Raine stared at him for several moments after he slid into the cab to head toward her manor on the outskirts of London. She cleared her throat trying to gain his attention but fauked, Sherlock was lost in his twisting downward spiraling thoughts. He wondered, with Raine in full knowledge of who she was, if Ginevra Lorraine could be saved. He knew that the woman he knew as Jen was completely out of the question, but what about Ginevra Lorraine? Raine had implied that Ginevra Lorraine shared some of Jen's qualities, so maybe there was hope left to save a part of her. But was there hope? Raine knew; she was in perfect control of Sherlock, herself, and the game she intended to play. She held all the cards, and Sherlock was left with a shoddy hand. Was there anything he could do?

Raine cleared her throat again; this time Sherlock darted his eyes to her. "Now, what's her favorite food?" Raine asked once she managed to catch his attention for a moment.

"Muffins, but she can't cook, so she usually bribes Mrs. Hudson to make them," he told her barely taking a breath.

"Mrs. Hudson is the housekeeper?" she guessed.

"Landlady," he quipped.

"Oh," she let out the single syllable allowing Sherlock to continue his thoughts. Maybe it would be difficult but not impossible. Ginevra Lorraine was still there, and he would have three months. Maybe even in Raine, he would be able to see a shade of Jen. Perhaps they were all that different. Observe; don't see, he reminded himself. "And you and her are lovers?" she asked as he began to observe her. It was all fuzzy, but he could observe small things.

"No," he answered keeping her attention to him as he watched her, deduced her, "yes. Not really." There was the bad knee Jen had replaced.

"Complicated?" she questioned. She was fidgeting the way Jen did when sitting in a cab too long.

"You want to know about Ginny; I want to know about you. Information for information," he demanded letting his eyes fall on her lips as her mouth tugged into a rather gentle smile. It was a smile Jen had only reserved for him; he adored that smile.

"Very well, Mr. Holmes," she replied, and it was a haunting replay of Jen when they had first met in London. She was still there, somewhere trapped in the dark recesses of the mind of the woman in front of him. "What do you want to know?"

"Your earliest memory," he snapped out quickly. She smiled at him as she searched for the memory she would call her own.

"I have most of Gina's memories up until the year she killed Connor, and then those are strictly my memories," she told him. "Is it that memory you wish to know?"

"No," he shook his head knowing what memory he wanted to hear. He knew enough about Jen to know when Ursa became something more than a shadow. "Tell me about that night. The black year Ginny knew nothing about." Raine kept the smile on her face before she let out a slight laugh and shook her head. He didn't understand why was laughing, not yet.

"Do you believe in fate, Mr. Holmes?" she asked him.

"No," he replied simply. The universe was rarely so lazy. Mycroft's words echoed in his head. Fate didn't exist; there was a rhyme and reason to everything.

"I do; I have to," she told him quietly, "because I shouldn't have met him, James Moriarty; there was no reason for us to have run into each other other than fate. It was just a day after Connor's murder. I was still covered in his blood, freezing from the rain that was falling, and in shock of what had happened..."

Ginny stumbled along the road shaking. She didn't know where she was; she didn't know who she was. She had no particular destination other than home, but she wasn't even sure how to get there. She was sure she was going to die if she didn't find someone to help her, but the roads remained empty and the gnawing emptiness in her gut became apparent.

She heard the sound of an engine coming down the road forcing her to stumble to the side, but the water and mud piling up on the shoulder caused her to stumble , slip, and ultimately fall into the mud as the car sped by splashing her with gravel and mud. She cursed her luck and made to get up but slipped again allowing her ankle to roll. She gasped and fell back to the ground holding it in agony as tears of pain rolled down her face.

She looked up to glare at the cursed automobile but was surprised to see it had stopped not far from her, and a well-dressed boy had stepped out of the car with an umbrella. It was poorly lit, and she could see nothing as he made his way to her to her confusion.

"You alright?" he asked her. There were two things she was absolutely certain of. The first was a very simple: he was Irish from his accent, but the second was more complicated. She could see it written all over his face as he came closer and closer to her. This man may just slit her throat given the chance. No, worse than that. This boy may just slaughter her whole family, burn down all of England, and break her just to watch her suffer and for no other reason.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said quickly as she scrambled to stand only to gasp in pain and fall into him ruining his rather nice grey suit. "I'm sorry," she said pulling herself from him. He looked her up and down for a moment, and she didn't know what to say, or what to do. Was he attempting to decide whether to help her or murder her? Was he deciding if she was worth his time, and did she prefer it if he decided she wasn't or was?

"You're injured. Let me help you," he told her calmly reaching out a hand to her.

"No, I… I'm fine," she said trying to wrap her arms around herself as he observed her. She tried to put as much physical distance between herself and him as possible. She didn't want him looking at her the way he was.

"You're not," he told her taking another look at her. "You're cold, injured, and on the run. Come with me." He pulled her arm around his shoulder, and not given much of a choice, she followed him to the car not sure where it would lead her. He closed the door after her before making his way to the other door. He slid into the light of the car allowing her to see his dark hair and his dark eyes that swirled with a hidden madness. "James Moriarty," he informed her holding out a hand. She took it.

"Ginevra Lorraine. Everyone calls me Ginny," she told him letting her hand drop wondering if she should have gave him a fake name instead.

"I know," he informed her. She swallowed as he practically turned her blood to ice.

"How?"

"Weeeeelllll… I had suspicions," he told her with a grin. "The police have been poking around nearby towns looking for a girl from that Prep school not far from here. Claims she killed someone, and then, fate should have it that I come across you on the road in the very same uniform for the school. Not to mention the blood stains on your clothes. You're lucky."

"I look at you, and I think I could not be any more unlucky," she muttered. "Are you going to kill me?" He looked at her with both amusement and extract at her knowledge.

"Why would you think that?" he asked her quietly watching her face morph to slight disgust.

"Because that's what you do; you kill people. It's written all over your face," she told him irritated that he bothered lying to her. He was a lot of this, but a liar somehow didn't suit him well. He leaned into her making her freeze as he came just an inch within her face. She could feel the warmth of her breath hit her cheeks as her senses was filled with the scent of peppermint from the gum he had been chewing.

"I'm afraid I might have to kill you now," he told her reaching up and pushing her dyed blonde hair out of her face, but he said it in playful way, and she wasn't sure if she should be scared or not. "That's a shame."

"I won't let you kill me," she informed him quite sure of herself. She wouldn't allow him to see her as weak.

"Oh?" he questioned as an amused smirk fell onto his face.

"I will kill you and everyone around you if you attempt to harm me," she replied hitting his hand out of her face, but she was shaking. "You don't scare me."

"Your pulse is telling me otherwise," he replied as his hand quickly lunged forward causing her to jump, but he simply moved her hair from her pulse line. He pressed on her neck making her whole body stiffen. His thumb quickly traced the vein in her neck. "Oh, don't worry," he told her pulling away. "I have no intention of killing you, Miss Lorraine."

"No?" she questioned as she let her body relax as he finally pulled away from her giving her room to breath.

"Far too few willing to do what should be done," he answered her with a smile. "I'll give you a place to stay for the night and patch you up."

"I don't understand," she admitted watching him as her eyebrows knitted together as she contemplated the situation. "Why are you here? Why did you seek me out?"

"I didn't," he informed her sounding quite thrilled at the lack of action on his part. Yet, there was was in front of him "I was simply here to confirm the death of my employee."

"Employee?" she asked with a frown.

"Connor Waite." She shifted uncomfortable knowing she was guilty. "Oh, you need not worry about him. He was of no particular value. He simply stirred up a town, tore apart families, caused chaos through murder. I simply paid him for it."

"He killed people, because you paid him?" she uttered quietly.

"No, he raped and killed those girls, because he wanted to. I simply gave him an incentive," James replied with a smile.

"Why?"

"Because life is just so dull," he whined. "You should know that." He grinned at her as she nodded slowly.

"Then why not kill me?"

"Because you've become interesting, Miss Lorraine," he told her obviously. "You smashed in Connor's head not for defense, but because you wanted to. You enjoyed watching him take his last breath."

"He was a psychopath," she tried to defend herself, but it was a weak defense.

"So are you," he sang at her. "Doesn't change a thing."

"So why pick me up off the road?"

"Do you believe fate, Miss Lorraine?" He asked.

"No," she frowned.

"I do," he told her letting the playful grin remain on her face. "The chances of me running across you are astronomical, and yet here we are. We are fated to meet."

"I am not a murder if that's what you want from me," she told him panicking slightly. She didn't want this, or she wasn't sure what she wanted. How was she supposed to admit to him, to anyone including herself that she liked watching Connor die? It was thrilling; it was exciting, and what a release! It made her physically ill. "I am just a normal teenager-"

"Who happens to lose her mind at the flick of a switch," he mused. "You have multiple personality disorder."

"What?" she questioned never having heard this in her life.

"You have two sides to you," he told her, "like a coin. It's obvious."

"That's… no… I-" she tried to defend, but she had blacked out during Connor's murder.

"Do you remember watching Connor actually die?" Moriarty questioned her.

"No," she muttered.

"You blacked out halfway through," he replied.

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"I confiscated the tapes," he said emphasizing each word, "and watched them. Something in your body change as you walked away."

"Oh God," she muttered suddenly afraid of herself, and Moriarty noticed the panic in her eyes before he gingerly tilted her head up to look at him. He gently stroked her cheek with his thumb shushing her, trying to calm her.

"You don't need to be afraid of yourself," he told her. "Consider this a gift."

"A gift?" she questioned as he cupped her face in his hands.

"If you can switch it on and off, you can kill people without feeling to guilt that ordinary people do," he told her saying ordinary like it was the worst crime. "You can live a normal life, and at the same time, be a serial killer without even knowing it. It would be, well, brilliant. As long as you leave no trace, no one catch as you will believe your innocence, and nothing is a stronger alibi. I can teach to leave no trace."

"Why would I bother?"

"Because you enjoy killing people, and I'll pay you for it," he informed her. "For every body you create, I'll deposit five thousand quid into your bank account." She sat there staring out the car window watching the trees fly by.

"Can you promise I won't get caught?" she asked not believing the words coming out of her mouth.

"If you listen to me."

"Can you promise I won't remember?" If she made this deal... God, she never wanted to know what she would do.

"If you listen to me."

"Then show me," she told him looking to him finally as a grin of triumph formed on his face.

They were both silent as the cab continued speeding down the road toward the manor. Raine watched as he pieced together the puzzle, pieced together her.

"Moriarty was the first to tell you the truth," Sherlock uttered realizing that this was one of the biggest problems in her past. The first person to tell her the truth was not someone who sought to help her but instead, he used her. If it had been someone else, she could have been fixed, but instead, she fell to Moriarty. "Instead of helping you, he sought to encourage your illness."

"Don't you get it?" she asked him with a laugh. He understood now why she laughed. It should have never happened. She should have been told the truth by someone else, but instead, she was told she had multiple personality by a man she only met by a chance. He was one of the only men who could do what he did. He helped make Raine, so she was no longer a shadow. Out of all the people she met who knew, she met him. "I was perfect," Raine told him. "He could tell me things, and unless I was Raine, I wouldn't be able to tell you I've even met him. I could be questioned to the farthest reaches and have no idea what you're talking about. I was what he was looking for. Moriarty gave me the name Raine Aigle, Ursa. He gave me my history; he easily helped completely segregate the Gina and I."

"He used you," Sherlock snapped at her. Why couldn't she see he didn't love her? She was just part of his game.

"Yes," she said staring blankly ahead of her as if she was considering it before she looked at him. "But in turn, he gave me a power Gina didn't have. I can kill her as she couldn't kill me. I can break the allusion. I can be her, and she could be me. We could be one person, but I never saw a reason to. Not after I was forcibly shut away by the unusual alliance of Mycroft, Robbie, and Damon." Another mistake made. The trio should have never done what they did; it only further increased Jen's own madness. "Our personalities melded to a certain degree, but the memories still remained separate. We were never truly a single person."

"James used me, but he adored me, too. I used him as he used me, and he liked it," she laughed. "He liked I could top him in any game we played. If you don't believe that he actually loved me, you just have to go so far as to look at Christopher Black. He created him to keep me close. The idea of another man touching me appalled him; so he made Gina love him with a simple act. The thing is… it wasn't much of an act. She liked his madness, his rage; she loved him for everything you're not. She loved him for the same reasons I loved him." She gave him a teasing smile. "Oh, and I can see why she loves you. You are James, but you're him on the side of angels. How perfect," she laughed.

"You believe that Ginny loves me, because she sees Jim Moriarty in me?" Was it true? Could it be true? She was projecting a past love (Moriarty of all people) onto him, and if so, what did that mean? Did it matter?

"Yes," she answered obviously. Of course it matter. "Oh you poor man," she muttered seeing the crestfallen look he did well to hide, "you really are upset over it. Well, it really is no matter right now." The car came to a halt in front of the rather large manor. She slipped out after paying the cabbie, and they walked up to the home side by side.

Sherlock's head was rattling with information, deductions, and ideas, but first, he needed to make the single informative decision if Raine was still the woman he knew at least in some aspect, and Sherlock realized there was a simple test. He grab her arm stopping her from entering the manor. He had to dig deep; he had to say something that would never let him say. He had to be cold, and he had to be mean. He had seen Jen loose control briefly to Raine, and now, he needed Raine to briefly loose control to Jen. He just needed a sign that Jen was there; that Ginevra could be saved.

"What?" she snapped rolling her eyes wondering what he would possibly say to her now.

"Lucy would despise what you are," he spat with as much venom as he could muster, and just as quickly as he said it, her hand smacked him hard across the face causing them both to freeze.

"I don't know why I...," she muttered staring at her hand for a moment before shaking her head and heading back inside without another word.

Sherlock held the red hand mark on his face, and despite the pulsing pain, he was grinning. Raine or not, Jen was still there. She was still salvageable.

A/N: Happy early Easter, kids (unless you don't celebrate easter due to your religion). Hope you get to go easter egg hunting or at least get some really good pie. =)

Thanks to reviewers: TinkerbellxO, hannahhobnob, zare . downey . okumura, and Dream01. See you all next Friday!