Hey everyone!

First order of business: TO APOLOGIZE. I literally haven't updated in a year. A whole year, that is just sad. I lost a concrete idea of where the story was going, but I've got it again, so I'll try to update more frequently.

Second: Thank you to ALL who reviewed, favourited, alerted! I gush every single time I read those, thank you thank you, thank you! If I even deserve it after all this time, please review!

Third: ENJOY!

~Lillibella

"I have no idea as to whom this letter could be from."

"Are you sure?"

I hesitated. Was I sure? I still sat in Holmes chair. Watson had arrived. Holmes was taking great care in choosing his words. I supposed this was because on all accounts of our meeting, I had burst into tears, though for good reason.

"No. No I am not."

Holmes exhaled slowly through his nose. He brought his hands together and steepled them, looking at the floor. I could almost see facts flicker in his mind, all catalogued with the smallest twitch of the head. He was so still that I flinched when he turned his gaze back on me.

"I shall have to see the body."

"Her body."

"Pardon?" Holmes eyebrows raised.

"You shall have to see her body. Maryanne's." I had corrected him without thinking. I did not mean to sound rude, but I could not hear my sister become objectified like that. Holmes nodded.

"Of course." Holmes rose from his stool, grabbing his jacket and hat. I slowly stood up as well. Watson, who had been very quiet through this time, cleared his throat.

"We also need to inform the police. There has been a murder of an innocent young woman, they should at least be clued in," he said, explaining as Holmes gave him a pleading look. The latter set his jaw, but complied with a simple nod.

"What do you think, Watson? Would Mary approve of you accompanying Miss Black and myself, as you are a doctor, and there is need of a post-mortem?" I draw another sharp breath. I refused to let my emotions get the better of me. Holmes and Watson had already seen my weak, vulnerable side, twice even. This was not my regular nature, and I was eager to make myself known as someone greater than a helpless woman.

"I think in this case, I would be violating my oath if I did not," Watson replied, always the gentleman. He also found his hat and coat, and made his way to the door.

Watson haled a carriage, and I told the driver our destination. The carriage bumped along, as we sat in silence. I sat straight-backed and stiff. My thoughts were consumed with the raw fear gathering in my stomach as we neared the house. The telegram to one Inspector Lestrade had obviously not reached him yet; There was no sign of the police. Holmes chose to comment on this, saying something to do with incompetence and priorities. I wasn't really listening. My gaze was fixed on my shoes. Holmes knelt by the door and began to unfold what looked like a lock-pick s treasure case.

"Don't bother with that, the door is unlocked," I told him. He glanced behind at me, looking slightly put out, perhaps because he did not get to use his tools, sniffed, and stood again. He pushed open the door with ease and walked inside. Meanwhile, I stayed rooted to the spot. My forehead was breaking out into a thin film of sweat, my hands clenched. I suddenly felt something warm touch lightly on my arm, and I turned to see Watson at my side, ready to support me. I gave him a wan smile that I know did not reach my eyes, and we ventured inside.

We followed Holmes up the stairs to Maryanne's bedroom. I hesitated as I stepped over the threshold, but entered with my chin up. Immediately my eyes were drawn to the beautiful figure strewn before us on the floor, the shine of the knife through her bloody clothing. I tried to focus on the room around me while Watson and Holmes moved to examine the body. Her bed was made nicely. The windows and curtains were drawn tightly shut. Her desk was littered with papers and sketches, typical for an artist. I saw a letter from me, a letter from the bank, a letter from...wait, what? I walked slowly towards the desk, my heart in my throat. The stationary was thick, the plain sort one could buy at any store. But the writing... I picked up the letter. I read it over, my hands surprisingly steady.

"Holmes...Doctor...I found something."

Holmes was at once standing up and beside me. He took the letter from me, Watson reading over his shoulder.

I SAW YOU KISSING HIM YESTERDAY.

I AM UPSET WITH YOU. I TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY FROM HIM.

THIS IS THE LAST TIME I WILL TELL YOU, MARYANNE.

BE WITH ME.

"It's the same writing," I said, my voice wavering slightly. I was so confused. Nothing was making sense. Who was writing to my sister? Who did she kiss? Why was this happening?

"It is. No used a straight edge and work pencil, bold lines, no curve. They didn't want to be recognized. Was there an envelope?" Holmes inquired, his eyes an inch away from the letter.

"No, it was resting on the desk," I replied. I had a sudden thought. The letter said that 'this was the last time.' The note beside Maryanne said that whoever it was had 'promised her.'

"There have to be more letters," I declared, stooping down, "at least another one. Look, it mentions previous...contact."

The drawers of the desk were filled with more art, loose paintbrushes and the like. I tried to sift through, but everything seemed superfluous. Then I reached the bottom drawer. It was larger than the rest. I took a breath, and opened it. There, resting side by side, was a box. A letter box. I had one at home, for correspondence I wanted to keep. I quickly removed it and gave it to Holmes, who studied it for a moment.

"This is exactly-" he began, but was stopped by a thunder of boots and a muffled hum of voices downstairs. Holmes and Watson glanced at each other.

"Lestrade," they said in unison. I rose from the floor, suddenly very jumpy. I had never seen more than three people in my sister's house, and now there was an entire police team trundling about on the ground floor and a detective and a doctor on the second. Holmes tucked the box under his arm and exited the room. I made to follow him, but I turned back one last time, and moved to my sister s side. How simple and mundane our last meeting was. If only I had known, I would have at least tried to keep the conversation meaningful. It dawned on me that I was so self-absorbed that I hadn t asked her what was going on in her life, if there was anything wrong. My eyes stung.

"Farewell, my darling. Say hello to mum and dad for me," I whispered in her ear, kissed her forehead, and left. In the hall, Watson approached me and took my hands in his.

"Miss Black, are you alright?"

No. No, I was not alright. Maryanne Black was dead. Someone had killed her.

"I'm fine, thank you Doctor."

As we went to meet with the police, the words of the second letter filled my mind. Be with me. A shudder passed through me. Who was this man, jealous enough to kill?