A/N: Bit of a romantic interlude involving my OC. This chapter takes place after "The Blind Banker" and contains atleast one explicit scene, so recommended for teens and older.

Raz froze, in the middle of shaking his spray can, his whole body tensing beneath the faded grey trenchcoat he wore. He turned slowly. The light was dim at best, at the underside gallery by the banks of the Thames, besides it was late and pouring rain. The silence stretched out, interrupted only by the steady patter of hard raindrops as he warily noticed the shadow standing outlined at the entrance, the water dripping off the hem of her short dress, her chest heaving as though she were panting after a race.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"What are you doing here?"

His own heart was hammering in his chest for it hadn't taken him an instant to recognise the figure who was standing there. He couldn't believe she was back. It stirred the faintest trace of hope within him, a hope he didn't dare let flower.

"Don't you know?"

Her voice was soft, but ragged, breathless.

Raz stepped forward, perhaps to see her better. He hadn't been wrong. It really was her, but she was drenched through to her skin, raising a shivering hand to brush away the strands of dark hair that were plastered to her forehead.

"You- uh... Your dad made it pretty clear he didn't like it-uh... that we... You shouldn't be here, Jackie."

The girl, because that was all she was, no more than sixteen, small, lithe and with an impetuousness that made his pulse race and his brain overheat, looked at him and her eyes flashed in the near-darkness.

"Seems like you care about my dad more than you care about me, huh, Raz?"

He walked towards her, his arm stretched out imploringly.

"No, Jackie! You know that's not true! It's just I..."

And here he had to stop and hang his head in shame.

It was true he wasn't scared of Sherlock Holmes. No, it wasn't that. It was just that he knew what he'd said was true. He was just a lowlife, living on the streets, giving the coppers a run for their money. He wasn't good enough for Jackie. He never would be.

Her eyes still continued to bore into him.

"Well?" she demanded, her hands planted on her hips, still standing in the rain.

"Come inside, Jackie. You'll catch your death of cold out there!" he pleaded.

She conceded at last, stepping in hesitantly. Raz shrugged off his eighth-hand coat and held it out to her. Her hand, as she reached for it was trembling, whether with cold or something more, Raz couldn't guess.

She watched him from beneath her lowered lashes.

"So it's over then?" she said, each of her words a blade of ice through his heart.

Raz turned away, battling valiantly against the tears he knew he would rather die than let her see.

"Guess so."

"Raz?"

"Yeah?"

"Did... did it mean anything? To you? Did I mean anything?"

Why was she doing this to him?!

"Course you did, Jackie! You know you did."

"You called me... your special girl, that night. Was that a lie?"

"N-no. Oh God! Of course not! You were more than special! You were the best!"

He didn't know how it had happened. How they had ended up so close, one hand around her waist, another in her hair, her eyes gazing up into his, her face mere inches away.

"You don't care about Daddy, do you?"

Slowly, he shook his head.

"Then why are you doing this?"

Raz bit his lip.

"For you," he whispered. And then her lips were crushing his as the heat of her passion pushed him back up against the wall.

His head was reeling as he lost himself in her.

"Wait... you knew?"

Tearing herself from the inflamed kiss, Jackie met his eyes and nodded.

"And you came back? Why?"

Jackie shrugged off her coat and Raz couldn't help his eyes travelling down as though of their own accord. Her wet dress clung to her, emphasizing her curves, and a trickle of water, or perhaps even sweat rolled down from the hollow at the bottom of her throat to disappear in her cleavage. She might be only sixteen, but she had the body of a woman. Raz fought to control his breathing and his grip tightened around her waist as he physically restrained himself from doing anything more. But Jackie saw the raw desire spurting in his eyes and she unwound his hand from her back and guided it to her breast. He didn't move it away. He could feel the drumming of her heart beneath the moistness of her skin and his stricken eyes met hers.

"I came back," she said, her voice husky and low, "For this. For one last time. One last night. Together. For you."

Raz sent up a mental prayer as the two succumbed to their undeniable passion, their hands and bodies entangling once more as the rain continued to beat down on the concrete around and above them.

If there was a special hell reserved for him, atleast he would be going down there with the knowledge that the one who had driven him there felt exactly the same way.