Dear Mary
When I pause for a moment to consider our current situation it seems almost ridiculous that I spend my mornings penning letters to you, knowing full well that you will neither receive them for several weeks; let alone send a reply to me here in India. But somehow, I feel it's necessary. Somehow, I feel as though writing your name every day brings me closer to you. I feel genuinely pathetic in writing to you in this fashion, but even if you fail to grasp the genuine feeling behind my words, hopefully the nature of these letters will keep you amused until my return!
With love to you, Tilly and Rose
John
Holmes spent the night lying motionless and alert on the hard floor of the corridor outside his and Irene's bedroom. In the hours that passed until morning, Holmes mulled over the events of the previous evening and the possibly detrimental affect they had had on his and Irene's relationship. What had happened in the bedroom? Holmes was not quite sure. The answer he sought not immediately springing to the forefront of his magnificent mind was an unsettling experience for Holmes. Did he have feelings for Irene Adler? Of course he did. Did Irene Adler have feelings for him? Of course she did. Was either of them ready and willing to admit those feelings to each other? Naturally they were not. And so the cycle continued, never-ending.
After about an hour of standing, deep in thought, Holmes lowered himself to the floorboards and lay flat on his back to continue his brainstorm. He saw no need to sleep. There could be no sleep until this problem was solved.
Holmes suspected that Irene knew he was there just outside, but The Woman did not open the door and disturb him. Indeed, Holmes received no disturbance at all until the next morning when Watson opened the door of his bedroom opposite and tripped over the unmoving detective on the floor. Holmes opened one eye and stared stonily up at the doctor. Watson merely shook his head and moved off down the corridor to post a letter to Mary in the village.
By the time their first week in India was over, it had been two days since Irene and Holmes had exchanged words or even acknowledged each other's presence. Watson suspected but never quite guessed the reason for their argument. The silence between them was deafening. All the while, the day on which the warrant would arrive drew closer, until it was Watson himself who trapped Irene by the fountains in the gardens and gave her a piece of his mind.
"I assume you're aware of today's date, Miss Adler?"
"Last time I checked." Irene shrugged wearily, guessing easily where Watson was leading. She wondered how much he already knew and how much she could reveal.
"Then you'll know that time is fast running out until your deadline..." Watson cleared his throat, conscious of the pun. "...expires." He paced up and down the gardens, twisting his cane in his hands as he always did when deep in thought. "Your time is half over, Irene. We've made no real progress over this past week, and here you and Holmes are; sat at opposite ends of the same dilemma and refusing to budge!"
"I know the situation," Irene told him, sitting down on the side of the fountain with a sigh. "Things got out of hand. Way out of hand... It won't be happening again." This she knew with a grim certainty.
Watson nodded. His suspicions had been correct.
"There's always a solution," he told her. "You know as well as I do that Sherlock Holmes is anything, if not a professional. He will put the case first if you are willing to do the same."
Irene had a great deal of respect for the young doctor, and she had to admit that what Watson was saying made perfect sense. But in her heart, she doubted that Holmes would be as compliant as Watson believed. Irene and Irene alone knew that two nights previously, Holmes had allowed her to see him at his most vulnerable. He had revealed to her a side he seldom let show, and then he had shut her out; as if only just realising what he was doing. Irene remembered the flaming lust in his eyes as he had laid her down on the bed that night, and she shivered in involuntary pleasure, reliving the sensation of his rough hands caressing her skin. His behaviour was no act; she knew him too well. But would his 'mistake' cost her her freedom? Would Holmes stand back and watch, emotionless, as Alcott led her to her death?
Watson saw her indecision and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, looking into her eyes. Irene found herself likening him to a kindly older brother -he was only two years her senior.
"Once Holmes has his teeth into a case, he will seldom let go until it is solved," he told her. "Just go to the room and drag him out of his brooding." Watson smiled. "Holmes is like a petulant child...all he needs is a clip round the ear and a few short words to get him going again." He took Irene's hand and pulled her gently to her feet. "Of course, you could just head on in there while he's asleep and be waiting when he wakes up. He tells me you're rather good at that!"
Irene laughed. With a courteous smile and a few words of thanks, she assured Watson she would speak to Holmes; more to oblige him than out of hope Holmes would respond positively. Nevertheless, Irene made her way back to the palace and through the guest's quarters. She felt a stab of discomfort in the pit of her stomach as she approached the door, of their room, and realised she was nervous. How stupid! She scolded herself. Sherlock Holmes was only a man after all...
She swung the door open and stepped inside. It took her a minute to notice Holmes, spread-eagled beneath the window as if he were examining the pane. He didn't look up, but spoke in a low, nonchalant voice.
"Ah, Miss Adler. I've been expecting you."
"Get up, Sherlock," Irene said, none-too-gently once she remembered she had done nothing worth tiptoeing around. She stood over him with a quite terrifying expression on her beautiful face. "As I've said before, let's not dwell on the past."
"Why on Earth not?" Holmes grunted, still not opening his eyes. "The past is comfortable and greatly familiar. Far easier than worrying about the uncertain course of the future..."
"You know damn well what I mean," Irene snapped, finally losing patience. "So, is this the end of the case? Are you just going to lie there on the floor feeling sorry for yourself and wait for Alcott's warrant to arrive from London?"
Holmes opened one eye and stared brazenly up at Irene. "No," he said, "I was merely taking refuge in the room until such a time that you would come and beg for my assistance." He turned up one corner of his mouth in a smug half-smile. "I assume that is why you're here now...?"
"I came to talk to you," Irene said bluntly, "About the fact that our stay is half-over and we're no closer to clearing my name."
"You've been talking to Doctor Watson," Holmes stated accusingly. "He often comes to harass and complain that I am not doing the job quickly enough..."
"When you've got a deadline, time is of the essence," Irene spat back. "We have a deadline, Sherlock. Alcott is going to prosecute in seven days from now and I need to know we're making headway."
"And that is precisely why I never discuss my methods with clients," Holmes said with a flourish. He closed his eye once again, and Irene nearly kicked him out of frustration. She forced herself to stay calm, to find a solution without losing her head. She could not remember a time when this man had previously provoked such a violent reaction from her. Watson had advised her not to speak of what had passed between them a few nights earlier, but if it was the only way to overcome the problems which had set in...
"You didn't have to walk out, you know..." Irene cursed herself the second she heard those words escape her lips. Next time, she decreed she would opt for something that would make her seem less vulnerable and far, far more evasive!
"It was a marvellous setup, I must admit." Holmes kept his eyelids closed as if explaining his most recent deductions to Irene was barely worth the effort of opening his eyes. "The sunburn; the face whitened with powder; eyes rubbed with belladonna...even a genuine fever brought on by unnecessary layers of clothing beneath your dress..." Holmes opened one eye. "Most inventive." He shut it again.
"You got it," Irene said, partly amused and partly aggrieved that Holmes had seen through her plans and preparations. "You can always tell..."
"Every time you lie," Holmes agreed.
There was a long pause while Holmes sighed gently on the floor and Irene considered her next words.
"So are you going to get up?" she finally asked.
"When the desire takes me..."
"I'm giving you five minutes," Irene said firmly.
"Not available."
"Oh you'll come," Irene said with a sudden certainty. "I know you will."
"Might I ask how..?"
"Because you have to know, Sherlock," Irene said simply. "Come on, even you have to admit you're hooked. And I know you won't walk away until the case is done and you've beaten your adversary. You never do move on from an opponent, do you Sherlock; you chase him instead. Every last one... "
Holmes shrugged indifferently; no mean feat since he was lying horizontal on the floorboards. Irene smiled wickedly. If making reference to Holmes' feelings for her was not enough, she was about to deliver a blow she knew for sure would push him over the edge.
"Oh well." She lowered her eyes sadly when Holmes made no attempt to get up. "And there I was, believing in you...thinking of you as the greatest detective in London..."
That did it- Holmes opened both of his eyes. Irene grinned again. Male pride was such a useful tool to have at one's disposal...
"Madam," Holmes said, getting steadily to his feet and drawing himself up to his full height, "I cannot and will not work when I am commanded to; not by you, not by Watson, not even by God."
Irene said nothing; merely holding up a hand and allowing Holmes to see what sat inside her palm. It was his clay pipe, swiped deftly from the pocket of his smoking jacket the second he had got to his feet. Their eyes met over the stolen treasure, and all at once Holmes knew he could not win. Irene had, of course, been right- he would never give up the chase until there was no more chasing to be done.
Slowly, reluctantly, and never taking his eyes off Irene, Holmes held out his hand and allowed The Woman to drop the pipe into his palm. He put its tip between his lips, and felt himself flooded with a sudden enthusiasm for the case; the sort which he could only usually find by potent drug use and the falling of the sands of time. How fascinating it was that such zeal could be brought on simply by a woman (and this woman in particular) handing him his pipe...
"So where do we head now?" Irene's complacency at her victory was carefully hidden by the most innocent of facial expressions.
"Where was the Sapphire stolen from?" Holmes asked, shrugging off his smoking jacket and rolling up his white shirt sleeves.
"It was kept in a locked antechamber, just down the corridor from the banqueting hall," Irene told him. "The thief shot both the guards and kicked the door in. By the time backup security arrived, the Sapphire was gone and so was the thief."
"Most engaging," Holmes mused, glancing in a mirror and rubbing absent-mindedly at a black smudge of dirt which clung to one side of his unshaven face. He pulled a white handkerchief from his sleeve and unfurled it, noticed the embroidered pink initials on the corner and hastily stuffed it back out of sight.
"So where to?" Irene prompted, pretending she hadn't noticed the handkerchief.
Holmes closed his eyes, deep in thought.
"The scene of the crime," he said finally. "That should tell us all we need to know about the theft."
The sun was blazing like an enormous golden ball in the cloudless sky as Holmes and Irene walked through towards the palace, arm-in-arm to give the appearance of a newly-married couple.
Men dressed in the red and gold robes of the palace butlers scurried left and right across their path carrying parcels; delivering messages; talking in low-pitched Hindi. Not one of them looked up as the couple passed, and Holmes wondered briefly if they were even allowed to.
With a nod from the armed guards on the doors, Irene and Holmes passed through the main gateway and into the palace corridor. Whereas before they had taken the long corridor towards the banqueting hall, Irene now led Holmes on a right-hand turn and through a smaller, more understated door hidden in the shadows. Holmes screwed up his eyes against the sunlight as Irene threw open the door and a great courtyard became visible beyond.
Holmes' first impression was of its quite incomparable size. A marble fountain was positioned in its centre; so big that even the smallest of the marble women was a head and shoulders taller than Holmes. Every so often, a tiny droplet of water would splash from the bowl of the fountain and land on one of the black and white checkerboard squares which formed the floor tiles. His second impression was that they were not alone in the courtyard- a man stood by the fountain with his back to Holmes and Irene. Hearing the door slam shut after them, he turned around and Holmes saw that it was Prince Jamal.
"Your Majesty..." Irene began, preparing to sink into a curtsey; but Jamal waved away her respect, breaking into a wide smile at the sight of her.
"My lady, Miss Irene. What do I owes the pleasure of seeing you today?"
Irene smiled at his poor English. "We were hoping to gain access to the antechamber," she told him. "Sherlock wants to have a sniff around for clues."
Jamal nodded and turned his handsome face upon Holmes. "You are a detective. You wish to find the real thief, yes?"
"Indeed..." Holmes spoke slowly, wondering how much Irene had already revealed to Jamal about her predicament. As was his way, he studied the young man carefully to see how much he could draw from his appearance. Jamal had a scar which ran along one cheek; no doubt sustained from one of his Narcolepsy-induced falls. There was no sword or musket beneath his robes, but Holmes saw the light reflecting off a much smaller weapon -perhaps a dagger- tucked into his belt. The presence of a weapon indicated the Maharaja's concern for his heir's safety- not one of Queen Victoria's sons carried a weapon while inside the walls of his own home. Holmes looked briefly around him and saw for the first time a number of red-robed guards hiding in the shadows. They had been invisible before, but had apparently come closer once they noticed Holmes and Irene speaking to Jamal. Holmes caught the eye of one guard and saw him narrow his eyes suspiciously in response as he stared down the detective. So the Maharaja was indeed concerned for his son. Why else would armed guards be necessary...?
"Is the antechamber still off-limits?" Irene's question and the tone of her voice brought Holmes back down to Earth with a bump. It had evidently distracted Jamal as well, who had been watching Holmes' studious eyes on him with a slightly nervous expression.
"Not anymore, but Alcott's men have been snooping around and they would be suspicious if they were to sees you and your husband alone there..." Jamal frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps...I could take you both there?"
Irene glanced at Holmes for approval, and he nodded once. The young Prince seemed harmless enough at minimum, and in possession of valuable information at best. Either way, Holmes felt it was more than worth taking him up on his offer.
They walked in silence across the courtyard, Jamal leading the way and Holmes and Irene a few steps behind. Jamal's guards shadowed them, keeping to the shadows so as not to appear intrusive on the trio's conversation. They were there to ensure the Prince's safety, not to restrict his activities.
"The tower," Irene mentioned to Holmes, nudging him and pointing upwards. "That's where Princess Jhasmine sleeps..."
Holmes took in the tower with the bulb-shaped roof. It was a desolate place with no windows except for one at the very top and could be reached only by one staircase via the courtyard. Holmes drew his eyes away from the tower, wondering what had possessed Jhasmine to instruct her father to build such a place for her to sleep. Anyone would think she wanted to be alone...
"My sister's fear of British Guard grow every day," Jamal said, as if reading Holmes' thoughts. "She spend many, many hours in her tower, hiding from Alcott when he come calling."
"I think most women fear Captain Alcott in one way or another..." Irene said sourly.
"She is under constant protection," Jamal said, pushing open a door adjacent to Jhasmine's tower and leading Holmes and Irene down a long, darkened corridor. He looked back over his shoulder and grimaced slightly when he saw his own guards on their heels. "As I am..."
"I'd noticed," Holmes said.
"Do you have a sister, Mr Holmes?"
"A brother."
"He is younger than yourself?"
"Seven years my senior."
"Ah well. You will still understand what it feels like to watch over a sibling," Jamal said. "Jhasmine is...P...Pre...how you say...?"
"Precious?" Holmes guessed.
"She is to me," Jamal agreed, nodding gratefully. "I would lay down my life to protect her."
"I see." Holmes' brown eyes hardened into blackness, but only Irene recognised the warning sign. It was clear that the Prince was about to catch the nastier side of Holmes' persona. "What a shame it is that you don't take the same attitude of security when considering all of the women in the Royal Palace..." With a jolt, Irene realised Holmes was referring to the tale of Nahali.
Rather than take the offence Holmes' comment was intended to cause, Jamal nodded gravely at the detective. "You are aware of the situation. What happened was a dreadful accident."
"An accident?" Holmes raised an eyebrow, and Irene felt almost sorry for Jamal.
"Security has doubled," Jamal said, avoiding Holmes' question. "We do our best now to keep Alcott out of our home and only speak to him when we need to or when he comes."
"So your father sends your precious sister when that need arises," Holmes said, and the scorn was evident in his voice.
At this, Jamal's face darkened and he cast his eyes downward. "I would take her place if I could..." He looked up at Holmes once again. "How did you know my father sends Jhasmine?"
"He does this," Irene told Jamal with a smile. "Just go with it."
Jamal nodded, but Holmes sensed he was troubled by the truth of his words. Jamal must have felt ashamed and at least partially responsible for what had happened to Nahali, but it had never occurred to Holmes that to say so would be insensitive...
"The chamber is through here." Jamal pushed on another door on the left-hand side which opened up into a long, narrow room. Jamal allowed Holmes and Irene to pass in front of him, and then shut the door quickly so that his guards could not follow him. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, as if glad to be finally free of his father's shadows.
Irene released Holmes' arm and the detective strode off down the centre of the room, hands behind his back.
"What is he doing?" Jamal whispered to Irene.
"Detecting," Irene replied with a smile as she watched her 'husband' walking, enticed by the chase.
They stood and watched from a distance as Holmes strode up and down. The room was lined with glass-panelled windows, set into the walls at a distance of around a metre apart. When one looked out of the windows, you could see directly into the courtyard. Holmes stopped dead before the fourth window he passed and approached it, running his hands slowly over the glass with an eye pressed so close that it was almost touching the pane. Then, he stepped swiftly back to the window before and examined it in the same way. Irene and Jamal watched as he darted quickly between the two windows, backwards and forwards over and over again; almost as if he was comparing. Irene squinted, but she could not see that there was anything different about them.
Next, Holmes stepped away from the windows and headed further into the room towards a door at the far end. Jamal and Irene followed him; Irene because she knew Holmes was onto something significant, and Jamal because he had never seen another human behave in such a way.
Holmes dropped to his knees in front of the door, running his gaze and a finger over the keyhole. Satisfied, he straightened up and tried the door handle. The door swung open and he disappeared inside.
"If anyone sees him in there..." Jamal warned Irene.
"He won't be long," Irene assured him.
"You are certain?"
"Trust me." She smiled and crossed the room to stand beside Holmes who had come to a halt just inside the doorway.
Holmes had one thumbnail in his mouth and he chewed on it absent-mindedly as he stared at the contents of the room. This was clearly where the treasures of the Royal Family were kept- piles of golden jewellery; dusty old chests; rolled-up scrolls and heavy books covered every surface. In the centre of the room was a table stacked with treasures and trinkets. Holmes approached it and picked up a polished wooden box, turning it over in his hands. It was so small and understated that Irene doubted any man other than Sherlock Holmes would have noticed it at all.
Holmes opened the box. It was empty except for a soft cushion lining. A lining the colour of sapphires... He set the box back on the table, and slipped past Irene back into the long room. This time it was the floorboards he examined; stepping backwards and forwards between two separate points, taking in what he saw and committing it to memory. Irene could see the mind behind the man, working nineteen to the dozen; if not just to save her skin, but to solve the case and satisfy himself as well.
After a long minute of careful examination, Holmes stood up and turned back to Irene.
"I think we have everything we need," he said.
"You have found what you look for?" Jamal asked, surprised.
"Oh, I should think so," Holmes answered with a knowing half-smile and bowed low before the prince. "Thank you for your assistance."
"It was my pleasure," Jamal said, but he was no longer looking at Holmes. He took Irene's hand and kissed it with a dazzling smile. "Please tell me if I can do more."
Holmes cleared his throat, and Irene took his arm. "Thank you so much," she said to Jamal, returning his smile and giving a little wave.
They were making their way out of the room when Holmes paused and turned around to look back at the prince.
"One final question, Jamal..."
"Of course." Jamal listened intently.
"I forget...When is the Monsoon season?"
Irene raised an eyebrow, wondering where Holmes was taking this.
Jamal thought for a second. "Between the months of June and August for us,"
Holmes nodded. "Just as I thought..." He turned away once again and led Irene out of the door.
"Mr Holmes?"
Holmes did not turn, but paused in the doorway to show he was listening.
"Why is it you ask?"
Holmes did turn this time, flashing Jamal an innocent smile and giving his head a nonchalant shake.
"No particular reason," he said. "Forget I asked..."
Author's Note: Jeeeez, I'm sorry about the wait guys, know it's been ages, but real life has been eating me! Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter and thanks so much for all the reviews! You guys m-m-m-m-mmake me haaaapyy! XD