Sooo, I just want to give another big shout out to strange-sort-of-company who sent me the sweetest PM and offered up some FABULOUS suggestions for this chapter. So, her brainstorming encouraged me to get things moving, and let it be known that the train station mix up was her idea. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you will very soon. (: I dedicate this chapter to her for her continuous support! Nothing makes me work harder than a wonderful fan!

And that ALSO goes the same for all of you LOVELY readers out there! Please review! I would love to know what you have to say about things. (:

Author's challenge: If you could have Sherlock say one thing to Renadale, what would it be? (This can be humorous, romantic, etc. I'm so very curious as to what you all have to say. And if I really really love any of them, perhaps it may pop up in the story some day… -wink-)

PLEASE REVIEW! I HEART YOU ALL.

Much luv,

Mistro

~.~.~.~.~.~

Weeds will forever surround our feet. We might tear at them. We might rip them to shreds from our gardens, but they will always remain. Flowers will wilt as the sun travels her way across the sky. They will bloom and then curl up to die, despite our longing for them to flourish. Life is a moving contradiction. The second you expect a soft whisper, you shall get a scream. When you find yourself safe, you are at your weakest.

My arms were tightly wrapped around my torso as I stood beside my bedroom window. Nothing was protecting me from the world out there. My pane of glass and my wooden doors were not enough to stop the threat from lingering in my life. I think I held myself more tightly because of that single thought. I believed myself to be lost to circumstances.

I was beyond protection. If Moriarty wanted me gone, then by God, he would see to it. Of course, I wasn't much of a threat. That wasn't going to stop him. If there was any inch of knowledge creeping through my eyes about his demonic ways, then I would simply have to be removed from the equation.

An audible groan escaped my closed lips. It wasn't fair when I didn't even know how to read the equation.

After the bearded man had tempted me to go into hiding with his words, every single one of my senses became astoundingly clear. Life was reawakening itself to me. I had a large sense of the existing and non-existing. I was beginning to pay better attention to what was around me. Why? Because I could no longer run away.

Standing at my window and watching those who passed down below was the only thing that seemed to satisfy my troubled mind. Not many people wandered down my street, so I was horribly taken aback when I noticed Sherlock's fedora from above. "Why is he here?" My feet took me down the stairs in a flash. I wanted to reach him before my mother's loud mouth did.

I flew outside the door before his eyes even had a chance of glimpsing at it. He saw me bounding towards him and instantly halted in his tracks. "You seem to be in a state of commotion. Is everything alright?"

"No," I mumbled. "Everything is not alright. Nothing ever seems to be alright when I'm with you."

"Now, now." His smirk was the furthest thing from helpful. "Let's not jump to blame so quickly in the conversation."

"He said my life was in danger, Sherlock." This seemed to catch his attention. His entire smile crumpled into a twitch and a clear expression of confusion. "I'm not standing here to ask you to protect me. I'm requesting that you help me find my own way."

"He will not touch you."

There was an enormous amount of affection in his heated words, but I had to disregard them at that moment. I could see the ferocity lingering behind his eyes. Though I was equally as distraught, I had to convince him that I was otherwise. "Things will continue to go as they normal. I will work by your side as John takes his honeymoon in Brighton. We will solve things better than we have been, and the case will continue to go smoothly."

"And you actually believe that?"

"Of course I don't."

"And what of your protection?"

"It's simple. I will fend for myself." My voice trickled off into a whisper. "And when you happen to be there, perhaps you can aid me if I'm looking troubled."

"John's not going to Brighton."

Suddenly, all of my previous thoughts washed away. My head flew up from the ground as we locked eyes in an instant. "Why are you saying this? Have their plans changed?"

"Yes." Sherlock's brown eyes were practically jeering. I knew he was up to something and certainly not in John's favor. "He just doesn't know it."

"Sherlock Holmes, don't you dare drag him into another mess." John Watson had just been married! The couple didn't have enough time together as it were, but now Sherlock was set on ruining the happiest period of their lives together. Well, before children. "Where are you planning on taking him?"

"Paris."

Images to the beginning of our previous (and unfinished) case came swirling into my head like a loose tornado. I could not stop seeing strands of red thread, tumbled love letters, abstract symbols, and opera glasses. A moment of silence fell between us and our rushed conversation slowly turned to one of ease. "I will not express my present distaste at this time," I muttered. "However, I must ask why you were about to knock on my door."

"You left the wedding in a hurry. You did not even have time to properly congratulate the new couple!" His brows scrunched together at the surprise of my previous attitude. I could only jut my lip out as a response. He was not wrong in his accusations.

"Nor did you," I reminded him. "I, unlike you, was a bit more preoccupied with my threat to be thinking about cake." My words instantly burned my tongue and I wished to take them back. "Oh, but I do wish I could have stayed. Mary went to such great lengths for the meal."

"No matter. There will be other meals with Mary." His voice was rushed to get to his main point. "I came here to inform you that I am going to meet with James Moriarty before stealing John away. He knows that I am in the game now, and I'm certain we will be able to speak on more… understanding terms."

Fear began to bubble up inside of me. This time, it was not for my own beating heart, but for Sherlock's. My weary eyes scanned his body, as though I wanted to remember it in case anything happened. James Moriarty wasn't stupid enough to pull a move onto Sherlock Holmes at a public place like Oxford, but I wanted to take note of his stature just in case. He caught my gaze and I instantly turned my face to hide the color rising to my cheeks.

I encouraged him to get moving, but to come back immediately with answers. If Moriarty knew we were out there, the threats would continue to grow. And the more he threatened us, the more afraid he must have been. It was a consoling thought, but as I watched Sherlock's coat flipping behind him, Moriarty's tight grin was all I seemed to see.

~.~.~.~.~.~

The hours passed and my home became quiet. The constantly ticking of the clock above my desk mocked me to no end. My mother was out, a surprise now that her nerves were enhanced, and I was left to my solitude. Not even the glorious sunset could calm my nerves. I kept expecting someone to walk in with a gun in their hands at any minute. A gun to point to my head. A gun to fire. A gun to end my life, all because of a red-headed man.

A loud banging on my door caused my to scream from my bed. My hands instantly clamped over my mouth in embarrassment. Whoever was at my door was probably laughing at me, but I made my way downstairs regardless. I should have expected Sherlock to be on the other side, but somehow his presence startled me.

"Did you scream?"

"I… No."

He made his way briskly inside. Something was distraught about his nature, but I could not place my finger on it. "What have you been doing over the past few hours?"

"I've been…" When I tried to recall my past events, nothing came to mind. "Sitting."

"Sitting?"

"That's all I've been able to do, it seems." I was embarrassed to admit this to him, but he didn't seem to mind. His entire character was changed. He was urgent and swift. His mind needed to be distracted from something. It was only when he tore his coat off that I noticed the difference in his appearance. "Sherlock…" My voice was soft in dread of offense. "What is that?" We both looked towards a laced handkerchief sticking from his breast pocket. I knew his to be red. It was certainly not mine, as I often lost the little fabrics, so it clearly belonged to another woman.

I watched in silence as his face twisted into something of pain. He did not say anything, but my hand instantly reached out towards his cut cheek. My fingers slid silently over his hair as we shortened the distance between us. "I'm quite alright," he reassured. "Don't concern yourself." He was close enough to whisper it in my ear and have it be more than loud, but I knew he did not wish to speak. I knew that there had been tension over the past few days. I wanted to resolve it quickly, but my beating heart was too much of a distraction.

"What did you learn from Moriarty?" I tried to change the subject as I let my hand fall from his cold face.

"A great many things," he chuckled darkly. "One, for example, being that he is an egoist. He also has splendid penmanship, is a liar and that he is going on a lecture tour."

"To Paris." I couldn't help but smile. Clearly, that was why we were making our way there.

"To Paris." He reassured. "He also means to set his sights on Watson and his new wife."

The calmness in Sherlock's voice and stature was enough to give me a premature heart attack. My hands flung out to cling onto his shoulders as the words trickled though my brain. "What on Earth are you talking about? Do you mean he wishes to…?" Sherlock nodded; a confirmation added to more of my daily horrors. How had such a beautiful day turned sour so quickly? "We have to do something."

"Of course we do!" Sherlock brushed past me in a hurry and began to make his way up the stairs. "We must fetch your things and be off. Their train leaves in two hours, and preparing ourselves for their departure is of the utmost importance."

I stumbled up the stairs, practically tripping over my own feet as he rushed into my bedroom. More heat was flooding towards my cheeks. He was in my room! Not that it was much to look at, but knowing he was standing where I brushed my hair, powdered my face, and changed my clothes… "Sherlock!" I grumbled, taking a firm hold of his shoulders in mine. "Don't you think you ought to ask before you enter someone's private quarters?" I began to push him towards the door, but he firmly dug his heels into the wooden boards and refused to budge. "Whatever you're looking for, just tell me and I'll get it!"

"Put those clothes on. The ones I gave you."

My hands were still on his shoulders, and I depressingly allowed my head to fall onto his back. "Oh, please, not so soon." My words were muted as I buried my lips into his jacket with a heavy sigh.

"Yes! As soon as possible!" He clapped his hands together with a greedy excitement. Once again, the puppet had to dance for his master. He left the room as I slipped into my costume, tied up my hair and altered my shoes. When I was finished, I allowed him to come back inside, albeit with humiliation. "You know, you're getting very quick at that."

A couldn't help to let a small grunt escape my lips. "Trust me, I don't take pride in it."

"Take anything you need for Paris," he said as he ignored my statement. "Don't bring any valuables, as you might have a chance at losing them." I was about to ask what he meant by that, but he slipped out the door before I could even utter a word.

"Valuables?" I laughed as I began to toss things into my father's old trunk. "As if I have any of those!" As I threw my few possessions into the case, I could not stop picturing my mother. She would be left alone. Again. She was finally having a happy day out with Edward's mother, the first since he'd passed, and I was going to be miles away when she returned. If her heart was not already broken, I was simply trampling on it now.

"Are you quite ready?" His voice asked from behind the closed door. Somehow it was beginning to irk me. "Time is ticking away!"

"Time is always ticking away!" I answered with a click of my suitcase. "And do you want to know why? Because you're chasing its heels all day long…" I flung open the door before I spat out my agitated last words. "… and all it wants is to get away from you."

He couldn't help but smile, despite my flushed cheeks. "You'd best leave a note for your mother." His voice was calm. The last thing I had expected was for him to take my hand, but the sensation occurred and it was impossible to hide my blush. "She'll be worried about you."

"She's always worried when I'm with you."

His body inched dangerously close to mine. I saw his hand reaching across my torso, and considering I had no idea what his intention was, I held my breath firmly. His fingers passed my bodice and quickly took a hold of my bedroom door handle to pull it to a close. "Trust me," he smirked, keeping the distance between us short. "I'm the last one she needs to worry about."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The train station was packed when we arrived. We had taken a moriah to the station to get there as quickly as possible. The blinds were drawn shut to make sure no one was suspicious of my 'grand' disguise. I was just overly grateful that we weren't taking Sherlock's machine.

The ride was as quiet as the grave. My stomach was twisting inside of itself, but I was able to hide the panic in my face beneath the newsboy cap. Sherlock was sitting directly beside me, though what made him do so to begin with, I wasn't quite sure. It was only when my hands started shaking that I understood. He quietly took my head and pressed it to his shoulder. I wanted to cry with relief upon the sweet gesture, but I was too afraid to make even a whimper. His warm body was enough of a consolation. I was worried about everything: John and Mary, myself, Sherlock, my mother. Adjusting to the fear was the hardest part. It wasn't even the fear itself.

When we got to the train station, the noise and commotion quickly put me out of my previous state of mind. John and Mary were in danger and Sherlock and I were the only ones who could actually do anything about it. We made our way swiftly though the crowds and towards the front counter. No one even raised their eyes to me. I was even more of a social hermit when I was a boy. Who knew?

"Two tickets to Brighton. First class." Sherlock slammed money down on the counter, taking both me and the ticket boy by surprise. He quickly shuffled around behind the desk and presented us with what we needed. Sherlock gratefully tipped his hat and began to rush straight forward.

"Wait!" I called out, stumbling to catch up with him. He wasn't stopping. Now that we were in the heat of the moment, Sherlock was beyond talking to. He was completely immersed in the situation at hand.

"I'm going to ask you to do me a favor, will you?" Before I could even accept or deny, he began pushing me towards the back of a stationed train. I could see men in red uniforms loading bags in towards the back. I felt threatened just looking at them. Those were bags of rich ladies and gentleman. Very rich. Why were we getting so close to them?

"I'm actually more terrified of what your possible plan is, than the act of following through with it."

"Listen to me carefully." There was no backing out now. He held me straight in front of him, his eyes searching mine for focus. "I need you to go over there when the coachmen are no longer in sight. I want you to take the case entitled 'tenue' on it. Do you understand?"

Though he was speaking to me like a child, I didn't blame him when the French came in. "Tenue…?" I repeated slowly, the words sounding like utter mush in my mouth.

"Exactly. I need you to take that case, act like you know what you're doing with it, and meet me in the train's restroom."

"What if they see me?"

Sherlock paused for a moment, as though considering an alternative plan. He soon realized that there was not enough time and quietly passed me a firm gaze. "Don't let them. Bathroom. As soon as possible." He began to head towards the back of the train, but before he entered, he mouthed the word again towards me.

Tenue.

And then he was out of sight.

Mind you, I had no idea what the word meant. I was more than pleased to be slipping away from any wandering eyes, and followed the plan to the best of my memory. My eyes watched the coachmen carefully from a nearby pole. I let my shoulder lean against it, trying to look as casual as possible. They were filing in cases, and one in particular caught my eye.

Tenue!

I could see it scrawled perfectly on the side. It had a glossy, black exterior and practically called my name. Now all I had to wait for was…

They were leaving! There were only two men situated at the back of the train, filing the grand cases into the protected area. They were young, and didn't seem very well fitted for the task. A wealthy woman entering first class called their attention, and they were off in a flash, each racing to help the Dowager.

Sherlock was certainly a good judge of character. The bags were wide open, all thanks to two insolent schoolboys.

I nearly laughed out loud as I sneakily made my way over towards the cases on the platform. In one quick flash, I would scoop up the handle and be on my way.

Except, when I reached the baggage, my mind began to play tricks on me.

There was a box labeled 'tenue" and another beside it labeled 'tingue'. Every part of me began to shake. Why could I suddenly not remember which one it was? My gut reaction was the first one, but the second one seemed much more grand. Where was Sherlock when you needed him?

I didn't have time to second-guess myself. The men had already helped the woman onto the train and were swiftly making their return towards the last car. Whatever Sherlock needed, I prayed it wasn't too important. I grabbed the bag that held my gut instinct and rushed onto the train before anyone could speculate my presence.

He waited in the bathroom as noted, but it was a rare surprise that we both actually fit. I squeezed my way in as swiftly as possible, my body colliding with his in an instant. He did not seem to be flustered by the lack of air, but his main concern was the case. "Did you get it?" He whispered hotly.

"I… I did." It was impossible for me not to stutter with his body pressed against mine. Oh, how foolish! Now is not the time to be thinking about such things! My hand fumbled with the case as I pushed it against his body. All I wanted was to be free from that tiny prison. "I'll go wait in the seat just outside. Peek your head in if you need anything."

His face twisted into confusion, as if there was nothing he could possibly need from me. I let it pass and made my way out and into the quiet seat next door. It wasn't thirty seconds later that I was granted with his face.

Only, he was far from pleased.

"Renadale, what did I tell you to do?"

I knew in a second that I had messed it up. "You… Um, you told me to get a briefcase."

"Yes. Which briefcase was that again?"

My shoulders pathetically lifted into a shrug. "A French one?"

His brow was furrowed into something I believed would be permanent. I jumped a bit in my seat as he made his way into the booth and slammed the door behind him. "Renadale, I want you to open this." He flung the case next to me with a thud. I squeaked a bit, as it's brown exterior glimmered back at me. "Open it."

My hands were back to shaking as I quietly clicked open the gold clasps. My gasp was not enough to express my emotions as I saw what lied inside. Instead, I could not help but to burst into a fit of laughter. "Oh, Sherlock! No! I'm so terribly sorry! Is this all my doing?"

"It's absolutely your doing. I said 'tenue'!" He groaned in agitation, slamming the lid shut as fast as he could. "Not Tingue! What is Tingue, even? A name?"

"Well, isn't tenue?"

"Tenue means uniform!"

He was trying to look like a coachman, and instead he would end up looking like… I shook the strange image from my head. "There's no time to go back now. You must change into that outfit quickly, before anyone sees you in your normal state." He knew I was right. Grunting with displeasure, he snatched the parcel and made his way outside and into the restroom. When he was fully out of view, I could not help myself from pressing my bare fingers to my lips and letting loose all of my remaining chuckles.

Sherlock Holmes dressed as a woman! The sight was going to be the wildest thing I had ever witnessed! Inwardly, however, I was quite excited about the entire thing, and knew that it was the perfect blackmail if I ever needed such a threat.

Sherlock took quite a while to change. I suspect it was because he had no idea what went where, and which button went to which hole. But, he did eventually find his way back into the seat, the bitterness etched over each of his sun-caused wrinkles. "I don't want to hear you say a word. I just want you to fix anything that is incorrect."

My smile was glued to my face. I stood up in my pants to take a better look at Sherlock in his skirt. We were quite the odd couple, but luckily no one was around to speculate. "I don't know what you're talking about," I said as I bit on my lower lip. "I think you're as beautiful as they come."

His head only rolled down to the center to help send a glare directly into my pupils. He seemed to soften a bit as I only beamed in return and tapped his nose lightly. "In all honestly, you don't look half bad. The hat might be over-doing it, but you look like something straight out of an Elizabeth Gaskell novel."

I didn't expect him to have a clue what I was talking about, and it turned out I was right. His large skirts fluttered out beneath him as he took a seat across from me. Something was missing in his appearance. He was still far too manly, despite his flouncy dress. He noticed my stressed expression and grunted before asking, "Is something the matter?"

"You don't look like a woman."

His brows rose slowly before he let out a sharp laugh. "Really? The dress doesn't quite top it off?"

"No," I said honestly. "I'm not doing this to pester you, but rather for your own safety." As I spoke, I began to rummage through my own case. He watched me with obvious anxiety. When I pulled out my only vial of lipstick, he seemed to recoil in disgust. "You have to do it, Sherlock."

"I've done a great many things to protect you, and now you threaten me with this."

"You are a master of disguise. What is one streak of lipstick and a bit of blush going to do to you? Is it going to lower society's opinion of you?" My eyes made a quick swish over his entire bodice. "Trust me, you're far beyond that." He did not fuss as I made my way across the seat. I believed it was because he knew my words were right. We were going to great lengths to protect our dear Watson and his new wife, but that's what friends were supposed to do.

I quietly took his chin in one of my hands, pulling it towards me. "Stay still," I ordered softly as my hand began to apply the makeup onto his face. Though I assumed he was embarrassed, I was shocked to feel his eyes on my face the entire time. I must have been blushing, considering I wasn't wearing an ounce of powder and we were so close to one another. He could view every flaw on my pale face if he desired to.

"You don't need any of this." My hand stopped, as I was halfway though his upper lip. Slowly, my eyes lifted. I could not read his expression, nor could I understand what his words meant. "This makeup, I mean. What made you bring it?"

"Well, because I do need it," I confessed. "It's not as though I am blessed with a clear complexion."

"You don't need it," he repeated quietly as I began to splash on rogue. "Your face is quite alright."

A bitter chuckle fell from my lips as I whisked the pink blush across his cheeks. "Why, thank you. I'll be sure to write such a tender expression in my journal this evening."

"Renadale." His fingers unexpectedly stopped my wrist from the middle of their work. This time, I could not gather up the courage to look towards him. Instead I kept my eyes focused on the ribbon tied beneath his chin. "You don't need any of it, because-"

"Please," I whimpered. My hand fumbled with the brush as I tried to finish up my previous labor. With all of the thoughts fluttering though my head, and the beating rushing to heart, I could not seem to focus. "Please, don't go on."

Sherlock looked pained by my words, but somehow I grew scared. I didn't want him to call me beautiful. I didn't want him to say that I was charming or pretty. None of it made sense to me anymore. I was beyond accepting compliments. I didn't want the truth; whatever it was.

"Have I offended you?"

"No!" I whispered, inching even closer towards him. His skirts were beyond separating us now. I could feel his leg against mine, but there was no way I was about to kiss him. Not with all of the lipstick on his face. "You could never offend me."

"Then why-?"

"It's silly," I tried to squeeze out a laugh, but it ended up sounding more like sputtering. I refocused myself back to the makeup and began to apply a blue powder above his eyes. "You don't need to force any words from your lips to make me feel better."

Once again, I could feel his heated stare on my face. "Renadale, I don't wish to tell you that you're beautiful because I'm worried about your feelings." My entire body would have crumpled over with a faint if he hadn't kept talking. "I'm trying to tell you these things because I…" I waited in anxiety to hear what he was about to say. His heated attitude seemed to toss him into a fit of confession, but he stopped himself before he uttered another word. "Never mind. You're not in the mood to hear what I have to say, clearly."

"Sherlock-" I started, but he swiftly stood up.

"The train is about to move. We must be in our positions."

"What's my position?" I asked, still trying to recatch the breath that had left my body.

Before he answered, he pulled a large, blonde wig from the trunk and tossed it lazily on top of his head. Despite the humorous look, makeup and all, I could not seem to find my laughter anymore. "Stay here. You will know when you're needed."

He then made his way in the opposite direction of the restroom. I had no idea what he was doing. I had no idea what thoughts were on his mind, or what words still lingered on his tongue. All that mattered was that we were about to thrust ourselves into the middle of what I feared would become an enormous mess.

I shakily put everything back inside of my trunk and slid it in the compartment above the seat. As I tucked it into safety, my fingers trailed over the name on the side of the case.

Adkins

My father's fingers had touched the very handle that I had only moments ago let loose. His white-haired knuckles had gripped it tightly when he made his trips into the country. His whole presence was surrounding me, and for a split second I thought I could hear his voice in my ears.

"Reandale, my darling, tell him how you feel."

"How?" I muttered aloud, shutting my eyes to try and get away from his voice. I wanted him near me. It had just been so long that I did not know how to handle my own imagination.

"I was always the most unhappy when I did not know what your mother wanted. When she shied away from me, I thought my heart had shattered. When she was unclear, I was a mess."

"Father…" I whispered into the silent air. "I feel too strongly for him, and I do not know if he feels the same. I cannot have my heart be broken again." I knew people could see my from the outside window, but I did not care. My concern was not for them. Renadale Adkins was first and foremost there for herself. "Not again."

There were no more voices to answer my words. Silence surrounded me, for a while, until the high-pitched hum of a train whistle flooded into my ears.

We were off.

And, though I thought I knew where we were headed, I was so terribly wrong.

~.~.~.~.~.~

UH-OH.

What could she mean by that?

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