Hey guys! WARNING: So, this chapter is sort of lame (okay SUPER lame), but the next chapter is going to be REALLY fun for me to write (and hopefully for you to read) so I hope that this is a nice chill chapter before a big bang! :D

Thanks for all of your lovely comments! I love to get some more, yeah? (: Nothing makes me happier than seeing your reviews, and you were all doing SO well on the first chapter.

Thank you, however, for a large amount of reviews from people who normally DON'T review (Angelica, Wen, etc) (: That always makes me incredibly happy, and I love knowing who is out there! Also, thanks to girlwithwings for my horrible, yet slightly humourous spelling error…

Author's Challenge for this chapter: What has been your favorite Renadale and Sherlock moment? Oh, so many to choose from. One that I tend to think about a lot is the scene in Poisoned Dreams where they have a little romance scene in the hallway. Chapter 22. ^^

LET'S KEEP IT UP! YEAH!

Love you all,

-Mistro

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My hands persistently knocked at John's door; something they had gotten very good at. It was around his break time and I knew he would be at home. My constant banging was hard to ignore, and it didn't take long for John to appear before me in the entryway. "Renadale?" His voice was shocked. "The knocking was so exasperating, I was certain that it was Holmes."

"Go and speak to him," I replied firmly.

"Hello to you as well."

"You should go right this minute. He should be at Baker Street preparing for a dinner date with Irene." I felt something soft nudge against my foot. Gladstone was greeting me with some kisses along the hem of my dress. "Mrs. Hudson said you were dropping the dog off tonight anyway, so view it as an extra early trip?"

Watson grumbled with a roll of his eyes. "Why exactly do I need to do this all of a sudden? Things have been really busy with work and I should probably go back soon. Sherlock Holmes doesn't need any help of mine. In fact, he's obstinate about it." All I needed to do was look gloomy for John to succumb. "Alright, I'll do it. Might I ask what all of the rush is for, though?"

"He knows who Irene's employer is, but he won't tell me. He said he might eventually, but I think he'll hold it back as long as possible. I have a feeling it's going to upset me, but I can't think of why." I kept picturing Holmes's reluctant face in my mind when I had asked who the mystery man was. "He'll probably tell you and then you can pass the word along."

"So, I'm going to be going behind his back to tell you? He's going to put his trust in me and then I am suddenly going to break it?" When you put it like that, it sounded horrible, but I nodded. I couldn't deny the truth. "Sounds brilliant. I'll go grab my cane."

I was pleased with myself. I was one step closer to finding out the big secret. I was cracking a case within a case. Sure, I had to be stealthy about it, but I was quickly realizing that secrets were just facts dying to be discovered.

"Will you be joining me?" John reappeared with Gladstone clipped to his side. "You could just wait outside and come in after I've discovered the answer. I certainly wouldn't mind seeing his staggered face."

I shook my head, though the idea was tempting. "I'm afraid you'll have to do it solo. I have to go and fetch bread for my mother. She wants a quiet supper tonight with just the two of us."

John smiled as he shut the door behind him. "Then, I'll at least walk with you until we have to separate ways?"

"I'd like that," I grinned. It seemed like ages since John and I had properly spoken, and there was so much happening that the moment seemed fitting. I began to speak as we made our way out onto the street. "So, are you excited for your stag party this evening?"

"It's coming up very soon," he sighed. "I'm just afraid that Sherlock doesn't realize it. He hasn't uttered a word to me about it and none of the boys at work have said anything. If they're trying to keep it a surprise, they're doing a fine job at it." Watson's looked low-spirited. "Truthfully, I'm sure he's forgotten all about it."

My lip curled into a frown. I had been thinking the same thing, but I didn't want to upset him. I should have done a better job at reminding him, but I doubt he would have listened. A stag party was supposed to be one of the most memorable nights of a man's life… That is, if he could remember it after the booze. "He wouldn't overlook it," I encouraged. "He's your best mate. Surely he has a bit more dignity than that."

Watson's eyes were slits when he glanced over at me. Okay, so maybe I was being too hopeful. "It's funny," Watson sighed. "There are so many good men out there who I would much rather spend my time with, and yet I always wind up going back to him."

"He needs you," I said softly as we came to an intersection near Regent's Park. "He acts like he's on top of the world, but you're the one holding up his feet!"

He laughed, but only because he knew it to be the truth. "Oh, Rena, how long has it been since we've had a good chat?"

"Far too long," I smiled. "I believe the last time was in Chichester and involved me bursting into your room without warning." We both smiled at the memory. "Your big day is coming up, so I don't blame you for not showing your face much."

"On that note, you've been such a huge help to Mary. She doesn't have many connections in London and she really seems to fancy your presence." I felt flattered by this; I had never really had any friends and Mary was certainly the best candidate.

We made our way across the busy street, laughing as we nearly got ran over by two coaches. Those were the moments I loved most; laughing so much that you forgot where you were. Being with friends and not having to worry about another dead body showing up in an hour. Sure, it was gruesome, but you had to take note of the little things. Those moments were very rare, but I savored them with my entire heart.

"You know, we haven't even talked about the case," Watson smirked. "Did you hear about the Strasbourg bombing?"

"Of course," I sighed. "I also just discovered earlier today that the bomb in Chichester could have been prevented. There's just so much going on that it's hard to focus on one incident at a time. I just hate leaving things unfinished."

Watson paused in his tracks, choking Gladstone to a stop. The dog looked up at its owner in confusion, but Watson was the one who looked more astonished. "Does Holmes know about this?"

"No, he doesn't, actually. There was never an opportune moment to discuss things with him."

"Well, then you have to come with me and tell him," Watson urged. "Where did you receive that information?"

"Irene told me that she was there." I hated having to spill my secret so soon, but I knew it was for the best. "I have no idea who she was delivering the bomb to. When she wrote Holmes in Paris, we both thought she was talking about meeting today in London. Apparently we were a few days too late."

"Renadale, this is big news. You could discover who the Illuminati murderer was with that information!" Watson's eyes sparkled just as mine had.

"Yes, but Sherlock says that it isn't important anymore. He said that man is dead and that we should be focusing on the bombs. I know he's not in his right mind, but perhaps he has a point. Perhaps I am being foolish to look back."

Watson rolled his eyes. He set his hand on my back and pushed me further along the road as he spoke up. "Sherlock Holmes has no sense of conclusion. The case is still wide open. If it connects to the bombings, don't you feel dissatisfied with not knowing who the target was? Sherlock doesn't, but it's gut-wrenching to me to know that those innocent men died without close."

"I feel the same," I insisted. "Their ghosts might still be wandering the streets, searching for an end. I just don't think I can do it alone and Sherlock isn't willing to help."

We had reached the corner where our paths would split, but Watson waited to take his leave. "I think you should come with me. We can both try to explain to Sherlock that we're close to solving the case. We can close it with ride and perhaps he'll listen if we both step in."

I shook my head as my stomach audibly growled. "I have to go out and buy bread or my mother will surely kill me." Watson didn't smile. He wasn't pleased with my choice, and I instantly feared the worse. "Please don't tell him I told you about all of this! I don't want to add more pressure onto him. I think he's doing better." That was a lie. If anything, his marbles were totally gone. "His sense is starting to return to normal." Watson cocked his head to the side. "Okay, he's still mad, but I don't want to bother him with old news. I want to try to solve this one on my own until he's willing to help."

"Alright, I won't utter a word. I'm always here if you need help." Watson had finally given in. "And what about when he tells me who this employer is? Do you want me to report back to you?"

My roguish smile peeked out. "That would be exquisite," I sung. Watson's mustache rose with his smile. After we both hugged our farewells, I couldn't help but catch sight of his scarf. "Oh, Watson, what a lovely scarf! Did Mary make it?" I did like the scarf; it matched his eyes and hair.

"Yes," he sighed. "I'll be honest, though. It's good knitting, but I don't think it suits me. But, my fiancée made it and I wear it with all of the pride I can possibly muster."

"Be proud," I nudged him. "She's a real lady, that Mary. Any man would be pleased to wear one of her scarves around his neck."

He lifted it up proudly. "Let's hope it doesn't land on some other bloke's neck in a year's time." We both laughed and took our separate ways, sending one another a wave until we disappeared from view. I could hear the railroad construction not too far off, and I knew that it wouldn't be long until Watson reached his old home.

I was crawling out of my skin in anticipation. Soon, I would know Irene's secret. The day was beginning to feel wonderful, despite the chill running in the early spring months. It was off to the bread stands for me; cooking would keep my mind off of my impatiently awaited news.

Rye bread, wheat bread, white bread, nut bread. There were so many options! I wished my life could have been laid out before me for my own choosing. My fingers rose to my lips in despair as I skimmed over all the different flavors. "That one." I pointed to the white bread. The man nodded and handed me a loaf, asking for a measly two pence.

I safely tucked the bread under my arm and headed back towards my house. Walking alone in the quiet back streets was always a comfort to me. I knew there was a higher chance of crime, but it took you away from the hustle of the city. It let you escape from the wandering eyes and the tireless shoving. Whether you were in the grimy bits or the high ends, everyone had places to get to and didn't care one bit for your wellbeing.

The bread was cold, but it's smelled trickled up to my nose. Unwelcomed thoughts entered my head. Will Holmes and Irene be eating bread tonight? Will it taste like this? Will they finish their meal off with more bread and a glass of wine?

Oh, who am I kidding. Irene would never fill herself up with bread.

Alright, I'll admit. I was jealous. Sherlock had taken me to an opera, but that was the only date I could recall. Not to mention, he persistently reminded me that it was not a date. The memory made me laugh in disgust as I turned the handle to my door.

"Mother!" I called out grumpily. I was still heated up with the idea of the two rekindling that night. "I've got the bread!" She was making noise in the kitchen as she set up the table for dinner. I set down the bread and kissed her warmly on the cheek.

"My, you're freezing!" She gasped and took my face in her warm hands. "Do you need some tea?"

"No, mother," I smiled. "I'll be alright."

"Nonsense," she rolled her eyes. "You need tea. Sit down and begin cutting up the bread. I've fixed some cheese and cold cuts for us."

I laughed as I began to unwrap the loaf. "What, are we suddenly Germans?" My mother glanced at me from behind her shoulder. The last thing she wanted to be accused of was being a German, but I merely smiled in return. "Just joking."

"I won't lie; I'm surprised to see you home tonight." She was right; she wasn't lying. The amazement in her voice was authentic. "No plans with the boss? It seems like you two haven't been seeing much of one another lately."

My knife fell onto the table in discomfort. Shakily, I picked it back up and began to cut once more. "Well, it's just because of Mary's wedding. That's all. Things have been very busy for both of us." My mother was silent in return. It was clearly a touchy subject, but I did want to get things out. I could feel the words bubbling in my throat until they were unable to be restrained. "He's out tonight with an old friend. A woman."

"He has friends?"

"Yes, and she's…" What was the proper word? "Well, she's beautiful. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, not to mention she's enormously witty."

"She's American, isn't she?"

I laughed, but not from happiness. My fingers tiredly rubbed my forehead as I allowed my eyes to close for a second. She's as American as they come." The sigh that I let out was shaky, and I instantly felt my mother's warm hands on my shoulders.

"There, there, love," she whispered into my hair. "Things have been hard for you these past couple of months, but if I've noticed one thing, it's that he cares about you. He might have a strange way of showing it, but at least he's putting himself out there."

I thought of everything that had happened over the past few months. The murders. The bombs. Edward; dark and beautiful. Thomas the Unexpected. The wedding. Even Mycroft had been a surprise. My life had suddenly become like a storybook in less than a year. I had my first kiss, and my second kiss at that, both with different men. There was betrayal and jealousy that made up for the lack of it in my past twenty-four years. Somehow, none of it seemed real. Even though I felt the emotions with each passing day, I couldn't make sense of them.

"Dearest, don't think so hard." I looked down to see a plate full of meat and cheese sticking under my nose. "Eat this," my mother urged. "Food really does have a way of making one feel better. Not to mention, you've become a scrawny little thing these days."

I couldn't have agreed more. It didn't take long for me to devour the food she had given me and then give myself permission for seconds. Mother and I briefly talked about politics, but I knew she fancied gossip more, so I began to switch the subject.

"So, any juice about London?" I asked between a mouthful of meat and cheese. "Any scandals that I should be aware of?"

"Everyone's eyes are on Germany and France at the moment. There's nothing new here as far as I can tell." She instantly slapped my hand. "Renadale, stop eating in that fashion! You look like a savage!"

"What?" I laughed with a shrug of my shoulders. "It's not as though I'm trying to impress a man, am I?"

A light knocking interrupted both of our giggles. We instantly turned to the door, our breads frozen beside our mouth. "If that's a man who has come for you, I'm going to call this karma," my mother whispered.

"I'll get it," I mumbled as I swallowed the rest of my dinner. If my thoughts were correct, it should have been John with the information. My bare feet rushed me towards the door, my hands flinging the rusty handle back. "Hello?"

Indeed, it was John at the other side, but he was not as pleased as I was. "Good evening, Rena." His words were utterly slowly.

"And a good evening to you as well, John. Is everything alright?" My composure instantly dropped to a slump as I read the bad news on his face. "Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?"

"Actually, I don't want to seem pushy, but tea does sound rather perfect."

I urged him inside as quickly as possible. Without fuss, he made his way to the kitchen table and sat himself down. My mother stared wide-eyed at the handsome man. There hadn't been anyone of his sex in our house in ages, and I believe my mother fancied John from his last visit. "Good evening Mrs. Adkins." He tried to smile towards my mother, but it came out twisted and unpleasant.

"Mother," I said uncomfortably. "Why don't you fix John up a cup of tea? Make him feel at home, hm?" My mother was on it in seconds, getting the kettle ready for our guest. I quietly sat down beside him. I felt bad that I had eaten all of the food, but he did not seem hungry. He just seemed peeved. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

John nodded, but his eyes were glued to my mother. It was clear that our talk needed to be private. Luckily, my flustered mother got the hint and left after she set down his teacup. Watson was quiet as he sipped his drink, but I was squirming like a maggot in my chair. What news did he have?

"Renadale, forgive me," he suddenly spoke up. "I just don't think I can tell you."

"Tell me what?" I laughed. "You haven't even said anything at all. Does he know who the man is? Who Irene's employer is?"

"Yes," John sighed as he peeled off his top hat. "That's just the problem. Sherlock has good reason to believe that he is not just her employer. He thinks that this man has control over a great many things, including…"

"Including?"

"Including Doctor Hoffmanstahl's death."

The words were not what I expected to hear. My previous thoughts about Irene were suddenly vanished, and like Watson's face, I began to feel sick. "But, he's… he's not dead. I just saw him just the other day."

"It was right after that. Sherlock found him with a dart in his leg. He died on the spot."

My stomach began to feel weak. He had been the target in the bomb. The bomb hadn't happened, so someone clinched him in another fashion. It was quiet and simple, and above all else, easy to get away with. "This is all so sudden," my voice was flooded with regret. "I'm so sorry that I didn't come with you. If I hadn't kept Holmes up after the auction, he might have-"

"Don't do that to yourself," Watson said firmly. "It was not your fault at all. Sherlock would have liked to tell you himself," John sighed. "But, in the end I think it was best that you didn't come with me. He told me more and I'm not sure you'll want to hear it."

"Why ever not?" I muttered. "What could possibly be more shocking than the Doctor's death?"

Watson's blue eyes flickered towards mine. Wrinkles were woven into his forehead, and it was evident that this was a challenge. "Renadale, I don't want to be the bearer of bad news. I don't want to say this any more than you want to hear it, but as your friend, I believe it's the right thing." I wanted to encourage him to spit it out, but my voice was locked in my throat. "Things have changed, but I think Sherlock is right about this one. It will come as a surprise to you, as I know it did with me."

"Don't be afraid to tell me." I uttered, though I was honestly afraid to hear it.

"Alright, well first there were rumors that it was a heart attack. But, Sherlock had the dart. Clearly, he was murdered." Watsons sighed heavily. "I won't go into detail, but all of the facts matched up. There was only thing his death had in common with the tobacco scandals, the bombings and the steel magnet death in America."

I had to grip the tablecloth to keep my palms from sweating. "All of this anticipation is killing me," I confessed. "I won't be startled; I promise. Just tell me who this all adds up to. Tell me who this person is."

Watson's sorrowful eyes couldn't bear to look into mine. He stared down into his empty cup, twirling it around in his hands. The liquid stayed inside, but the truth splashed over Watson's blue lips. "Professor James Moriarty."

Professor James Moriarty. The James Moriarty. "That's not possible," I snickered as I stood from my chair. "There's no possible way that he could get mixed up in these sorts of things. He's a good man."

"No, he could," Watson assured. "And he did. Think about the lecture you told me about. You said how strange he was acting about the Illuminati. This could also be a key to solving the other case with the book murders!" I knew he was right, but I didn't want to admit it to myself. The words weren't adding up. How could such an intelligent man be so devious?

Unfortunately, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. He had so many connections in higher places. He knew so much about the Illuminati. His friends were often associated with business, no doubt in the war sanctum as well. Yet, it wasn't he who was in France. He must have hired someone.

Watson's soothing voice flooded my thoughts. "Sherlock has no idea that I'm telling you all of this, but you needed to know. The second he told me, I knew it wasn't fair to you." I did not thank John for this information, though eventually I would. "When you see him later tonight, you need to tell him what I've told you."

More problems were beginning to arise. "When I see him later tonight? What do you mean by that? I had no intentions on a visit."

"He's requested that you come by. Don't ask me why; I haven't got a clue."

Someone was surely pulling a jest on me. First the Professor and now this. "John, tonight is your stag party. Surely he's going to be escorting you there, so why does he need me to come?"

John glanced at a nearby clock. "Yes, but not for another couple of hours. I couldn't lie to him. I told him that I was coming to see you and that you needed to know the truth. Now that you know, he wishes for you to go to him."

I thought it was a sweet gesture; perhaps he wanted to comfort me in my time of despair. However, I couldn't wash the anger away. I wanted answers and I wanted them from his very lips. "Oh, you don't have to worry about that," I smirked darkly. "I'll be seeing him straight away."

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Okay, I know it was short and not productive! But, I'm looking forward to the next part. (: Also, I realize that in the movie Watson goes straight from Sherlock's to the stag party, but I'm going to slip some time in there for Renadale to go and visit Holmes…

Hope this doesn't bother anyone. ^^ THEN IT'S OFF TO THE STAG PARTY WE GO!

Or do we go?

By jove, please review.

-Mistro