Leighton was too busy crowing over her victory on the way back home to listen to Joanna's attempts to speak to her about Mr. Holmes. Finally the maid gave up, deciding to let the matter go at present. She assisted Leighton in changing back into her gown, carefully hiding the men's clothes in a washing bag to take to her parents' house to wash when she went home over the weekend. It was the easiest way that they'd found to clean clothes without arising any suspicion.

She tripped down the stairs into the front parlor, smoothing her skirts one last time before sliding onto the piano bench, quickly opening the lid and setting out her new Beethoven piece as well as a few of her favorites. It was a bit of a risk to play a piece that she hadn't practiced for her father, but her adrenaline was still up from the trial and the encounter with Holmes. Her fingers danced over the keys as she heard the front door open – she'd gotten back just in time.

"Joanna! Joanna!" she heard her father's voice call. "Put on some tea, please, and bring it to the front parlor. I can hear Leighton already." Leighton paused in her playing, a welcoming smile on her lips as the door opened. "Leighton, my dear, I hope you won't mind a slightly larger audience this evening." Andrew Gardiner chuckled, moving aside. "After you, Mr. Holmes. Please, make yourself at home."

Leighton's eyes widened imperceptibly as a familiar blonde man with dark brown eyes stepped into the parlor. His eyes met hers and a flash of something she couldn't read passed over them. "And this is the lovely Leighton you've told me so much about, I presume, sir?" Holmes crossed to the piano, holding out his hand. Leighton stood, her chin held high, placing her hand in his. Holmes dropped a kiss on it delicately, his eyes never leaving hers. His gaze wasn't knowing, Leighton noted – it was questioning, but that same challenging light from earlier incensed her again. The game was most definitely afoot.

Leighton poured tea for both men, trying to appear as feminine as possible. She smiled graciously as she handed them the cups before retreating back to the piano once more. She selected a piece that she'd practiced only yesterday, beginning to play softly. Proper breeding dictated that she not listen to the men's conversation, but at this point, her curiosity (and her growing paranoia) took over. Holmes was regaling her father with tales of his exploits. Leighton couldn't help but be fascinated – his stories were truly fantastic. She'd already read many of them in the magazines. She was jarred out of her thoughts by hearing herself referred to in conversation.

"But perhaps your daughter would like to come over and listen. The music is growing quieter and quieter. Does she have an interest in these types of things?"

Andrew laughed. "Truth be told, Mr. Holmes, I used to tell Leighton stories of court proceedings quite often, but my wife, she… ah, she didn't exactly approve. I tend not to discuss work in from of my daughter since my wife passed. Leighton hasn't heard much of the dealings of our great justice system for, oh, at least fifteen years now." The man shook his head. "All she has cared about since then is music. And as you can hear, I'm sure, she's quite talented."

Leighton played louder, as if to confirm her father's statement, but more to block out the conversation. Her curiosity had faded into a dull frustration. She hated when people talked about her as if she wasn't present, but it was part of being a young woman. She focused intently on the keys, so much so that when a hand reached out to turn a page for her, she jumped in surprise, her finger hitting a wrong note.

There was a rustle of newspaper before Andrew spoke. "Leighton, that's unlike you. Are you alright?"

Leighton barely heard him – her eyes were once again locked with those of Holmes, who was looking at her inquisitively, a smirk on his lips. "No Father, it's nothing, Mr. Holmes just startled me, that's all." She regained her composure, continuing to play.

"These finger movements…" she heard him muse. "They're familiar."

Leighton raised an eyebrow. "Pray tell, sir, where do you think you've seen them before?"

"In court today. A prosecutor, one I'd just met that morning, he drummed on the desk in the exact same pattern as this piece."

Leighton's heart skipped a beat. Did she really do that? She'd never noticed before. "A strange coincidence," she replied calmly, her playing not missing a beat. "Perhaps this attorney you mention is simply familiar with this sonata. It's fairly common."

Holmes was silent for a minute. "Possible, I suppose. Not exactly probable."

"But you can't eliminate the possibility, can you, Mr. Holmes?" Leighton kept her head down to hide her expression. The usual thrill she felt of using someone's words against them was noticeably absent, replaced by a growing feeling of unease. If he'd been able to observe something she hadn't even been aware of herself…

"That I cannot, Miss Gardiner."

"What are you two discussing over there?" Andrew asked, looking up from his paper. "You aren't trying to seduce my daughter, are you, Mr. Holmes? I must take an interest in all of Leighton's romantic affairs, as her father, and if you'll forgive me for saying so, you do have quite a reputation with the ladies, or so the boys at the club say."

Leighton felt her cheeks heat up. "Father!" she scolded. Her embarrassment was not alleviated by Holmes's laughter.

"No, Mr. Gardiner, that isn't my intention in the slightest, I assure you," Holmes replied, still chuckling. "I was merely complimenting your daughter's playing. I'm somewhat of a music aficionado myself, you see."

"Oh, is that so? Well, you'll have to come by again then, Mr. Holmes. I'm sure Leighton would be pleased to play for you anytime." Leighton nodded at her father's words, not looking up from the piano, trying to gauge him from her peripheral vision.

"That would be most welcome, sir," Holmes replied, his gaze turning deadly serious. "I find it quite fascinating."

Leighton knew immediately that he wasn't referring to the music at all. Sherlock Holmes would stop at nothing to prove her identity, and there was virtually nothing she could do about it. The stakes of the game had just become very very real.