Buckle in. Hopefully this will be the finalé you guys have been waiting for.

By the time I had found the library, they had already been inside for several minutes. I heard their voices from the hall, where the noise of the string band was only a whisper in the background, and I crept along as softly as I could, careful with my cane. They didn't notice me. I had to hold my breath to hear.

"You're being quite obstinate for the position you're in, Watson." I heard Wilhem say. "It's courageous of you."

"There's nothing else you can offer me to make me agree. Take your business elsewhere." My father puffed.

A door lay straight ahead of me, and as I inched it open I felt the cool air from inside flutter through my suit jacket. The door was sheltered behind a solid row of bookshelves, and thus hid me from Wilhem's sight for the time being. I was able to slip through without much trouble and closed it behind me, falling in behind the shelf.

The library was immense, its two open stories connected by twin staircases on either side. Huge windows stretched from top to bottom looking out onto the lawn and, further, the skyline, which was by now blurred by the falling snow. Lightning flashed, succeeded by huge claps of thunder, illuminating every crevice of the room and intensifying every shadow.

Wilhem watched the window from where he stood with a strange sort of reverence. "Thundersnow. How appropriate."

My father looked at him from his chair, holding the barrel of his pipe tightly in his hand. Beneath his heavy brow his eyes were hawk-sharp and nearly bubbling over with anger. His square frame sat taut although he was leaned on one arm, smoke slowly rising from between his teeth, his fingers and feet still. Wilhem was on his feet, pacing easily, his eyes never leaving the storm outside the glass.

"I've never actually seen a thundersnow myself. I was a bit unconvinced before that they existed at all. But now that I see it... My. What a fearsome thing it is."

"Wilhem." Dad growled. "Get on with it."

"Be patient, my friend. Appreciate the moment."

Dad sat forward, pipe still gripped in his hand, and put his elbows on the sitting-table. "I know you were the one who abducted John."

Wilhem paused, watching my father, and then laughed. "That's a fantastic assumption, Watson, since I've never laid a finger on your boy."

"Maybe not a finger, but you sent a man. You arranged for it. You did that to him, and you're going to pay for it, I'll make damn sure of it."

"Be careful not to let your tongue get away from you." He sat down.

"This blackmail has gone on long enough." Dad hissed. "Who else do you need to hurt to get your point across? If you think that this pressure could make me agree to your pathetic deal you're mistaken. You're a miserable man, and you will get nothing more from me. There is no more negotiating. You have no more chances."

"I don't think courageous is quite the right word to use," Wilhem murmured. "I think suicidal is more like it."

"I'm willing to protect my children and my family regardless of the risks it might have to my own interests. It's more than you can say for yourself."

"I'm not sure about that."

"You've turned your own daughter into a remorseless lizard of a woman to use your own benefit and your own purposes."

"Can you say you haven't? Except, of course, Harry's not exactly of much benefit to you, is she."

Light. Sound. Rumblings echoed through the sky, accenting the silence now fallen between the men. My father still sat forward, his elbows straight and brow still firm, with Wilhem's snake-like eyes roaming across him. The Frenchman's thin fingers drummed against the glossy oak, his thin lips stretched into a tiny smirk, the shadows beneath his eyes darker than ever under the light of the moon.

"In a way, you're right, Watson. There will be no more negotiating. But you are the one who has no more chances. You will agree to my terms, tonight, and you will sign where I tell you to sign, or you will not need to worry about 'protecting' your family any longer, because you won't have one."

"You won't touch my family." Dad said. "I'm not playing games. I will have you arrested."

"With what case, Watson? There is no case. There is no evidence. You can't win a battle you can't prove ever existed."

"I'll prove it."

I pushed out from behind the shelf with a little difficulty. Both Wilhem and my father turned to look at me, but neither seemed quite surprised. Wilhem was half-amused that I had chosen to interrupt him, and my father was half-murderous that I had followed them there in the first place. But my heart was leaping from my chest and I wanted nothing else except to get my father out of the heat and to get myself out of isolation, at least for the time being.

"We have a case, Lecuyér, because you decided to fuck with the fiancé of a world-renowned detective who would like nothing more right now than to beat your ass out to kingdom come." I declared. "I am evidence, I am proof, and I'm all they need to get you into court and to get you into trial. You really should've killed me when you got the chance, cause I'm going to be the death of you, and I'll make sure you suffer for what you've done."

He looked at me. That smell of holly hit me again. Thick, sickening holly. His snake-like eyes, wriggling between my mind and his, connecting us for one long moment before he spoke.

"You're right again. Very good at being right, you two. You are the only one who can make the case. But have you trapped me? No, not quite. Argall?"

The gun came first, its metallic mouth sliding around the edge of the room. It was small, but two big hands supported it, lined with scar tissue and old bruises. The sight of Argall turned my stomach sour. He looked nearly healed now, though he still walked with favor to one leg, his shoulders were broad and his face firm. He leveled the gun at me as he approached, stepping slowly, and once I was within his reach, yanked me toward him by the arm. The nuzzle of his pitol rested like a cold stone against the nape of my neck. I shot my father a frenzied look.

Elouise followed in from the same direction as Argall, walking with her head held high, carefully reaching up to let the rest of her hair fall down around her shoulders. She gave her father a curt nod as she approached him, then turned her attention onto me. "Hello again, John. I sure have missed getting to play with you."

I gripped my cane tighter and considered hitting her with it. "Where's Sherlock?" I demanded.

"Oh, he's around here somewhere." She smirked. "Don't worry, I didn't do anything to him. In fact, I gave him a head start."

"For what?"

"Running." She smiled. "He's quite updated now on your position, yours and your father's. He knows what's at stake and he knows what has to happen in order for you and Mrs. Watson to go free. If I were him, I would've started running ages ago."

"Sherlock doesn't run." I defended.

"Then I guess he's not as smart as I thought he was," She replied. With a small twirl, she redirected herself toward my father and set a document down in front of him. A large red seal was in wax on the front. "Sign at the bottom. I'm sure that once you've come to realize your position, your opinion will be reconsidered."

"Thank you, Elouise." Wilhem said.

"Of course, Papá." She walked farther from the table.

"I already told you, I'm not signing any of your damn agreements." Dad barked. "Let John leave."

"Are you sure you want that?" Wilhem asked. "This might just be the last time you ever see him."

He turned to me, his eyes frustrated and distant. I gave my head a sharp twist, but Argall pressed the gun deeper into my neck, and my breath caught. Elouise cast me back a glance, and Wilhem folded his fingers, narrowing his eyes at my father, removing a pen from within his suit pocket and sliding it across the table. The page was waiting. Wilhem was winning. He was standing on the cusp, his chest broad, looking down at his opponent, now eyeing his surrender.

"If I do this, you'll stop this barbaric blackmail," He said, slowly.

"Of course." Wilhem smiled. "All I need is your name."

I tried to speak out, but Argall tightened his grip on me, and the pain from my arm made my head spin. Dad didn't stop to look at me again; he had made his decision, and he took the pen up off the table.

You then decided it was time for your grand entrance. I spotted you on the upper floor out of the corner of my eye, and so had Elouise. You were idly pacing close to the rail, a leather-bound book between your hands, your gaze connected to the pace but your voice floating out to interrupt my father's motion. "Two of them. How interesting."

Both Wilhem and my father now looked up at you. Lecuyér adjusted himself in his chair. "How nice of you to join us."

"Sorry it took so long. I was misinformed that the library was in the east wing. A bit embarrassing." You snapped the book closed and began descending the stairs. "Don't bother signing that page, Dr. Watson, I've got this all sorted. Ms. Elouise has helped me quite a bit with that. And John-" You paused, looking me over. "You just can't avoid getting yourself into messes, can you."

I made a face. You set down your book as Wilhem stood, brushing off his jacket while you straightened your shoulders. The two of you met eyes for the second time, and, not needing another examination, you began a slow spiral around the scene.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, I do believe you've prepared yourself?" Wilhem waved his hand through the air. "Go ahead, then."

"Thank-you." Your eyes flashed. "You're a very intelligent man, Lecuyér. Sure-footed, knowledgeable, with a very acute sense of pride; we wouldn't have gotten along at all if you weren't a man such as you are."

"Of business?"

"Of crime. You're intelligent, and you were always wealthy, but there was something important about those darker deals. It wasn't that they were attractive, it was that you were bored. You were bored and you were clever. You've played a good game; you probably would have won if you hadn't overlooked the problem of the family on which you chose to prey."

Wilhem held his hands together. "The Watsons weren't a challenge."

"Of course not, not to you. The Watsons are a family of soldiers and doctors, loyal to their cause and sensitive to their surroundings, and you've exploited them and pushed them in every way you wanted because you knew that you could. That does not make you smart, that makes you unsuspecting."

You patted the surface of the book on the table. I realized now that it was a Bible.

"Henry Watson knew that you would try to push him into a corner, and that you were willing to go to great lengths in order to get what you wanted. He also knew that you could. He didn't want John accidentally getting pulled into the crossfire, and so he commissioned his wife to write a letter in order to discourage communication between the two and their son. He isolated himself to isolate you, and in effect to minimize the advantages you had over him.

"Since you consider yourself higher than Watson, you saw his refusals as a challenge, an opportunity to finally dispose of this pathetic man you spent your university years trying to blot out. But your fantasy was not fulfilled with just his compliance. You had to be in complete control, and that's how he played you. He knew that the longer he held out, the more you'd risk, the farther you'd go to get what you want, and that eventually you would trip. And you have. You've tripped, and you've tripped right into my arena. Now your game is finished."

Wilhem was listening closely, and started to clap. "Bravo, Mr. Holmes. You've done very well. I'm impressed."

You eyed him.

"Except, of course, that I have not tripped. Search all you want to, there are no holes for you to find."

You shrugged, bobbing your head. "Actually, there are two."

"Then, by all means, point them out," Elouise taunted.

You turned to her with a bit of a sigh. "I was going to leave that for you to figure out yourselves, but if you need me to explain, I will. After all, you're almost an exact replica of your father. Between the both of you I can read your entire plan straight from your eyes and your posture, with the final punctuation in the way you dance."

"Oh, you liked my dancing?"

"You loved Anne Carter. She was your personal for years, a confidant, a pretty cat to purr when you were lonely. You were close. You considered her a sister. But she didn't approve of the way you pranced around your father's fortune and obeyed his every word. At the beginning you listened to her, and you saw the danger, but the problem was that you liked the danger. You enjoyed getting to dance apart from the law. You were charmed by it. So when he told you to do something unthinkably entertaining, you disregarded her warnings, and you disregarded her contempt. That was your first mistake."

"But she's in my custody now, if you haven't forgotten." Elouise folded her arms. "And if you want to try arresting us, as soon as word reaches our men, she'll be slaughtered on the spot. You don't know where she is, or how to have her released."

You tsked. "That is a problem, isn't it. You two have done a fantastic job of covering up your tracks, you really have. I might be able to pull a gun and wrestle you into court, but even if I could, there wouldn't be much to fight for. There's no paper trail, no electronic trail, nothing except a businessman and his fiercely devoted daughter. But, perhaps, if we had the testimony of a witness, someone given access to every file, every account, every room, every cabinet, every secret the two of you had ever had, we would have a case. We would have our evidence."

"Anne Carter is useless to you now."

"But it's not about Anne, is it? It's about what laid behind Anne, the kind of person who would let a woman like that sit in her ranks. It wasn't Anne, it was your love for Anne that was your mistake. You wanted her close. You told her everything. You let her permeate your thoughts and your feelings and you let her know you far too well for your own good. You let someone else in, you gave someone else the keys to your kingdom, and that was the flaw in your fool-proof scheme, the final stab, the one loose strand that brought your entire strategy crumbling down."

You leaned in close to her, your eyes alight.

"Your mistake was not that you had a spy within your ranks, Ms. Elouise. It was that you had two."

The room went dead. All eyes were on you, all minds in swift thought, until slowly, gently, the hand loosened from my arm, and the metallic shaft of the pistol pointed toward me switched its aim. I jumped forward, toward you, and as I turned watched as Argall leveled his weapon to Elouise's forehead.

Her mouth fell open, grasping for words. "Argall?"

"Sorry, miss." He snapped off the safety. "Orders are orders."

As Elouise stared in utter shock, Wilhem now knew his position. He turned quickly as if to step toward the door, but you interrupted him with your own Browning between his eyes. "Admit it, Wilhem. You've been tripped."

His face flushed with anger, glancing back at my father, at me, and then at you. "Put your guns down. I'll have men swarming this room if-"

"No, you won't." You inserted, "Because we already do. My brother's got this entire wing closed off. You're surrounded, and there's nothing you can do about it. Get on your knees. You've been beaten."

Relief washed over me. My father slumped into his chair, a smile wider than the horizon splitting his face in half. I glanced over at Elouise, who had now descended into delirious confusion, her eyes wide. Argall kept his attention on her, but watched you out of the corner of his eye. With a snap of your fingers, the doors behind us opened, and I turned to see dozens of black-clad officers snake in, falling into formation with their pistols by their sides. Was it over? Was it finally over?

Wilhem was seething. He looked between his daughter and you, and my father, and Argall, and me, his eyes blazing like coals. I could see it now - the animal rage, the wrath that had put a quiver in Anne's voice. His head shook, refusing to accept the idea of defeat. His confidence shattered, and as he lost control of his world, he lost control of himself, thrust into chaotic lunacy, fire leaping from his bones.

He stepped away from you. You shouted. He pulled a gun from his suit. My breath caught. You screamed his name.

"You haven't won yet, Holmes."

Point.

Draw.

Trigger.

White flowers burst from the head of my father's chair.

Lecuyér fell. Shoulder. Elouise met her knees, crying out in hysterics, covering her ears, her dress covered in sparkles of pure red wine. It came from everywhere, dripping down my father's hand, hanging limp from his side, pools of red liquid collecting underneath. Hundreds of tiny white daisies sprung from his eyes and his mouth, filling the air with the smell of vanilla and tobacco and gunpowder and blood.

Horrified, you turned away.

Around me were people, endless people, without faces, without names. I was on the floor. I felt far away. I had no idea how much time had passed. There were gunmen, policemen. The whole room reeked of holly. And there you were, beside me, your hands folded together beneath your chin.

"He's dead, isn't he?" I asked, gently.

You looked at me, nodding, slowly. "I'm so sorry."

I closed my eyes. One more moment. One more moment before grief. I could feel it slipping away. In one more moment, my father would be gone. I could see his face so clearly, smell his pipe, hear his voice. Then, in one moment, in one breath, he was gone.

You touched my arm, cradling me tightly against your chest.

It was done.

I'm looking for a place to start, but everything feels so different now.
Grab a hold of my hand, I will lead you through this wonderland.
Water up to my knees, sharks are swimming in the sea.
Just follow my yellow light and review all those big warning signs.

Final update Sunday.