She awoke facing Sherlock, who was passed out, curled up like a child in a chair near the window. It was rather endearing, she mused as her eyes traced over his shape. Her thoughts conflicted her as she felt sympathy and adoration latch onto her for the man she was determined to destroy. She frowned and turned on her back to stare at the ceiling. Was she loosing her grip on herself again? Victoria had raddled her, and she was struggling to keep herself whole again.

'You never were whole,' a nagging voice reminded her that sounded suspiciously like Ginevra's quiet, chiming voice, a voice not so different in pitch from her own.

"Shut up," she growled rubbing her eyes. "You aren't me."

'Yes, I am,' she uttered. With a growl, she sat up to stare at the wall across from her. Sweat dripped down her forehead to her neck as she clutched her head between her hands. It was too much; it was all too much. 'You can't run forever.'

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" she shouted.

"Ginny?" a voice called her back. She looked up at Sherlock before slowly untangling her hands from her hair.

"I'm fine," she assured him sliding to the edge of the back gulping in air, "and I'm not Ginny."

"Yes you are," he affirmed as he had done recently. She snarled at him before her eyes went to the ground. She was leaning her elbows on her thighs as her head pressed between her palms. "Nightmares?"

"Attacked from within," she told him. "Psychological episodes. I... I can't keep myself together sometimes... she's taunting me."

"Jen?"

"Ginevra," she answered. She rubbed her neck before looking to Sherlock. He was thin, and now that she considered it, she hadn't seen him eat once. She wondered if that was a regular thing, and if she should do something about it. She wondered why it mattered.

"Get up. You're making us breakfast," she told him standing and stumbling from a wave of dizziness. She crashed into the end table before she stumbled into the dresser. She rubbed her eyes.

"Am I?" he asked her watching her trying to find herself. She was disoriented, but it was more than a disorientation from just waking up. She seemed lost in a sea of confusion reaching for something he couldn't see. Victoria had smashed Raine's barriers again, and Ginevra, wherever she was, was struggling from the reminder of the loss of her child.

"You are now," she answered. "I can't cook, so you will." She turned on her heels and marched to the door but not before he saw tears start to fall down her face. Sherlock scrambled after her as she trudged down the steps. "I hate sleeping," she muttered rubbing her eyes. Her tears had vanished as she finally seemed to gain full control. "It slows my cognitive process."

"You were due for a rest," Sherlock replied making her grunt as she pushed open the kitchen door. The kitchen was large and spotless. It was clear she never came in the place.

"Hungry?"

"No, but I'm thinking you're not going to give me a choice," he mused as he watched her take out a carton of eggs from her fridge.

"You think correctly," she told him with a teasing smile as she tried to find a pan in one of her cupboards before slamming it down on the oven. She gestured to the stove.

"You know you could just learn to cook," he informed her before cracking the eggs into the pan.

"Cooking is hard," she yawned out collapsing in the bar stool at the counter as she watched him.

"It's really not."

"Oh but it really is," she teased putting her head down. "Do you still have my picture of Victoria? It's the only one I have… any others… Ginevra likely put them somewhere I nor Jen would be able to find them." Sherlock went rummaging through his crinkled suit pocket before he found the folded up paper and threw it on the counter next to her. "Thank you," she murmured unfolding it and attempted to straighten out the photograph.

The door to the kitchen was pushed open to reveal Eliza already dressed posh for the day. Raine looked at her with a sort of dumbed down expression. The difference between the two was stark, and one would think that Eliza was Raine's boss and not the other way around.

"What?" she asked sharply not hiding her displeasure in seeing to woman so early in the morning.

"Damon O'Hera is here like you asked," Eliza replied. Raine waved her hand at the woman, and she disappeared.

"When did you contact him?" Sherlock asked wondering what she wanted with Damon. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

"On the way back from the asylum," she told him as Damon walked through the doors. He looked between the two of them as if trying to analyze the situation.

"Yes?" he asked her then glanced at Sherlock and back at Raine.

"Victoria," she started. "Do you know her?" It turns out Sherlock was wrong; she just wanted to know about her daughter.

"Yes," Damon answered slowly. So this is what she learned at the asylum. "I knew about Victoria. I told you we met in the asylum. I asked why you were there, and you told me about your daughter… though it took a lot of dragging out, and you punching me in the face to get that information."

"Did she have any mementos of her?"

"Pictures, items, little things... I don't know where though," Damon replied. "Ginevra is a private person when it comes to those things."

"You have no idea?" she asked sounding deflated.

"No, Robbie might though, and if Robbie doesn't know, try Regina. They were both in contact with Ginevra around the time of Victoria's death."

"Hm," she mumbled. "I'll be right back," she announced before sliding off her seat. "Don't burn the kitchen down, yeah?" she teased Sherlock putting a hand on his arm before slipping out of the kitchen.

"She seems… less homicidal than usual," Damon mused as he collapsed in the bar stole as Sherlock clicked the stove off.

"She's busy mourning," he answered before looking to Damon. He didn't understand how Damon could keep Victoria a secret from Jen; Sherlock didn't understand how and why you kept any of this from her. It was part of who she was. "You kept this from her."

"I kept this from Jen like Ginevra would have wanted," Damon told her.

"What's she like?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Ginevra?" Sherlock nodded. "Oh, I don't know," Damon laughed. "She's um… a bit Jen, a bit Raine and yet neither. She's sort of quiet… has this way about her where she roams around like a ghost, doesn't make and sound and seems… heavy with burden…"

"She's brilliant and um… conflicting. She once tried to describe to me why she segregated herself into two. She likes the power of having life and death in her hands but… killing another person… it riddles her with guilt. She's empathetic like Jen and compassionate, but she's not blind like Jen. She knows who her enemies are she's not afraid to take what she believes she deserves."

"If you put Jen, Raine, and Ginevra in room and told them that unless they killed one another, they would all die. Raine would kill them all without hesitation, Jen would panic and feel conflict getting her killed quickly, and Ginevra… well, she's unique and better than them. She would make sure they couldn't kill her by decommissioning them, but she wouldn't kill them. She would find out why they were in that situation and find a way out only killing them if there was no other option, but make no mistake, she would kill them if she had to." Damon paused to observe Sherlock as he absorbed this information. He stared at the door waiting for Raine to come back.

"You're worried," Damon realized.

"Why would I be worried?" Sherlock stumbled out far to quickly.

"Because you've never met Ginevra, and you love Jen… you don't want to lose that, but… all the great things about Jen: her compassion, her humor, her art, her way of understanding others, Ginevra has those qualities. They aren't so different, and if she gets better… well, she'll still love you. She'll feel everything Jen felt. That won't change."

"Okay so," Raine announced pushing open the door and interrupting them, "they have no idea, and I'm getting all coped up. Do you want to go on a case?"

"Breakfast," he reminded her. She needed to eat just as much as he did.

"Right," she slid onto the seat in front of the counter. Breakfast was met with silence. Raine still looked tired from the events of the day before and from that morning. She looked worn and well passed her age. Damon looked at her for a long moment as he tried to find something... But it couldn't be... could it? She couldn't be her, not now, not this earlier. Damon swallowed the bile building in his throat to let out a single word.

"Ginevra," he uttered ever so quietly. The woman looked up at him with a hollowed out look and recognition flashed across her eyes before it quickly vanished and was replaced by the usual look in Raine's eyes that left someone feeling like something bad was about to happen.

"Raine," she reminded him not denying the distaste that slipped on her face.

"Right," he uttered. "Call me if you need anything," he told Sherlock before disappearing out of the door.

"Did you look at the case files?" she asked him shuffling around the remaining bits of breakfast on her plate.

"Yes," he answered. "It's fairly interesting."

"I had to search for it," she answered before with a sigh she shoved the plate off the counter and watched with bored eyes as it shattered into a hundred pieces. "It wasn't agreeing with me. I'm going to go shower and change. I'll meet in front."

Raine was smoking a cigarette by the time he had changed into something halfway decent. He stepped to her side and watched as the smoked mixed with the air and floated up to join the clouds.

"Want one?" she asked holding out her pack.

"John doesn't like when I smoke and neither does Ginny," he told her. "She doesn't want them to kill me."

"Neither of them would know," she shook the pack emphasizing the sin that was laid out in front of him. He shook his head despite the temptation pressing on him. "Suit yourself," she murmured as she got a chance to finish her cigarette in piece before the same black car that drove them yesterday showed up. "Lets go," she remarked hoping down the stairs before throwing herself into the car. He followed suit. "We have a bit of a way, so I have a very important question."

"What's that?" he asked happy for her question as he had his own.

"What was your intention?" It was an intriguing question and not one that he was quite sure he understood.

"My intention?" he asked her wishing for her to clarify.

"Well, Gina and you weren't having sex leading me to the conclusion that you were not in a relationship, yet you've been living together for the last year. What did you intend with her? You obviously didn't intend a relationship."

"I intended for her to stay in Baker Street," he answered. "That's all I wanted."

"All you wanted?" she asked. "She wouldn't have waited forever; she would have moved on."

"Ginny was in love: a human error," he replied.

"Love only does so much," she told him with a sigh. Her eyes slid shut, and she rubbed her palms into them. There was silence for a moment before he asked his question.

"You were scared of Moriarty at first and wary. What changed?" he asked her. She smiled at him.

"Avoiding the issue at hand," she teased before she sighed and considered the first memories of the man long since dead. She missed him.

She sat in front of him with her legs crossed. It was over a month since she had come into his care, and she was beginning to loosen up around him. He still set her on edge, but it was nowhere near the level he had initially. Now, he fascinated her more than scared her. His mind was interesting: the way he thought, the way he considered his actions. He was as brilliant as he was insane.

"Check," he mused. Her eyes glanced down at the chessboard rather bored of the game. She sighed. "Are you getting bored?" he teased her.

"Well, I have been coped up in your house for what seems like forever," she reminded him before she tapped her king so that he fell back onto the board. She admitted defeat not wishing to continue.

"All in time, dear," he answered with a smile.

"I'm not your dear," she told him as she placed her elbow on the chest board and leaning her chin into her hand.

"Sure you are," he replied with a cocky smile making her frown as he stood. "Be ready at midnight."

"For what?" she asked.

"Wear something..., " he gave her a once over, "sexy, classy."

"For what?" she asked again, but he had already turned smoothly out of the room and left her to stare at the occupied seat. She hmphed before she stood with a sigh and left. Jim was no where to be seen making her shake her head in annoyance before climbing the stairs to her bedroom. "Something sexy," she tisked slamming open the closet door. What did he even want?

Midnight rolled around, and she sat on the edge of the staircase in a fitted black dress that went to her knees and hugged her figure tight only leaving the flesh on her back open to touch the air. She felt exposed and self-conscious.

"Do you really not know how to tie a tie, or are you just trying to piss me off?" she asked as he strutted in through the front door. She stood and unknotted the thing he claimed to be a tie knot before she began to tie it again in a rather proper fashion.

"It's fun making you angry, dear" he answered emphasizing dear to annoy her before he gave her a once over and slowly encircling her wrist with his hand before gently dragging it down her arm tempted by her. She smacked his hand away as she finished.

"Well?" she asked. He smiled at her before he put his arm around her waist guiding her forward. She didn't hesitate to hit his hand again, and he didn't hesitate to put it back where it belonged, on the small of her back. This time is hand was pressed against her flesh, and he was subtle about it. "Where are we going?"

"I was thinking," he started, but she gladly interrupted.

"A dangerous idea considering it always puts in a devastatingly homicidal mood," she remarked.

"You like it," he whispered in her ear.

"Maybe a little," she admitted to him though she knew she shouldn't, "but you were saying?"

"Well, to completely segregate yourself from your pure, innocent, disgustingly angelic self, you need a new life, a new name, so I think a naming ceremony is in order," he told her as he guided her out the door to the car waiting for them. He opened her door for her ike a gentleman before she slid in, and he came around the other side to sit next to her.

"A new name, huh?" she asked. "So where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," he told her allowing her to roll her eyes.

"How cliché," she remarked. They didn't have to drive long before they reached wherever it was they were going. "A carnival?" she asked seeing the deserted Ferris wheel reaching up the sky as she stepped out of the car. She could see the ticket booths and the lame carnival games you would play as a kid. "Why am I dressed up to go to a carnival?" she asked.

"Ah, aren't carnivals interesting?" he ignored her question. "They are the delight of children and at the same time, the nightmare of children. It's like they seek to take something so magical and find the terror in it. It's drilled in us at a young age to find the dark in things."

"I don't know if you've ever been to a carnival, but they aren't exactly magical. They're generally dirty, filled with vomit and teenagers who enjoy groping each other in public," she remarked.

"Need I remind you, you and I are both teenagers," he teased her as he guided her passed the ticket booth. They passed on unconscious guard on the ground making her frown.

"Is he-"

"Matters little," he answered, but she didn't exactly have a taste for taking down the innocent as James did. "We are not here for sightseeing. We are here for something very specific."

"Specific?" she asked. "What are you going to find at a carnival?"

"You tell me. Observe," he told her before he ran off to her surprise.

"James!" she shouted after him as she began to run, but had to stop to take off her damn heels. She continued to run following him into a dilapidated little collapsible building. The door shut behind her leaving her in the dark. "James?" she asked quietly as she continued forward pushing her way through another door. It shut behind her with a click, and she turned around to find herself facing another person. She gasped and jumped back before realizing it was her reflection. She pushed on the glass to no avail. "James?" she called again. The lights burst on making her jump as she say a hundred reflections of herself in the tiny all glass room.

"Look in the mirror," he told her.

"Where are you?" she asked looking for him, but all she could see was herself.

"Look in the mirror," he snapped more harshly making her sigh and turn to her reflection. "What do you see?"

"Myself," she said obviously. What was his point? What was he playing at?

"No."

"What do you mean no? It's me, you moron," she answered.

"It's only part of you," he replied. "The id, the ego, and the superego: tell me about them."

"Well, the uh," she tried to find her psychology lessons, "the id is the one that wants its desires and needs filled now and will do anything to get them filled. The superego is the one that has to do with morals and making judgments, and the ego is sort of like the referee between the two. What does this have to do with me?"

"Everyone has all three, but I would like to argue we can ignore the others if we desire and if we have a reason to."

"And?" she asked still not understanding.

"You have a reason to," he told her. "You have a reason to forget the part of you that tells you about morals, about ideals."

"A reason?" she frowned. "What reason?"

"You never had much of an id, dear, because you were always taken from, always abused," he told her. "You were wronged, and even those around you refused to tell you what you are because they feared you. You were unwanted, and you never had time to want. To busy trying to satisfy the id of all those around you. They stepped on you; they used you."

"And you won't?" she laughed knowing that was a lie.

"Of course, I will," he answered roughly, "but at least, I won't lie about it. I seek to use you as you interest me. It's been a while since something has interested me. Look in the mirror again." She sighed and did as he asked. "What do you see?"

"Me," she reminded him.

"You," he answered. "Do you really seek to be a grown woman seeking to bring everyone else happiness while you destroy your own?"

"I don't-"

"You're worn, dear, and you're running on fumes," he told her. "Look at you, you're tired, you're exhausted, and you want something for yourself, but that damn superego just won't let you." She stared at herself in the mirror. He was right; she looked hollow; she looked used. "You bare a weight of self-consciousness believing you aren't good enough. It's rather unflattering." Yes, she could see that. Her shoulders were slumped and her fingers constantly played with the edge of her dress trying to pull it down. She had dyed her hair, pierced her body, littered it with ink just to avoid looking at herself. She hated everything about herself. "What do you want to be?"

"Pardon?"

"I said what do you want to be!?" he shouted making her jump.

"Confident," she started slowly.

"And?"

"Intelligent."

"Look deep," he urged, "what do you really want?" he asked her. She considered the question as she stared at the reflection of the sunken girl.

"Power," she answered. "I want power. I want to be able to twist people to their knees, to scare them if I desire, to make them love me if I desire. I don't want to be anyone's welcome mat. I don't want people to walk all over me, to lie to me. I want to take what I desire and feel no conflict over it, because I deserve something for myself. I've never done anything for myself..."

"Then do it," he said simply.

"Do what?"

"Become her," he replied.

"It's not that simple," she muttered.

"Oh, but it is. It always is," he told her. "All you have to do is reach for it." She stared at the woman in front of her in the mirror. She was pathetic; she was weak, and she deserved nothing. She deserved to be shut away; she caused her pain and misery. She reached out and smashed the mirror with her palm cracking it. The shards fell to her feet. "So what should I call you?" he asked as his figure filled the mirrors, where he came from was anyone's guess. She looked to him. Her shoulders no longer slumped, and her fingers no longer trailed the edge of her dress. There was something new in her eyes, something reborn. There was a fire where it had been exhausted before.

"Raine," she answered. "Raine Aigle." She slowly walked to him. "You know, I was thinking," she told him as she reached him and slowly began to untie his tie in a lazy fashion.

"I have a feeling thinking is no longer a good idea for you either," he mused causing a smile to play on her lips before she turned serious again.

"I was thinking that I've always wondered what it be like to have sex in front of a mirror, and well, there must be a dozen in here," she asked looking at each mirror carefully before giving him a teasing smile as her eyes met him again.

"He manipulated you," Sherlock interrupted before the story could go any farther. He didn't need any vivid details rolling around his mind palace.

"Yes," she told him, "but he told me flat out that's what he was doing. I trusted him, because he didn't lie to me. He always told me the truth even if it was hard to swallow. A lot could be said for trust."

"He knew that's what you wanted, and he preyed off of you," Sherlock remarked.

"I don't care," she replied. "He gave me what I wanted, and I gave him what he wanted. I gave a person, who's conscious is barely there. Someone willing to kill, lie, steal, and he gave me the truth, love, affection. I hated myself up until them. There is not a lot I know about Ginevra, but I do know until James, she wanted to anyone else. I was that someone else."

"Well, it was a poor choice," he told her. "I'm sure you fine the way you were."

"I wasn't, believe me," she answered.

"Had we met in school, had I ever met Ginevra?"

"Yes," she answered. "She was Jen sometimes and Ginevra others. It was Ginevra who saved you from ODing." The car came to a stop, and Raine quickly got out, but Sherlock remained seated. He had met Ginevra before; she had saved his life. He had seen her change from Ginevra to Ginny right in front of him. The girl who saved him was comfortable with herself, giving, funny. It was this woman who had first caught Holmes's interest and stuck with him over the years. It was this woman that Sherlock Holmes had first fallen in love with years ago.

A/N: Sorry it's late. This chapter was literally just... just no. I had such a hard time with it between trying to put Raine's thoughts down and attempting to keep Moriarty in character. I just.. ugh. I still hate it, every bit it of it. Fuck it, I'm done. *writer checks-out*

Thanks to reviewers: Taylor, TinkerbellxO, zare . downey . okumura, and hannahhobnob. Review please, and I'll hopefully see you all next Friday.