Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of its brilliant characters. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a true literary genius. However OC characters that will appear here do belong to me, but as to whom they are, I will leave that to be revealed with the story.

Author's Note: So, been a long time since I've updated this story too. Sorry! It's going to take me a little while to get back in my stride with this one. I found I had half-finished this chapter and it took me a while to figure out where I was going with it. Not to worry! I promise things will begin rolling soon. Thanks for your patience guys! Be on the lookout for more chapters of both this story and my other one!

Chapter Four

The case was rather simple, missing jewels of a wealthy widow, and Holmes had his theories before they had arrived on the scene. The woman was about as friendly as a clam but they got the information they needed and Holmes went to inspect the room where the jewels were kept. Watson followed along quietly, enjoying seeing the detective at work. It was nice to be on a case again, although his assistance was always very limited. Holmes walked over to the woman's vanity where the jewelry box was and paused. He inspected around it and his eyes seemed to catch on different objects. He leaned forward and inspected the mirror. He crouched down so he could look up at the mirror.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, clearly having found what he was looking for, and yet seeming a little surprised at what he found.

"What is it?" Watson asked, walking over. Holmes gestured for him to crouch beside him. With a sigh Watson did so and looked up to where Holmes was pointing.

"What do you see doctor?" Sherlock asked. Watson looked up and noticed that there were finger prints on the mirror, invisible when you looked directly at them, but at an angle clearly visible. They had drawn the shape of heart in the top corner. John tilted his head to the side slightly.

"A heart?" he asked, confused as to why it was there. Holmes jumped to his feet.

"Exactly!" he said, growing excited as he picked up the perfume bottle and sniffed it. Watson stood as well.

"What the devil are you doing?" he asked. Holmes puffed a bit in front of Watson.

"Smell," he commanded. Watson sniffed. It was a light flowery scent, very appealing, and somehow familiar in a very vague way. Holmes seemed to observe Watson's confusion and explained.

"Japanese cherry blossom. A rare scent here. I don't think this is the scent of the woman's usual perfume." There was a dangerous twinkle in Holmes's eyes, a twinkle of excitement now that he was on the hunt of a case that clearly interested him more now that he was here. Watson, on the other hand, was lost.

"How can you know that?" he asked. Holmes rolled his eyes.

"It was not the scent the woman was wearing today," he replied. Either Watson needed a new nose or it was a credit to the detective that he picked up all these things. For the sake of his sanity, he gave the credit to Holmes and not the fault to himself. The detective had long left the vanity now and was inspecting the window. He shook his head.

"Not this way," he mused and then went to another, "nor here….or here." The same mumble for every window he walked past. Finally he stopped in front of the door.

"Perhaps?" he mused aloud then strolled right out of the room. Watson gave a quick glance to the heavens then followed along after him, knowing better than to try to stop his train of thought while it was charging full speed ahead. By the time he caught up with the detective, he was already questioning the lady of the house again.

"Madam, have you recently hired any new employees?" he asked. The woman nodded.

"About a month ago," she replied.

"A long time to plan," Holmes mused to himself and then nodded.

"I shall have your jewels for you soon," he replied and headed for the door. Watson bowed his head respectfully to the lady.

"Good day madam," he said then hurried after Holmes. Sherlock was leisurely strolling down the street now, seemingly without a care in the world. John fell in step with him and waited as patiently as he could for the detective to explain his behavior and thoughts. Finally Sherlock took mercy on him.

"There is no need to chase after the thief," he explained. Watson raised an eyebrow.

"Why not?" he asked. Holmes looked at him with amusement.

"They will come to me," he replied. Watson paused.

"You're not going to tell me anything more now are you?" he asked knowingly. The detective seemed to glow with entertainment.

"I'm certain you will sort it out for yourself," he replied. The good doctor sighed and tried to think back over all the clues that had been laid before him. Perfume, a heart, missing jewels, and a thief who would come to Holmes. What else was he missing? He remembered Sherlock's question to the lady.

"The thief pretended to be a new employee for the woman," he guessed. Holmes nodded.

"Very good, Watson," he replied. Watson pondered again.

"It's a woman?" he took a stab in the dark, after all a heart isn't normally something a man would write, or wear perfume.

"Correct again," Holmes replied with another nod. Watson sighed. He wasn't a fool, but sometimes it was nearly impossible to follow the detective's logic until after all the cards had been laid on the table. And of course, the cryptic man never put everything out until after the case was over. Lost in thought he didn't see Holmes's eyes twinkle, or the apparent flash of a plan fill his eyes and then fade away into innocence again.

"Why don't you go on ahead without me old boy, I've got to look into something," Holmes said and patted Watson's shoulder before disappearing. Watson tried to protest but was left standing alone on the street. He sighed and continued walking back towards the house.

"Care to have your fortune read?" a feminine voice called to him as he passed an alley. He paused to find the owner of the voice and saw the gypsy girl from the day before walking up to him. He shook his head and smiled politely.

"Thank you but no." he replied. The girl didn't seem to want to take no for an answer.

"Why not? I think it might be beneficial to you," she said.

"I appreciate your, but I will pass," he said again as he attempted to side step her. She moved in his way with a polite but spritely smile, a twinkle in her eyes.

"Why?"

"I don't believe in palm readings."

"That's a shame."

"I don't mean to offend you." Again, with a polite nod of his head, John attempted to side step the woman. He really didn't want to be rude, but his interaction with females, beyond family and now Mrs. Hudson's niece, was minimal. It seemed every one reminded him in one way or another of Mary. Not to mention, where he had once been a dashing young bachelor, he now felt older somehow, like a crippled widower, ancient and gray, not suited for talking to beautiful young women. That and the scantily clad gypsy made him a little uncomfortable.

"None taken," she replied and fell in step with him as they walked down the street.

"You're not going to give up are you?" he asked with a bemused expression.

"I don't give up easily. One of my selling points," she answered with a wink. "Will you answer me a question?"

"Will you stop asking to read my palm?"

"Maybe."

"I suppose it cannot be helped then." A small smile curved the corner of his lip.

"Do you not want me to read your palm because you don't believe in it, or because you are afraid of what you will find there?" Her question caught him short and he looked at her surprised.

"What is your name?" he asked her, ignoring her question with one of his own.

"Mirela."

"That is a beautiful name," he complimented.

"Thank you," she replied smiling.

They had reached Baker Street at this point.

"Well, Mirela, you will have to excuse me, but this is my street," he said, reaching up to tap his hat to her.

"Until next time then," she replied with a playful wink and sauntered off into the crowd of people, a tiny tinkle of bells following her as she went. Watson watched her go and remained there for a moment longer before shaking himself and making his way back to 221B. Much to his great surprise, Holmes was already inside his study, sitting comfortably in his chair, waiting for Watson's return.

"You've been gone a while," he noted.

"I was held up," John replied simply, sinking into his chair with a sigh.

"By a gypsy?" Sherlock asked.

"Did you bribe this one too?" Watson asked jokingly.

Holmes didn't reply.

Watson looked up at him, "You did?"

The detective was suddenly extremely intent upon a stain on his jacket sleeve.

"Holmes." Watson gave a heavy sigh.

"They seem to be all over the streets these days, don't they?" The man in question mused.

"And you seem to be their main proprietor," Watson accused.

"Hardly."

Watson picked up his abandoned newspaper from earlier that morning and snapped it open, the sharp sound echoing his discontent.

"You have mail," Sherlock said quietly after a long silence.

"Hm?" Watson wasn't paying attention.

"On the table. The landlady left it." Holmes returned Watson's nonchalant tone with an equally bored voice. John sighed and set his newspaper aside, reaching over to the table and lifting a letter. He looked at the envelope for a moment before shrugging and opening it. He read the contents in silence, aware that his companion was watching him. Sherlock was curious about the letter, but would never admit it.

The doctor finally broke the silence, "it looks like we'll be having a guest."

"Oh really? Who?"

"Another cousin of mine. I haven't seen her since we were small children. She grew up in Wales and is in London visiting. She'd like to come over tomorrow for tea."

"Do you have a picture of this young cousin?" Holmes questioned, leaning forward slightly.

"Probably somewhere, why?" Watson asked in confusion.

"No reason," Holmes instantly leaned back again. Watson eyed him.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked.

"Only time shall tell, old fellow," Holmes replied, placing the tips of his fingers together in front of his chin in his usual thoughtful manner, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Only time shall tell."