little poppet like that."

He chuckled in good humor as he cleaned his spectacles with a handkerchief. He then turned to Holmes and extended his hand in greeting. "Ah, Mr. Holmes, it is very good to see you as well."

"Congratulations on the child's birth," Holmes greeted as he shook hands.

"Charlotte, would you like to hold her?" Anne asked as the little one writhed in her arms.

"I'd love to, Anne, but…you know…" I awkwardly motioned towards my withered arm. "I don't want to drop her."

Anne bit her lip as she rocked Veronica. "Well, why don't you sit down in the parlor and lay her in your arms." It was a perfect solution. I sat down on the settee with Anne and she motioned the proper way to hold her. Once I had mastered the proper technique, she gently placed Veronica in my arms.

Veronica shifted uncomfortably in my arms as she acknowledged that she was not in familiar territory. I tried to soothe her, "Shh, Veronica, I'm your family. I'm your Auntie Charlotte, poppet." The introduction seemed to placate the child as her only response was to shove her thumb into her tiny mouth. "Oh, you're a beautiful, little thing, aren't you? I bet you're going to break a bunch of hearts when you're older…just like your Mum."

"Charlotte!" Anne exclaimed in protest.

"It is only a jest, Anne." I reassured my sister with a laugh.

"Mr. Holmes, would you like to take a look at her?" Anne asked. I turned towards Holmes, who stood at the parlor's threshold. Strangely, he seemed uncomfortable for some reason; he was the farthest person from Anne, Geoff, and me. He tentatively approached the settee and took a seat besides me. Anne seemed unaware of Holmes' wariness since she said, "She's beautiful, isn't she, Mr. Holmes?"

Holmes cleared his throat and briefly glanced towards Veronica's direction. "Yes, she looks just like you, Mrs. Humphreys."

Anne beamed, looked down at her daughter, and laughed. "Oh, Charlotte, she fell asleep!" Sure enough, Veronica had curled up in my arms and had fallen asleep. "Geoff and I are going to have a quick lunch. Do you mind taking care of her for…oh, about half an hour or so?"

I started to sputter excuses but they seemed to fall on deaf ears. Anne and Geoff took off faster than one could say, "Gratis Governess!" I was now all alone in a room with a dozing infant and Holmes, both intimidating in different ways. I hardly thought of myself as the maternal type and the most experience I ever had before this little bundle in my arms was a baby doll that I had grown bored with after a day. It was lucky that she was asleep for I had absolutely no idea what to do.

The confusion I was feeling must have been very apparent on my features as Holmes started to silently quake with laughter.

"What are you laughing at?" I vehemently whispered as I did not want to wake up the child. He shook his head but continued to laugh in silence. "Tell me, Holmes, what is it that you find so amusing?"

He finally calmed down and whispered, "I do believe that this is the most perplexed and helpless that I have ever seen you."

"Oh, and you think it's funny to see me in such a position?" I said a little louder than I intended. Veronica squirmed in my arms and I instantly shut my mouth to prevent myself from waking her up. I glared at Holmes and then shifted Veronica onto my shoulder with great care.

"She is so tiny," Holmes mused aloud as he scrutinized the child. Veronica was lucky that she was asleep; I certainly did not want her first memory to be a pair of grey eyes gazing at her in detached curiosity. He cryptically added, "So vulnerable…"

I turned back to Holmes with a look of shock on my face. It was such a jarring statement; an infant is usually described as "cute", "chubby", or "lovely" but "vulnerable?" It is not something that you say as one is leaning over a child's pram or in any other situation. I was about to viciously retort when the words died on my lips the moment I looked at Holmes.

A thoughtful look rested on his aquiline features but there was nothing new about that; there were hundreds of times that I had seen him in that manner. What was different was that there was a subtle grimace of pain that I had never seen before and doubted he would have let anyone else see; I do not think that even he was aware of the expression on his face. That is, until, I was fool enough to bring up the subject.

"Holmes, is there anything the matter?"

He furiously shook his head and waved his hand away as though he were swatting an infuriating insect. "No, there is nothing the matter." I was about to ask him again but he gave me such a terrible look that I immediately decided against it. We sat in awkward silence save for Veronica who was blissfully unaware of the events happening around her. Anne and Geoffrey returned some time later as blissfully unaware as their daughter.

Holmes and I decided to go for a walk around Christ Church meadow when my complimentary governess duties completed. The drizzle of rain that had greeted us this morning had faded away. The sky overhead burnished blue while the birds serenaded the meadow's promenading visitors. Our stroll was mostly silent, which was fine for the both of us; we did not have the compulsion to have a conversation unless there was something that needed to be said. The silence between us was, nevertheless, soon interrupted.

"Sherlock, is that you?" The shriek curdled my blood, pierced my eardrums, and stopped us in our tracks. There was only one person who could incite such a reaction in us. My gaze shifted to Holmes and his eyes were shut in a pained expression. He resignedly sighed and turned around as though he was facing a firing squad. I followed suit and our suspicions were confirmed.

Emily Ellis stood swathed in a lacy pink confection of a frock. An ornate hat was perched upon her blonde hair, which was arranged in perfect ringlets around her heart-shaped face. A wide grin stretched across her features. Her overall appearance gave me the impression that I was standing before Alice's Cheshire Cat.

Holmes was the first one to speak. "Good afternoon, Miss Ellis."

A girlish giggle fluttered in her throat as she playfully slapped Holmes. "Oh, Sherlock, must you always be so polite? I insist you call me 'Emily.'" She sighed in a theatric manner and turned towards me. Her demeanor suddenly changed from bubbly exuberance to icy contempt. "Hello, Miss Andrewes."

"Miss Ellis," I managed to say with what I hoped was a polite smile. "How are you?"

"Oh, quite well," she answered in a sickly sweet voice as she turned to someone next to her. "Aren't I, darling?"

The extravagant and terrifying sight of Emily had distracted me from the man standing next to her. I felt the blood drain from my skin the moment I recognized him. "Yes, Emmy, dear," Aidan Keating answered as he lifted up her hand and kissed it. They both smiled at each other for quite some time until Aidan broke their eye contact and looked at me. "Hello, Charlotte."

"Aidan, what a pleasant surprise," I tried to say without the least bit of sarcasm. "So... what brings you two here?"

"I could ask the same question," Aidan replied as he crossed his arms over his chest and flashed that winning smile of his. "Well, Emmy and I thought that it would be a nice day for a stroll on the meadow and it appears that you lot had the same thought."

"Oh, Sherlock," Emily began to say as she twirled the equally lacy parasol on her shoulder and glued her eyes onto my walking stick. "Do you think that a walk is necessarily good thing? I would think that Miss Andrewes..."

"Actually, Emily, it was I who suggested that we take a walk," I interrupted with an even voice. "But, what about you, Miss Ellis? Do you think that a saunter through the park is necessarily good thing? I would think that the Oxford mud would ruin the lovely silk of your dress."

Her grin slipped a bit at my comment and she seemed to wonder whether it was a joke or a snide remark. I pasted a polite but enigmatic smile on my face; let her decide what I had meant. She took my comment as a joke and started to giggle. Emily was obviously unaware that I really wanted to make her stumble over my walking stick and to watch her and her fine silks tumble into the Oxford mud. Aidan was, however, more acquainted with me; a cough that suspiciously sounded like a laugh racked him for a good minute.

The scenario seemed doomed to descend into an uncomfortable silence when Emily practically thrust her left hand in my face. I initially thought that she was going to punch or slap me, but reconsidered the thought when I saw an unwieldy-looking diamond ring on her finger. My jaw actually dropped in awe as a rather slimy, green feeling slithered down my spine.

"Well, that is quite a ring there," I dumbly blurted out.

Holmes luckily spoke up to elaborate my stupid comment. "Congratulations to the both of you," he politely praised. "When will the marriage occur?"

Emily and Aidan turned to each other and started to consult amongst themselves in breathless whispers. They whispered, giggled, and grinned at each other in the annoying manner that lovebirds often do. Holmes and I shared dubious glances with each other during their little consultation. I was about to use my walking stick in a most unladylike fashion when they finally turned back to us.

"Well, Aidan and I," Emily began to say but, before she could continue, locked eyes with Aidan and dissolved into laughter. They regrouped themselves after some time and Emily continued. "You see, we can't decide whether to hold the ceremony in the summer or the winter. Aidan wants it in the summer but I want it in the winter so my dress can match with the snow."

"How about you, Holmes?" Aidan jauntily asked as though they had not fought over me as a prize. My goodness, that seems like a lifetime ago, I thought to myself. So much had happened since then. "Are we going to hear wedding bells in the future?"

Holmes smiled in what appeared to be good humor, but I knew better; he felt, as I did, too, that Aidan had crossed a personal boundary. Instead of ridiculing the fellow, however, he irreverently replied, "Fear not for the future, weep for the past."

Aidan humorlessly chuckled while Emily's face contorted into an expression of deep puzzlement. I was not fond of Emily Ellis, to say the very least, but I did have a polite respect for her beau. "What Sherlock means to say is that marriage is a major step for the both of us and we believe that we should not rush into an engagement until we have become better acquainted."

It was a diplomatic answer that would have made the likes of Benjamin Disraeli proud. They may like to splash their relationship in public, but they should not expect the same candidness from Holmes and me…

Your courtship is a sham, remember? the little voice in my head strongly reminded me. I felt as though I had been betrayed by my own wits.

Emily was uninterestedly gazing at the opulent ring on her finger. This looked like the proper time for an exit. Holmes seemed to come to the same conclusion and said, "Well, we have an engagement to attend." He briefly shook hands with Aidan and gently clasped Emily's hand. "Congratulations, once again."

"It was good to see you again, Sherlock," Emily purred. She turned her icy eyes onto me and said with great difficulty, "The same to you, Miss Andrewes."

I nodded in acknowledgement of her sentiment and awkwardly waved my goodbye to Aidan. The pair walked away, arm-in-arm, and disappeared into their own world. Holmes was first to vocalize his gratitude of their exit.

"The nerve of Keating..." He fumed more to himself than for my ears. "How can he make such an inquiry? It is no business of his at all..."

"Indeed," I distractedly mumbled as he continued to seethe. I suddenly felt restless and no longer wanted to walk around the meadow. A pint at the local public house seemed awfully good at the moment. I declared that we head for the Bird and Baby. His brow scrunched at my abrupt demand, but he did not say a single thing. His only reaction was to lace my arm through his as we headed toward Giles Street.

The barmaid delivered a pint for me and a glass of claret for Holmes. We both gave her our thanks and I consumed a good fourth of the glass with my first gulp. A disapproving grimace crossed Holmes' features and I merely shrugged as a reply. It was only a matter of time before Holmes would interrogate my peculiar behavior; if, that is, he had not yet figured out what exactly was bothering me. In fact, even I had no idea what had provoked this morose streak in me…or perhaps I did but was unwilling to acknowledge it.

"Keating's engagement..." Holmes thought aloud as he pressed his index finger to his lips. "Their courtship was quite short. It makes me wonder..."

Curiosity was something that I would have normally expressed about Holmes' thoughts, but I did not feel like riding the dizzying train of my faux beau's thoughts. "Mmhmm," I merely replied. The pint tasted very good and the sliminess that ensnared me started to loosen its hold. He patiently waited for my normal response of akin to, "Wonder what? What is on your mind, Holmes?" It soon became clear that I would not be voicing my own queries and he proceeded with his chain of thought.

"There is an element of haste about their sudden engagement that is rather curious. Did you notice that Emily's clothing is a tad different from what she normally wears?"

"It is probably the latest style from Paris or something or other," I mumbled. I really wanted him to stop talking about Emily Ellis and Aidan Keating's engagement. "Why have you taken a sudden interest in Emily Ellis's fashion, Holmes?" He did not provide me with an answer, but took a sip of his claret. My mind unwillingly returned back to our meeting. Emily was still the same frilly and girlish dresses in her favorite color; there was nothing out of the ordinary about that. No, there was something different, my mind teased. Very well, what was different? I took a large gulp of my pint.

"I do not think your mother would appreciate me bringing you home drunk," Holmes admonished as he finished his own glass of claret.

I childishly stuck my tongue out and took an even larger sip to Holmes' chagrin. Cloudiness started to fog my senses as the sounds in the pub began to sound muffled. The question of Emily's change in fashion returned to my thoughts. What was different? Emily was known for wearing rather tight-fitting fashions that showcased the curves of her body. This time, however, she was wearing a dress that hung loosely over her stomach. Oh, dear God...

"She's pregnant?" I said a little too loudly.

Holmes briefly buried his head into his hands and then sardonically snapped, "You might as well have announced it to the entire pub, Charlotte."

"Firecrackers! I cannot imagine how the Ellises took the news." I held my glass to my lips and belatedly retorted, "Oh, please, Holmes, everyone hear is drunk or on the way to becoming drunk. I doubt they know or even care about what we are talking about." I was about to take a sip of my own glass when I found that my right hand was empty. My pint stood next to Holmes' empty glass. I made to reach for it, but he pulled it away from my reach. "Holmes!"

He leaned forward in his seat and the flurry of his words nearly caused me to keel over. "You have been visibly upset ever since we came across that insipid couple. I hardly think that you want to spend more time socializing with Emily nor do I think that you regret your parting with Keating. So, there must be something else that is bothering you. Now, I am being extremely charitable by giving you this choice: either I tell you what has upset you or you tell me. I believe the latter choice would be in your best interest."

I placed my hands on the back of my neck and I suddenly became fascinated by the way the gaslight was hitting the glasses. His mouth was starting to form the words of his analysis when I interrupted him.

"Remember how I told you that I would never get married?"

"Yes, I remember that clearly," he answered as he pulled out his cigarette case. A slim cigarette perched precariously from his lips. "May I?"

"Oh, go ahead," I reluctantly complied and proceeded to disclose what was on my mind. I heard the snap of a match followed by the scent of tobacco. "My own lack of desire for marriage does not come from an honest distaste for the institution. Oh, no, I am not that courageous." I laughed and it came out sounding brittle and humorless. "No, I reject marriage because I know that it will reject me. Yet, there is still some part of me that secretly wants to marry that special person and have a bunch of children running all over the place. I won't have that, though, and I just have to accept it."

"What makes you think that you will never wed?" Holmes softly queried.

A morose smile crept onto my lips. "Come now, Holmes, who wants to settle for damaged goods?" Tears started to form in my eyes and I willed myself not to cry; I was already piteous enough confessing these confidences and I surely did not need this added to my list of sorrows. I reached for my pint once again and expected him to take it out of my reach; he did not. I took a hearty gulp and continued. "So, I became upset that Emily Ellis not only had the biggest diamond ring on her hand, but also that this vapid, shallow, and dense spoiled brat has found someone who loves her... or, at least, appears to love her. I felt as if I had been given a divine slap in the face. I know I am not perfect, but I do believe that I am a great deal better than Emily Ellis. Aren't I?"

"As unconventional as you are, Charlotte, you are a prime specimen of the feminine species."

"Thank you, Holmes. Wait, was that supposed to be a compliment?"

He did not give me an answer. A familiar introspective look rested on Holmes' face. He deeply sighed and ground out his cigarette in the ashtray. "Charlotte, I was going to wait to do this, but I think that, under the present circumstances, now may be the appropriate time to do so."

"To do what exactly?" I bemusedly questioned as I watch him fumble through the pockets of his grey coat. A handkerchief-wrapped object emerged from his coat pockets; it was the same article I had last seen at Mycroft's flat. It was the very thing that I had constantly bothered Holmes about the entire day. He placed it in the middle of the table and simply left it there. I was about to open it when I saw the look on his face. He appeared as though he was uneasy, almost as though he was in a situation in which he was not accustomed. Alarm bells started to ring in my head and I nervously asked, "Holmes, seriously, what is all this about?"

"Just open it," he demanded. Strangely, he did not look me in the eye as he said this, which further confirmed my qualms. Hesitation prevailed for only a moment before curiosity invaded and took over my senses. I unfolded the handkerchief and was greeted by a strange sight.

It was beautiful in its utter simplicity. A band of white gold glinted at me within the folds of the handkerchief. I picked it up to examine it closer and saw that it was decorated with a lovely pear shaped diamond. I admired it for a brief moment before I realized what a ring like this was supposed to mean. Now, I understood why he was acting out of character.

I naturally summoned up the most eloquent statement I could think of. "What the bloody hell is this?"

"An engagement ring."