"No! Bernard, no!" Jhasmine was on her feet, running for the window as if she was hell-bent on pulling her lover back through the pane to safety. But she was too late, and everyone knew it. Nothing on Earth could save Bernard Alcott now, and it was the shared belief of three out of the four tower occupants that neither God nor Devil would want to fight over who claimed his soul on the Other Side.

Holmes went first to Irene, pulling her in and holding her close to him. She was trembling, but no longer crying. The only sobs that could be heard were those of Jhasmine as she lay crumpled over the window ledge, looking down into the darkness for her lost love.

"A most innovative plan, old boy." Holmes strode over to Watson and helped him to a sitting position. He glanced over the doctor's shoulder to where Jhasmine was still hysterical. "Perhaps it is time to remove the princess..."

Holmes laid an uncharacteristically gentle hand on Jhasmine's shoulder, but she shook him off furiously.

"Get away from me!" Before Holmes could stop her, she had snatched Alcott's lost revolver from the floorboards and was pointing it at Holmes. "You killed him," she screamed. "You killed Bernard, it was your fault!" Her hand was shaking chronically, but Holmes knew that her aim was sure and that she would not miss her target even now. "You waste your time in coming here; I do not have the Sapphire!"

"Then perhaps you'd be so kind as to tell us where it is?" Watson asked, white in the face from pain. His patience with Jhasmine had been somewhat tested after their bout, but he could at least sympathise with her anguish at losing the one she loved.

"Ask her!" With her free hand, Jhasmine pointed accusingly at Irene. "It was taken already before Bernard and I could reach the chamber!" Watson shook his head contemptuously, unimpressed by Jhasmine's feeble attempts to cover her back.

Jhasmine turned tear-filled brown eyes upon Holmes, raising a trembling hand to point at Irene. "She knows where the Sapphire is," she said, still trembling, "But you will never live to find it. You will die now, Mr Holmes... You will pay for what you did to Bernard!" One squeeze of the trigger sent a bullet powering forth from the barrel which hit Holmes squarely in the chest. With a gasp, he staggered backwards and fell to the floor. Irene screamed out and ran to him. Watson turned as best he could, anger and grief temporarily outweighing the pain from his knee, so determined was he to make Jhasmine pay for what she had done. But to his surprise, the princess was lying on her back, perfectly still. A second shot had been fired as Holmes and fallen, and the second bullet had entered its target straight through her forehead.

Sergeant Hawthorne stood in the doorway, holding a still-smoking revolver in his hand. He looked thoroughly shell-shocked, as if he could not quite believe what he was seeing.

"Irene?"

"Jim!" Irene was crying again now as she hurled herself almost on top of Holmes and began to thumb his neck desperately, searching for a pulse. "Jim, help us please, he's been hit!"

"Irene, find something to stop the bleeding," Watson shouted as Hawthorne rushed over, already pulling off his jacket to staunch Holmes' wounds as best he could. "You need to stop the bleeding and apply pressure; it's the only thing that will save him!" One thought and one thought only was racing back and forth across Watson's mind – he'd already learned this week that he was to lose his wife, so please not his best friend as well. Watson could feel his eyes stinging with tears at the almost certain loss, and what was worse was the sense of uselessness – to be a doctor but to be unable to help his friend in a time of dire need.

"Hold on, Sherlock, just hold on!" Irene snatched Hawthorne's jacket and pressed it down hard over Holmes' heart, frustrated yet further by the fact that she could not seem to locate the source of the bleeding. "Please, Sherlock," she wept, "Please stay with me!"

"I fully intend to."

Irene gasped in shock as Holmes' eyes fluttered open and he sat up with a deep groan. He ran his hands tentatively over his chest, winced, and then reached inside the breast-pocket of his waistcoat. With a smile of realisation, he drew out the handsome silver brandy flask Irene had given him as a birthday gift whilst on the train to India. Where his initials had once been engraved, there was now an ugly bullet hole, but the bullet itself was apparently still lodged inside the flask's metal casing. Sergeant Hawthorne eyes widened, as though he had seen a ghost.

"Most intriguing..." Holmes ran his hands over the flask before looking complacently up at Watson. "Was it not you, Watson, who once told me that the continued consumption of alcohol was bad for one's health?"

Watson shook his head and laughed shakily, overwhelmed with relief. "Heavens to Betsy, Holmes..."

Irene was not nearly so amused, and slapped Holmes hard across the cheek. But she let her hand linger, so as to show she was not annoyed – merely thankful he was alright.

"So, Sergeant Hawthorne." Holmes eyed the still-spooked young man as he got to his feet. "Did you manage to absorb the finer details of Captain Alcott's confession?"

Hawthorne smiled wanly. "Ah yes, I should have guessed that was for my benefit. I take it you saw me in the doorway and hoped to use Alcott's ignorance of my presence to your advantage?"

"Precisely," said Holmes. "Though I do wish you could have acted a little sooner – i.e. before Jhasmine was able to shoot me. Oh Lord, I think I may have cracked a rib!"

"You're lucky to be alive," Watson said snappily, biting down hard on his lip as he jarred his knee again. "In fact, we'd all most likely be dead by now if not for Sergeant Hawthorne..." He looked over at Hawthorne with a curious expression. "Incidentally, how did you know to look for us here?"

"I came up to your room with a message and happened upon the most peculiar sight," Hawthorne explained, his cheeks not failing to colour slightly as Watson spoke to him. "The room was empty, but the fireplace was hanging open like a doorway!"

Watson -whose task it had been to close and secure the door properly- received a rather reproachful look from Holmes, but allowed the young Sergeant to continue with his tale.

"I followed the passageway to the tower and heard voices from up above," said Hawthorne. He shook his head in disbelief. "Of course, I've always known Alcott was a monster, but I never realised he was a murderer..."

Watson heard the Sergeant's voice waver and realised he was still in mourning for the loss of his friend. This, again, was a situation the doctor could understand.

"Just when did you arrive?" Watson asked gently.

"In time to see Irene knocking the Captain for six with a chair," said Hawthorne with a smile. "I would have entered the fray earlier if your friend hadn't signalled for me to bide my time." He looked over his shoulder at Holmes. "Another case closed, then, detective?"

"Not quite yet, Sergeant..." Holmes appeared lost in thought once again. "Or should that be 'Captain' now?"

Watson and Irene laughed shakily, but Holmes did not. As if tired of waiting for instructions from the detective, Hawthorne bent beside Watson and began to strap his injured knee using strips of fabric torn from Jhasmine's bedspread by Irene. As he worked, Hawthorne tried his hardest not to let his eyes wander to the spot where the body of Princess Jhasmine lay, motionless and staring from the floorboards. He had shot men in combat before, but this was different. To pull the trigger on Jhasmine had been an instantaneous decision and one he was more than capable of making. Nevertheless, the realisation that he had shot a woman -and not just any woman, but a woman of Royal blood- lay heavy on his conscience.

"This place will be crawling with palace guards at any moment," Hawthorne said as he got to his feet, satisfied with his work. "We should get out of sight."

"Can you walk?" Holmes asked Watson, offering his friend a hand to help him up. Watson, however, shook his head slowly.

"Doubtful," he confirmed with a deep sigh. "Go on without me, Holmes – get Irene to safety, and I will make my own way back."

"Out of the question." This came from Hawthorne who was rummaging in the pocket of his uniform trousers for a cigarette case. "No man gets left behind – that is the first rule of combat." He smiled down at Watson. "Don't worry, doctor, we'll get you out, I promise." With a flourish, Hawthorne lit his cigarette and flicked the still-burning match onto the floor before Holmes could stop him. The effect was immediate – flames leapt up at Hawthorne's feet as the oil which coated the floorboards ignited when touched by the match. Hawthorne jumped back, horrified, the bottoms of his trouser legs singed but not quite burning. The flames followed the trail of oil around the room, leaping up at the sodden curtains and setting them alight in addition.

Irene looked from the aghast Hawthorne to wide-eyed Doctor Watson sitting nervously on the floor not far from the flames, and finally to Holmes. The detective stared back calmly.

"Time to go," said he.

Irene leapt for the door, heat searing her back and shoulders as Holmes and Hawthorne positioned themselves on either side of Watson.

"We'll lift on my count," Holmes instructed, wrapping one of Watson's arms around his shoulders and encouraging Hawthorne to do the same. He shot a sardonic glance in Watson's direction, mimicking his doctor's tone. "Don't worry, this won't hurt a bit... Three, two, one, lift!"

Watson had expected the pain, but he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out as the weight was lifted from his injured knee and fresh agony leapt up his leg like the flames which were now licking the walls of the tower. The interior decoration was composed almost entirely of varnished wood -quite the design flaw, Watson now realised- and the oil-fuelled flames found it easy to take hold.

Irene held the door open as Holmes and Hawthorne, supporting Watson between them, made for the exit. She was coughing already, her lungs filling with the smoke which was now pouring from the burning furniture into the small tower room, but found herself looking back over her shoulder to where the body of Princess Jhasmine lay trapped amidst a towering inferno of flames.

"Woman!" Holmes cry came from some distance below, and Irene was brought back to life just as the two remaining lamps shattered with the heat and spilt yet more oil onto the floor and onto Jhasmine's dressing table.

Realising that time was running out, Irene hurried from the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind her and racing down the stairs after her companions. By this time, they had almost reached the bottom. Irene slipped ahead and dropped to her knees before where the trapdoor lay. But Hawthorne was shaking his head.

"We'll never get the doctor back down the passageway," he said, wiping his brow with a spare hand. "Head for the courtyard; quickly before the palace guards arrive."

Irene swung the tower door open to expose the courtyard. She stopped still, as if mesmerised by the sight which awaited her - Captain Alcott's body splayed on the tiled floor where he had fallen from the window. It was far from a pleasant sight; though it was some measurable relief to know that he was at last dead and would not be coming back...

Irene looked up to where Holmes and Hawthorne -still carrying Watson between them like a bizzare balancing act- made their way further across the couryard. Not one of them men was paying her the slightest bit of attention... She hesitated only a moment more before she turned on her heel and knelt disgustedly beside the dead Captain's body. A hand slid into his breast pocket, and emerged again, empty.

The small group made stealthy progress across the courtyard, keeping to the shadows so that they would not be seen should a member of Royal Security arrive. Irene caught up quickly and turned the group towards the palace entrance, but Hawthorne seemed to have alternative plans.

"In here," He swung open the gateway which would lead them to the outskirts of the palace gardens, "Quickly."

Away from the heat of the burning tower, the coolness of the night was something of a relief to Irene's flushed skin. She was thankful to see that Hawthorne and Holmes had slowed down now they were out of sight of the palace, and was able to flop down to rest beneath a green fern.

Holmes lowered Watson gently down beside Irene, and the doctor looked up into the night sky where Jhasmine's tower glowed like an ominous yellow beacon as it burned from the inside out. He shook his head in frank disbelief.

"What are the chances of the whole tower going up in flames from a minor spillage of oil?"

"The young Princess' heart was blacker than coal," Holmes said crisply. "And coal is, after all, an excellent source of fuel..."

Getting unsteadily to her feet, Irene approached Sergeant Hawthorne who was stood silent and alone on the edge of the group, looking wistfully up at the burning tower. He felt rather than saw her presence and spoke softly to her.

"Her body will have been blackened and scorched by the flames," he said, looking at Irene with sad fear in his eye. "Do you think they'll still be able to see the bullet hole?"

Irene had no way of answering confidently enough to satisfy her friend. Instead she took his hand and leaned in close so that only he could hear her speak.

"Your secret's safe with us, Jimbo; just as mine is with you..."

"It has been a case for intellectual deduction." As was his habit, Holmes was puffing away merrily on his pipe as he spoke, incurring many a disapproving glance from Watson. "But when this original intellectual deduction is confirmed by a number of independent incidents, then the subjective becomes the objective and we can say confidently that we have reached our goal..."

Two days had passed since the confrontation in the tower, and Holmes -along with Irene, Watson and Hawthorne- were addressing the Maharaja's chief advisor in order to explain to him the events leading up to the death of Jhasmine and the burning of the tower.

"The truth is a remarkably simple one," Holmes continued, enjoying as he always did, the moment whereby he would explain his findings to an audience. "His Highness had no way of knowing his daughter was pursuing a love affair with the Captain of the British Guard, for he oversaw not one of their liaison meetings nor noticed the way she reacted to his presence when he entered the room on the night of our arrival in the province...

"As a gift to his lover, Alcott stole the priceless Queen's Sapphire from under the nose of the Royal Family," Holmes continued. "Utilising Jhasmine's skills as a keen marksman, he had her shoot the guards through the window of the antechamber and smashed the locked chamber open himself, making off with the jewel which he would later present to Jhasmine as a token of his affection." He fixed an unblinking gaze upon the silent man before him, indifferent to the fact that he was openly mocking ancient Kashmir policy. "Jhasmine had always desired for the Sapphire to be her own, of course. But her minor status as a female and therefore secondary heir to the throne meant that she would never possess it by conventional means.

"Thus, we come to the final piece in the puzzle – the circumstances under which Her Royal Highness met her demise." Holmes noted that the palace advisor sat up a little straighter at these words, as if this were the section of the conversation he had been waiting to hear. "Not much can be said for how the fire in the tower began, however, I believe it is quite obvious how it ended. Jhasmine and her lover, the nefarious Captain Alcott, were together in the tower when the flames first took hold. Consumed with concern for his own safety, Alcott hurled himself from the tower window, not realising the full extent of the distance between the window and the courtyard below. Jhasmine herself was trapped in the flames, unable to escape as the tower burned." Holmes shook his head, an expression of distaste upon his countenance. "A tragic accident," he said, "But, and accident nonetheless."

The advisor nodded slowly. His English was far from perfect, but he knew enough to make sense of what Holmes was saying.

"The Sapphire," he said at last. "Where will we find it?"

"I'm sure if you search the dead Captain's body, you should find what you're looking for," Irene told him with a smile. The advisor, however, did not return it.

"Searches have already been performed," he said stonily, "But there was no Sapphire."

Irene's face drained momentarily of colour, but before she could recover herself, Holmes had taken up the plate once again.

"My wife is misinformed, I'm afraid," he said smoothly. "The Sapphire was not to be found with its thief, but rather with its recipient – the young Princess. Though it gives me no pleasure to state the fact, the location of the Queen's Sapphire undoubtedly died with Jhasmine..." He turned a gleaming eye upon Irene. "Is that not the truth, darling?"

The advisor had a few minor questions for Holmes, all of which the detective was able to answer with relative ease. When at last he retired to relay the explanation of events to his master, Holmes turned to his three companions. Watson had fashioned a makeshift crutch out of wood from the gardens and was at present totally reliant on it for even the smallest of movements. Nevertheless, he had turned out at Holmes' pre-arranged explanation and now looked back at his friend with a smile.

"Clearly the Maharaja was too busy to listen to your ramblings himself, Holmes..."

"I would say he was still too emotional to attend," Irene said wryly. "Both of his children dead within a week – God knows what that would do to your mind..."

She looked 'round in time to see Hawthorne clap a hand over his mouth. "My God," he said, flushing, "I completely forgot!"

"Forgot what, Captain?" Watson asked, the young man's new title slipping easily off his tongue.

"On the night of the fire, I was on my way to deliver a message to you," Hawthorne explained excitedly, "That's when I discovered the passageway to the princess' tower."

"Well spit it out, man," Holmes said, joining in the banter. "Just what was this message?"

"You might remember I delivered a telegram to you earlier in the week, doctor?" Hawthorne asked. "A telegram sent from London with news of your wife?"

"Yes." Watson's jovial disposition was thrown to the winds with Hawthorne's words. Though he had of course not forgotten Mary, he had at least succeeded in pushing her plight to the very back of his mind for the time being.

"Well..." Hawthorne coloured slightly. "This is rather embarrassing, I must admit... The message was counterfeit."

"What?"

"A plot, I believe, thought up by Alcott in the hope that believing your wife was in danger would draw you away from the case," Hawthorne explained. He frowned apologetically. "I'm sorry, doctor, if I'd remembered, I'd have told you far sooner than this."

"No, no, that's alright..." Watson's voice seemed far away, as if he were not quite focussed. He looked down at Hawthorne with a sudden desperation. "So...So Mary," he said, "Mary is alright?"

"Perfectly," Hawthorne said, nodding. "Unless you've heard otherwise, of course."

"But that's brilliant news!" Irene broke into a grin so wide it could have split her face in two. She threw an arm around Watson and he hugged her back dazedly.

"A cause for celebration indeed," Holmes agreed with a decisive nod.

"Yes, of course." Watson lifted the corner of his mouth in a small smile. "Perhaps later though. Using this crutch has quite worn me out." He stood up suddenly, leaning heavily on his wooden support. "Actually, do you mind if I excuse myself for an hour or so? I think I might take an afternoon nap in the sun..."

After he had left the room, however, Watson did not go the palace gardens after all. Instead he went to his room, lowering himself down into one of the two armchairs. He breathed out an enormous sigh, but did not sit back. He was not entirely sure of how he felt in discovering his fear and sorrow over the last few days had been unfounded. Of course, he was delighted to know that Mary and his children were not in danger, but where exactly did that leave him at present? Though relieved beyond measure at the news Hawthorne had delivered, Watson could not seem to make up his mind what he was feeling. Should he laugh or cry? Smile or howl? Dance with joy or fall to the floor? The answer came to him as his eye was caught by the photograph of himself, Mary and the girls which sat on the table between the two chairs. Pressure built in his chest, and he clamped his teeth together in an effort to suppress the hoots of laughter which threatened to overwhelm him completely. He found tears of joy falling from his eyes as he roared with mirth, but made no attempt to wipe them away. The case; the Sapphire; his injuries – none of them mattered now. None of it mattered because Mary was safe. Mary was not going to die. Finally, at last, it was all over.

Irene, who had followed him from a distance, smiled to herself as she entered her own room, the sound of her friend's laughter echoing down the corridor and through the walls. If anyone deserved a happy ending, it was Doctor Watson...

"So come on then," Watson said to Holmes as the two of them walked (or in Watson's case, limped) around the palace gardens on the evening of their impending departure from Kashmir. "Tell me – why did you lie to the Maharaja's advisor about the location of the Sapphire?"

"Lie?" Holmes' face bore an expression of incredulity. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Oh come off it, Holmes!" Watson shook his head disparagingly. "You know exactly where the Sapphire is, do not even think about pretending to me that you don't! Out with it – where is it?"

"Well..." Holmes drew to a halt and reached inside his trouser pocket. There was a gleam of blue as the sunlight caught the beautiful jewel he now held in his hand. "It is, in fact, here!"

There was a long pause. Holmes was unable to gauge his companion's reaction by the expression upon his face. Finally, Watson blinked and shook his head. He was not even slightly surprised.

"Alright then," he said wearily. "Tell me how you got it. I suppose you pickpocketed Captain Alcott during the brawl in the tower?"

"Not exactly," Holmes answered. He handed the Sapphire to his friend so Watson could study it more closely. "I did indeed take the Sapphire from the Captain's breast pocket, but only after his death, and only after it had been placed there by another means than theft." He smiled at the Doctor's apparent confusion. "Really, I am surprised you haven't yet worked it out for yourself, Watson. The truth of this case is not at all relative in its complexity to the length of time it took to solve..."

They had come to rest beneath the shadow of a large palm tree, and Watson lowered himself down onto a rock so as to rest his leg. He grimaced up at Holmes.

"Working it out for myself is too much of an effort at present," he told his friend. "Enlighten me, go on."

"Suit yourself." Holmes clasped his hands behind his back as he always did when he was lecturing. "We made the detrimental mistake of only beginning our search for the Sapphire upon our arrival in India," he said. "Had we began our hunt at an earlier stage in the proceedings, I wager we'd have found it far sooner; perhaps even if we'd performed a thorough search of our compartments on the train..."

Holmes watched the doctor carefully for any signs of realisation. He did not have to wait long – this particular epiphany hit Watson like a freight train.

"Good Lord." He shook his head in disbelief, frustrated with himself for not figuring it out sooner. "Irene had the Sapphire the entire time!"

"Indeed she did," Holmes confirmed. "And she would, no doubt, have gotten away with it had Captain Alcott not decided to remove the Sapphire himself mere hours later, leading to the premature discovery that it was missing."

"Convincing the Maharaja she was innocent wouldn't have been a task either, I daresay," Watson added. "Not when Alcott fills the position of a scapegoat so well – they would have believed her word over his any day."

"Particularly with Jamal's influence, I believe," Holmes said. "I'd wager the young prince harboured something of a soft spot for Irene..."

"Well you would know all about that," Watson said mockingly. "When did you find out she had the Sapphire, anyway?"

"On the evening of our arrival in Vienna," Holmes said. "When we stopped for dinner at that restaurant..."

"Brothel."

"Establishment..." Holmes cleared his throat before continuing. "...You may remember Irene engaging in conversation with a number of patrons at an opposite table."

"Clients," Watson recapitulated.

"Not so, Watson," Holmes said with his customary half-smile. "In fact they were salesmen, intent upon buying from Irene the beautiful jewel which had just come into her possession."

"She decided not to sell, so they cornered us in a back-alley after supper and attempted to take it by force." Watson nodded. "But how did you know it was there?"

"Because of the beer," Holmes said.

"I don't follow..."

"There was a beer glass upon their table in front of and slightly to the left of Irene," Holmes said. "She had her back turned and the Sapphire hidden, but the glass nevertheless provided the reflection of what she had in her hands at the time – in this case, the missing Queen's Sapphire."

"Why on Earth would she want to sell it?" Watson wondered aloud. "The Queen's Sapphire is priceless..."

"Indeed," Holmes agreed. "Which makes it essentially worthless at the same time. She could never have worn it for a stone of that size would have attracted far too much attention. No, she intended to sell it... Clearly the German salesmen assumed she had underestimated its worth and endeavoured to offer her a price not nearly reflective of its true value."

"You never underestimate Irene Adler," Watson said heavily. "I suppose she offloaded the jewel into Alcott's pockets after our escape from the tower, once she realised the game was up... Which makes this how many times she's outsmarted you, Holmes? Is it the third or the fourth?"

"Outsmarted me?" Holmes shook his head. "I think not. I knew she would wish to dispose of the Sapphire, and Alcott's breast pocket was certainly a logical choice given the circumstances. It was easy for me to slip back into the palace walls later that night and reclaim it. No, I think it is you who has been outsmarted this time, Watson. You would do well to learn from this experience..."

"As you would as well," Watson quipped. "I can't believe she lied, Holmes! After all we've been through for her, on this case and in the past, she couldn't even have the decency to tell us the truth!"

"I suppose a leopard never changes its spots..."

"I wouldn't say that." Watson looked hard at his friend, balancing his elbows on his thighs and resting his chin in his hands. "Very unlike you, I would say – not to hand an adversary over to the proper authorities once the truth was revealed..."

"Correct," Holmes said. "But, to do so would be to betray a confidence. In short, I should be putting a somewhat trivial case of justice served above the well-being of someone who..." He seemed to stumble over the last words. "Someone who...has always...has always held a place in my admiration."

"If that is your way of admitting that you're in love with the woman," Watson asked only half-teasingly, "I never thought I'd live to see the day!"

"I did not say that," Holmes reprimanded hurriedly. "A genius the calibre of Irene Adler does not belong behind bars, Watson. She would rot, and what a waste that would be, truly..."

"So what will you do with the Sapphire now?" Watson asked. "Since you can't risk handing it back to the Maharaja without your story being jeapordised...? And who's to say she won't try to take it again once the fuss has died down?"

"I have, of course, considered both of those eventualities," Holmes said, taking back the Sapphire from Watson and tossing it gently in his palm. "I think that the patrons of the NSPSS would be most interested to receive this particular stone through postal order," he said. "One jewel, at least, should be safe from the clutches of Irene Adler..."

Watson breathed out a long sigh and stretched his arms above his head.

"And to think I was going to introduce her to Mary!" He looked over at Holmes, for the detective had already begun his journey back to the palace and was disappearing swiftly from sight behind a clump of bushes, apparently content to go alone rather than wait for his crippled companion to catch up. "So is that it?" he called after Holmes. "Is the case officially closed?"

Holmes' voice caught the afternoon breeze and brought his words back to the doctor.

"Not quite yet, Watson..."

Author's Note: So there you have it! :D This story isn't over yet, though...there's still a few chapters left to go by my count. I really hope this ending lived up to everyone's hopes...I just couldn't bring myself to kill off Mary, even though (as many of you have rightfully pointed out) she was killed off in the original stories. Hope you enjoyed this latest installment...Will be updating again ASAP :D