Author's Note: Ooh, sorry it's been a while, but here is chapter 14- Named after one of my fave songs atm ;) I was really thrilled at having a load of PM suggestions from you guys about what you think Irene is keeping from Holmes and the real reason behind their 'marriage'. Some were seriously close to the mark... Read on to discover if you were right! :P Ah well, I'm rambling on at you now... Chapter 14- ENJOY! =D

Dear Mary

Since the birth of the twins, you and I have barely spent a day apart. Now I find myself in a situation where I have not laid eyes on you for more than two weeks. It is most unsettling. I don't know if time really does fly when you are having fun, but it most definitely drags when you are not! We have been in India for two days now, and are sadly no closer to solving the mystery which keeps me away from my family; despite Holmes' best efforts of investigation. This, of course, I mean with overall sarcasm as the extent of the 'Great Detective's' efforts so far have been to individually study every member of the palace staff before retiring to his room every night with a large collection of narcotics and other substances I now suspect have been taken from my own portmanteau. I know you will tell me to confiscate the bottles he has taken, but he appears adept at hiding them from me. If helping Sherlock Holmes to escape the clutches of addiction involves strip-searching him for evidence, I have to say I would rather let him continue!

Despite my traumatic experiences in India, I find myself more than able to appreciate the beauty and splendour of this province in particular. Our lodgings are situated in a building entirely separate from the Royal Palace, but still within the palace walls. The palace itself is built around an enormous courtyard; passage through which will lead you to a tower. We have been forbidden entry to this tower as it serves as the private quarters of the Maharaja's daughter, Jhasmine. How long His Royal Highness anticipates he can keep Holmes away from taking the tower by storm remains to be seen.

I have strived to stay positive throughout the venture, but the days pass unnoticed, and I feel my depression growing; depression I feel would be easier to bear if you were here by my side. While there is no use in being despondent, I can't help but wish that the next two weeks would pass quicker so I can begin counting the days until I can be with you and the girls once again.

I know they are too young to understand, but please wish Rose and Tilly a Happy Birthday on my behalf. When I return, I will bring birthday presents with me- presents that Uncle Sherlock shall be paying for!

All my love now and forever, my darling

John

As the bell for afternoon tea rang inside the palace walls, Watson knocked firmly on the bedroom door. As per their disguise as a married couple, Irene and Holmes had been placed once again in a room together; the repercussions of which amused Watson no end. But the humour surrounding the situation could only sweeten Watson's temperament for so long and the absence of his family seemed to further pressurise his ever-decreasing amounts of patience. He gave Holmes two days. That was when his patience had finally run out.

There was no answer to his first knock, so he tried again. After three attempts, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Good Lord!" Watson clapped a handkerchief over his nose and mouth, breaking into a violent bout of coughing. "Holmes, how are you still breathing? This room smells like an opium den!"

He struggled to a window and threw open the shutters, ignoring Holmes' moans of protest as bright Indian sunshine streamed in through the windows.

"It's a beautiful day, Holmes," Watson enthused. "Not a cloud in the sky."

"Is it morning already?" Holmes mumbled from somewhere deep within a cloud of tobacco smoke. "I have hardly seen you these two days, Watson... As much as it pains me to say it, I have missed your dulcet tones of misery and disdain."

"You have been in this room for two days now," Watson said, adopting the 'no-nonsense' tone he reserved for Holmes' most insubordinate moments. "Isn't it high time you..." He plucked an almost empty bottle of clear liquid off the dresser and sniffed it warily. "...Stopped helping yourself to my medical supplies and began to formulate some sort of plan?"

"Perhaps," Holmes said, "But what is life without its distractions?" Watson could almost see the happy smile on the face of the detective as he heaved himself out of his armchair and tottered over to where Watson stood.

"Take a bath and put on some clean clothes," Watson ordered, taking a smart step backwards as he was hit by the eye-watering stench of stale tobacco.

"And there I was believing you came to see me because you enjoy my company."

"Well, this is how we operate," Watson said as he tucked the confiscated bottles into his trouser pocket. "You fall into a drug-induced, boredom-fuelled stupor of indolence and I am always at hand to dig you up again."

"I wouldn't have it any other way!" Holmes clapped his hands together and stretched like a cat. He snatched a shaving brush and a razor from a drawer.

"That's my brush!" Watson snatched it from him for a closer look. "How long have you had this? I've been searching for it for months now."

"Closer to years," Holmes told him casually. "You left it behind when you moved out the last of your belongings. I utilised it once you were gone; my own was quite worn out. He reached out and plucked it out of Watson's grasp. "Since you're no longer using it, old chap..."

Holmes approached the basin and raised the razor blade to his face. He paused when he realised Watson was still watching him.

"I am capable of shaving myself without supervision..."

"Do we have a plan, then?"

"Of course we do."

"Oh." Watson feigned surprise. "Enlighten me, please."

"I shall." Holmes rubbed a hand across the stubble on his cheeks and chin. "But first, tell me... Tell me..."

"Yes?"

"Tell me... Is there any water in your basin?"

"What?"

"My basin is empty and I need to shave," Holmes said calmly. "The basins are filled daily with fresh water, but nobody has been inside this room for days..."

"I wonder why." Watson rolled his eyes, but flicked a hand towards the door. "Yes, of course, go on."

Filled with a sudden burst of energy, Holmes bounded towards the door, brush and blade in hand.

"So what is the plan, Holmes?" Watson shouted after him.

Holmes' head appeared around the corner of the doorframe.

"The circular pool at the East side of the Palace gardens. There's a wall decorated with mosaic tiles and a fountain, I believe. Meet there in..." Holmes nipped back into the room and pulled Watson's pocket watch from his trousers. "...Twenty minutes from now. Keep close to the wall, we want to avoid attracting attention. Oh, and one more thing..."

"Yes, Holmes?"

"Find my wife. Adieu..."

"Day two in paradise," Holmes said drolly. "Process has been, I'll admit, painfully slow since our arrival..."

"And whose fault is that?" Watson asked sardonically.

"...Or so it would seem." Holmes ignored Watson's comments. "While I would have you believing I have spent the last two days otherwise engaged..." He refused to meet Watson's eye, "I have in fact been poised for a number of hours on the threshold of a significant breakthrough."

Watson glanced at Irene, a shared feeling of unease passing in their gaze. The Woman was clad in a dress of jade green with black heeled shoes and her hair hanging loose down her back. Even in the heat of the sun, she had not spared the perfume, and Watson guessed that the smell of her was driving Holmes quite mad.

"The current climate, so to speak, has forced the Royal Family to form a tight alliance against the British settlers," Holmes went on, his manner businesslike as it always was when he was addressing an audience. "A firm union they may be, but in a strong chain, there is always a weak link." Holmes surveyed his companions. "We find that link, and we are in with a chance of breaking the chain."

"But we're talking about the Royal Family," Watson argued. "They are the victims here, surely? If we are here to break anyone, it should be Alcott and the British Guard..."

"They are interwoven as one, Watson; there is little room for distinction." Holmes stretched his arms out in front of him and yawned. "Dear, dear, this afternoon sun is enough to make one feel incredibly drowsy..."

"So what you are saying is we need to bring down Alcott and therefore risk the Maharaja's safety as well?" Watson raised an eyebrow. "Drifting away from the task at hand somewhat, aren't we?"

"Perhaps. But without the correct information, we have no hope of solving this case," Holmes said. "Some we know already: for example, dear Irene here has been wrongly accused of taking the priceless Queen's Sapphire from this province; a jewel which is indeed missing... What does that indicate?"

Watson thought for a moment. "That someone else took the sapphire and Irene is merely their scapegoat."

"Precisely," Holmes agreed. "Subsequently someone within the province is the real thief and it remains to us to discover the identity of that person." He lit up his pipe and inhaled thoughtfully. "But they will not be prepared to surrender their secret willingly; hence the plan."

"I see where you're going with this." Irene spoke for the first time. "Whoever the real thief is, that person is the 'weak link' in the chain, right?"

"Correct." Holmes was unsurprised Irene had made the connection.

"So if we break the 'weak link', we get inside the chain..."

"...If we get inside the chain, we find the real thief," Irene finished.

"And now all that remains is to find that person," Watson summarised. "Any inclinations so far, Holmes?"

"He already knows," Irene scoffed with a dry smile.

"Of course he does," Watson agreed.

"Of course I do." Holmes dipped a hand into the bowl of the fountain and pulled out a handful of the white round pebbles which coated the bottom. "Let us say that each of these stones represents a figure of our interest..." He laid one down on the ground by Watson's feet. "The Maharaja is first, of course. What of the facts?"

"Influential."

"Possibly."

"Powerful."

"Not for much longer."

"Intimidated."

"Absolutely. And we know who by..."

"Captain Alcott." Watson and Irene both grimaced.

"Sergeant Alcott," Holmes corrected with a mischievous gleam in his eye. He laid down another pebble beside the first.

"Head of the British Guard."

"Antagonist."

"Suspect?"

"Quite possibly, Watson," Holmes approved. "Alcott didn't seem to react kindly to our presence; more so than I would usually expect, which would suggest...?"

"He has something to hide." Watson nodded his agreement.

"But how do we crack Alcott?" Irene asked.

"Perhaps we don't have to..." Holmes held up another pebble. "Tell me about Sergeant Hawthorne..."

"Alcott's deputy?" asked Watson.

"He's the one who pulled Alcott off the arrest," Irene put in. "To be honest, he saved my skin the last time I was here as well..."

"Alcott tried to arrest you the last time?"

"Hawthorne convinced him to let it go to trial," Irene told Watson after a long pause. "Of course a trial under Alcott would end in a hanging, but it gave me a chance to escape."

"So Hawthorne believes in fair justice," Watson mused.

"Hawthorne has several times defied the wishes of his Captain in favour of better judgement," Holmes said, laying down the pebble. "Perhaps he operates a policy of diplomacy, or perhaps...?"

"...He knows Irene is innocent."

Holmes nodded.

"So Hawthorne is the 'weak link'?" Irene guessed.

"Not quite." Holmes held up two more pebbles, one in each hand. "Consider looking closer to home. Consider the Royal bloodline..."

"The Maharaja's children."

Holmes snapped his fingers and smiled at Irene. "Spot on." He waved the first -slightly larger- pebble. "His son..."

"Jamal."

"Narcoleptic." Watson shook his head. "But surely that's irrelevant..."

"Not necessarily," said Holmes. "How many times must I say it, Watson- Never discount a viable fact as a form of appropriate evidence until you have undeniable proof it is unconnected to the case." He shook his head, mocking Watson to the core. "That said, I believe there is by far a more important fact surrounding the young prince. As we discovered yesterday, he receives regular lessons in English from our final source..."

"Jhasmine?"

"The Maharaja's daughter..." Holmes placed rested his chin on his hands, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the chase as he dropped the final pebble into its position. "She speaks almost fluent English which has leant her the role of emissary to the Royal Family."

"So when her father wishes to arrange a liaison with the Guard..."

"...He sends her." Irene nodded. "It's true, I've seen it. Alcott won't come inside the palace as a rule, and the Maharaja would be in danger if he went to the Guard himself."

"But is his heir not in danger also?" Watson felt the gazes of both Holmes and Irene rest on him, and worked the truth out for himself. "Of course. She's not his heir, is she? Not in the eyes of the monarchy..."

"Rather than risk his own life or that of his first-born son, the Maharaja sends his youngest child; his daughter, to an audience with Alcott," Holmes said. "Naturally he feels guilty about putting his only daughter in harm's way, which is why he has gifted her with her own tower as a form of living space..."

"But how did you work that out?" Watson asked curiously. "We know she speaks English, but nothing more."

"She does not merely speak English," Holmes said, "She is fluent in English. That knowledge had to have come from somewhere. After all, if she is holding regular peacekeeping conversations with Alcott, I highly doubt he would address her in Hindi. He would expect her to learn his own language."

"Arrogant pig..."

"Not so, Irene," Holmes said with a smile. "Let us think of the gallant Sergeant Alcott as a snake winding its way through the undergrowth..."

Watson rolled his eyes, but could not help but listen to his friend's peculiar use of metaphor.

"A snake is sly. Furtive," Holmes continued. "Hands cannot hold its slippery scales for long; for he cuts his ties and ducks responsibility as easily as he sheds his skin. But inevitably, a predator will arise, and that will be his undoing." Holmes tucked his pipe back into his trouser pocket. "To summarise, ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have found our 'weak link'..." He indicated the most recently placed pebble. "Jhasmine is an impressionable young woman. No doubt she is also bitter that her father sends her to meetings with the Guard while the Prodigal Son sits in the safety of the palace. Perhaps she has overheard something during her visits; something that may be of use to us now... It would not take much for her to delegate her knowledge to another, and for this reason I propose we attach an informant to her side."

Watson raised an eyebrow. "Theoretically it could work," he said slowly. "But where will we find an informant?"

"We need someone to gain Jhasmine's trust," Holmes said. "The informant must carry a good name..."

"Or a good profession," Irene put in.

"Exactly. Such a person would usually prove difficult to define; let alone acquire..." Holmes shared a brief look with Irene; just to clarify they were on the same page. "However, in this case, I think we'll find it much easier than expected. Don't you agree, darling?"

"Oh yes," Irene said with a brief twinkle. "Should it be a rich businessman? Or a priest?"

"I can do you one better," Holmes said innocently. "What about a doctor...?"

Watson raised his head slowly to look directly at Holmes.

"No."

"Why on Earth not?"

"I will not lie to the poor girl, she's been through enough."

"To lie, and to be economical with the truth are two alarmingly different things," Holmes said delicately. "Befriend her, Watson. Gain her trust and learn the truth."

"Even better," Irene said, "Why not seduce her?"

"Have you lost your mind?" Watson exploded. "I am married, Miss Adler. Married! Just because your marriage is a sham..."

"Where is your ring, Watson?" Holmes asked.

"My what?"

"Your wedding ring?"

"My...Oh. Watson looked down at his hand. "I suppose I must have left it in my room."

"You have been without it since we met at Victoria station some two weeks ago," Holmes told him complacently. "You have no ring and no suntan to show for it. I believe that was your dear wife's mistake when we first met..."

"That was your mistake, Holmes, not Mary's..."

"Moving swiftly onward..." Holmes cleared his throat. "We may never have an opportunity such as this again, Watson. Consider the prospect that for little more than a week of deceit, you could soon be back in the arms of your wife and the life you know so well."

"She's a princess," Watson argued feebly. "This is absurd, Holmes! Do you not think she'll have more preferable things to do with her time than conversing with a common visitor of her father's?"

"Who said anything about conversation?" Irene stood up and flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Take it from me, Doctor, the conversation can wait til you've 'set up camp'. What you need to concentrate on right now it getting there." She reached behind Watson and pushed a palm into the small of his back so his spine straightened. Then she tapped the underside of his chin. "Back straight, chin slightly inclined," she said. "The way you walk is really important."

"I don't see what this has to do with..."

"It's human nature," Irene said simply. "If you go over there oozing charisma and flaunting your sexuality, you'll have her eating out of your hand."

"Miss Adler..."

"Once she's hooked, that's when you start the questions." Irene sat back down beside Holmes. "Trust me on this one. I know what I'm talking about."

"Of course," Holmes began, "There are other ways of getting her to talk; methods far more primal than a cultured walk or charismatic conversation..."

"I am not going to touch that girl," Watson said icily. "I have Mary to consider. Besides, this is a depraved enough situation; even without your wanton suggestions!" He sighed. "Are you sure there isn't a better way?"

"Oh, I'm sure there is," Holmes said. "However, this is the only option we have at present. Will you play a part?"

"If I must..." Watson knew that he would regret his decision at some point in the near future. "What information do you want me to gather?"

"Snoop," Holmes told him. "You're good at that. I take it that it's not just my personal life you enjoy sticking your nose into..?"

"I'm not making any promises..."

"I have the utmost faith in you, old boy." Holmes looked up at the sky, noting the position of the sun. "Half past five. Nearly time for supper, I feel. Come along, dear." He offered an arm to Irene and looked back at Watson. "Jhasmine will be attending the evening meal with her family inside the palace. Perhaps you could catch her once dinner is finished?"

"If Mary finds out about this..."

"I daresay she would lay the blame on myself rather than on you." Holmes tapped his wrist to indicate the swift passing of time. "Well don't beat about the bush, Watson. We only have twelve days remaining, after all..."

"So do you plan on telling me the truth this time, or will I have to discover it for myself?"

It was after dinner and Irene and Holmes were in their shared room. Irene looked up sharply at her 'husband's' words, wondering instantly of their significance and wondering how to phrase her reply.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "What do you mean?"

Holmes, who was deeply engrossed in the pages of a novel, looked up and fixed his unblinking gaze upon Irene. "I mean the purpose for which I am still forced to wear this wedding ring as if I were really your husband and you were really my wife."

"Look, I told you," Irene sighed. "It's complicated. You wouldn't understand."

"Is that so?"

"You promised me you'd keep the ring on..."

"And I intend to keep that promise," Holmes told her. "But perhaps if you told me precisely what our marriage is protecting you from, I could do more to help than simply posing as your husband..." He shifted uncomfortably in his armchair, and Irene almost laughed at the effort it had obviously taken him to articulate such a meaningful sentence.

"It's not 'what'," she said finally and unwillingly. "It's 'who'."

"I thought as much."

"The last time I was in India, there was a maid who worked for the Maharaja called Nahali. Unfortunately for her, she attracted some unwanted attention from good old Captain Alcott..."

"He assaulted her?"

"Raped her is more like it," Irene said bitterly. "I never liked him much, but I never thought..." She shook her head and when she spoke again, Holmes was shocked to hear she was weeping. "The man's a monster, Sherlock," she sobbed. "I was the one who found Nahali. She was so frightened. She was only nineteen...Oh God..." She staggered towards Holmes, and he caught her in his arms; rocking her awkwardly and rigidly, but still comfortingly as her sobs slowed to sniffles and she finally was able to talk without breaking down.

"After the rape, Nahali quit her job to get away from Alcott. She's begging on the streets of Mumbai right now, and it's all down to him." She sighed and wiped her eyes. "You can imagine how scared everyone was. The Maharaja was furious of course, but what could he do? That's when Jamal told me he'd seen the way Alcott looked at me when we passed each other... Jamal's been a great friend to me, and he was scared I was going to be Alcott's next victim. He told me to go home for my own safety and not come back. Of course, this was around the time the sapphire was stolen so I had to make a break for it anyway..."

Irene looked at Holmes, hoping and praying she was getting through to him. "Once I knew I had to come back to India, I decided the only way to protect myself was to get a husband; or at least pretend to get a husband." She smiled wryly. "You were the only person I thought of."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be." Irene sighed again and stretched. "Besides, I'm killing two birds with one stone- you solve the case and clear my name, and at the same time you're protecting me from that pig, Alcott."

"I understand your need to use my expertise to prove your innocence," Holmes said, "But surely there are more suitable candidates for a counterfeit husband..?"

"Who else would I choose?" Irene asked.

"You said yourself that young Jamal has been a great friend of yours..."

Irene smiled sadly as she looked into Holmes' eyes. "Jamal's great, Sherlock," she said quietly, "But he's not you..."

Holmes held her gaze for another few seconds before dragging his eyes away. He nodded and sat down in his armchair; pulling Irene with him and allowing her to rest her head on his chest. She smiled and closed her eyes. He kissed the top of her head before taking up his book once again.

"Is that Watson's journal?"

"What of it?"

"Well aren't journals supposed to be private?" Irene raised an eyebrow.

"Watson and I have an understanding," Holmes explained casually. "He rarely leaves anything lying around he doesn't expect me to read."

Irene tutted and snatched the book from Holmes' grasp, tucking it inside her bodice.

"I'll have to tell the Doctor to keep his books in a safer place from now on..."

Holmes grunted in response, letting his head rest on the hand which wasn't around Irene's shoulders. Within minutes, she was asleep and snoring softly. Holmes' could not quite bear to move and wake her, so he stayed where he was; barely moving a muscle save to breathe.

Irene had told him a great secret, he realised; the first she had ever conveyed to him in fact... Holmes had hoped learning more about their predicament with the wedding rings would reveal a fountain of gratifying wisdom, but instead he felt nothing. Irene's tale had chilled him to the bone, and now he felt the terrible weight of the responsibility he now wielded- to protect Irene from a vicious predator who would no doubt stop at very little to claim his sickening prize.

When Holmes casually displayed the darkest secrets and mortifications of his clients and adversaries, Watson often chided him for insensitivity. Only now was Holmes beginning to understand how right Watson was; how right he had always been.

Sometimes, the truth hurts.