Woah-hoh-hooooh! Hey everyone! Thanks for the wait. I've just moved into Univeristy a couple of days ago, so I'm getting things settled. I just want to say thank you SO MUCH for all of your support. As for the AMAZING honor bestowed upon me by Sherly-Girl, I am totally at your will. Your review brought tears to my eyes and I couldn't quite comprehend what was reality for a second. I would really like to get in touch with you some other way besides fanfiction? It's just difficult because you're an anonymous user. ): If you want my contact information, please feel free to private message me, OR…

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Infinitesymphony

If you read this story and you DO follow me on my tumblr, toss me a message so I can see how many of you are out there. I was thinking about putting up story updates on tumblr to keep you updated. But I only want to do that if people out there are actually on tumblr.

So, let the fun begin.

Guess what?

He loves her.

Or does he?

~Mistro

~.~.~.~.~.~

Nothing is as pleasing as being held by hands of velvet or getting wrapped up entirely by smooth, clear fingers. You tumble down and down into their arms until you are content enough to stay there forever.

Soaking wet. Freezing cold. Completely calm.

Until, reality sinks in and your lungs are turning against you.

I could feel the icy water surrounding every one of my limbs. The water was still in the middle of the night and I sunk deeper into bliss. However, I knew that I could not remain there for hours, no matter how wonderful that sounded.

My whole body swam back up towards the surface. Though the silence was soothing, it had to be broken with a sputtering gasp. Droplets fell from my lashes and distorted the view of my surroundings. Everything was dark. I could hardly see a thing. My brain urged me to go and find the nearest shore, but somehow that wasn't the main focus on my mind.

He loved me.

Sherlock Holmes loved me, and he had said it to me as clear as anyone ever could.

Naturally, it wasn't the most romantic situation, but when it came to Sherlock Homes, one could not hope for such a luxury. Though I could have dreamt about him all evening, I had to force myself back into reality. My eyes darted about the eerie river, searching for any sign of life. I was alone. There was no one else.

"Mary!" I gasped in sudden realization. Frantically, I began to paddle around in search for a strawberry head poking from the water. It didn't take too long for my nerves to relax themselves. A boat was pulling up towards my side.

"You look a bit startled! I'm quite surprised, Miss Adkins. You know Sherly's character so well, I presumed you would have seen that one coming!" Mycroft's voice was impossible not to recognize, even in the blackness of the nightfall.

"I'm… I'm still not quite sure why he did it," I muttered softly. Every inch of me wanted to scream, 'He loves me!' but I knew it was not the best time. No one seemed to notice the growing pink in my face. Could they see it? Could they see that he loved me?

Carruthers reached out to take hold of my hands, which I gave him very shakily. With a firm tug and a scoot of my heavily soaked dress, I found myself lying on the floor of the tiny boat. No part of me wanted to get up. I was perfectly comfortable where I was.

"He's not going to get away with this."

Mary's voice took me by surprise and I turned sharply to my right to see her bundled up on the wooden seat. Mycroft only smiled at this response. He knew better than she did. His brother always got away with things, no matter how insane they were.

"Perhaps he did it for your own safety," Mycroft interrupted. "Sherlock may be as big of a fool as they come, but believe it or not, he has a heart in there somewhere." Mycroft laughed amusedly after he said this. "Don't quote me on that."

The mere mention of Sherlock's heart got my head into a tizzy and I could not stop the words softly falling from my lips. "He loves me."

I saw Mary's eyes dart down towards my face before she scrunched up her nose. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing!" My eyes sealed. My lips were freezing in the bitterness of the English cold. There was no way that I was going to repeat myself. Even though I wanted to shout it to the world, it was a secret I could hold onto for a bit longer. A secret that was all mine, safe and protected unlike so many other things.

Though I wasn't speaking aloud, my voice resonated in my thoughts.

He loves me. He loves me. He loves me.

~.~.~.~.~.~

It did not take long to arrive at Mycroft's vintage estate near Chichester. The place was familiar to me and my previous bed looked readily agreeable. As cold and tired as I was, my eyelids refused to seal me into my dreams. I tried to get some rest, but it would not come. Sleep had better places to be. Totally awake, my body trailed over towards a mirror in the corner of the room. I looked tired with my red nose and damp hair. The circles beneath my eyes were not dark, but nearly pure black. My knotted hair hung limply over one shoulder. There was nothing striking about me. Without any effort, I was plain. And yet, he saw me differently.

He loved me.

Did he think I was beautiful?

Did he think of me as often as I did of him?

My fingers trailed over my twisted strands of hair. Sherlock told me he was fond of it when I wore it loose. Soon I would be twenty-six. Maybe it was time for a change. Perhaps the bun was ready to leave the nest.

Before I could give myself any compliments, the creaking of my door took all of my attention away. "Do you mind if I come in?" Mary's voice croaked as if she had just woken up. "I can't seem to catch any sleep."

I could not contain my smile. At least I wasn't the only one with troubles on my mind. "Do come in!" Mary looked just as tired, but I could see something different about her character. Her eyes were puffy and pink; a clear indication that she had been locked up with her tears. "Is everything alright?"

"It never is," she laughed. "John is with his real wife. Part of me believes that he'll return to me. He will never leave this nonsense behind." She shook her head before turning away. Meeting my face was too embarrassing for her. "I know better than that, but my point still stands. He won't come back until things are settled."

"He will return to you. I'm sure of it." Though I said my words firmly, neither of us believed me. John was with Sherlock now. Mary was safe. The duo would not be able to part until the case was solved. "If you want me to speak plainly, I myself am quite hurt by it all. You are not alone in your feelings."

"Are you?" Her pale brows came together in her forehead.

My body found the edge of my bed with comfort. Mary made her way beside me, as quietly as a light breeze. "Yes, I am upset. Sherlock was always so straightforward about having me work beside him. He was planting potential in me that I did not believe I had. Now he has gone and tossed it all away." A comfortable silence took over us. "I wonder if it was all for nothing."

"It wasn't," Mary offered gently. "He did it took keep you safe. I believe he's quite fond of you." My eyes danced up towards hers, but she was focused on the window before us. Before I could regain my senses, my tongue nearly betrayed me. The truth almost came out, but I stopped and remembered my composure.

Why was I so afraid to tell Mary the truth?

It was because I didn't believe it.

"Mary…" My voice was hardly audible, but she caught it in our close proximity. "Can I tell you something? You don't have to respond, but I fear that if I do not speak plainly, I will regret it."

"You can tell me."

How could I say it? How does one start? Speaking the words was not as simple as I had hoped. My head turned away as I struggled to grasp the proper phrases. I felt like a schoolgirl who just had her first kiss. Only, this was much more challenging. "He said that…"

"Yes?"

"Well, I'm not sure if he…" My shoulders scrunched up in discomfort. I was so fearful of Mary's reaction. I did not want a lecture. I did not want her to tell me that he was lying. He may have said it to startle me. All the more easily to shove me from the train. "He told me that he… Well, that he loved me." Saying it was like sugar on my tongue, but I kept my flutters inward.

I didn't think anyone had ever been so shocked in their life. Her jaw robotically fell from its hold before her pale fingers flew over her lips. I could see the disbelief in her eyes, but it soon morphed into joy. "Renadale Adkins! I never thought I would see this day!"

"How supportive of you." My sarcasm was overwhelming.

"Did he really say such a thing? Oh, he didn't!" She laughed despite herself. "When did he confess? That's all very strange, considering he tossed you from a moving train!"

"Once again, your sympathy is remarkable."

Mary could not keep her grins under wraps, though I was far from gaining one. She startled me when her hands wrapped around my own. It was as if all of her previous worries were vanished. "Renadale, I'm sorry. You know how I must be feeling, surely? Sherlock Holmes is not a man to make such confessions. He would not put the burden on himself if he doesn't truly feel that way."

Hearing her words was like breathing life into a dead man. My face lit up in a matter of seconds. "Oh, Mary!" It was difficult to keep my voice from cracking under the sudden news. "Do you mean it? You know him too, and yet you think it is so?"

"Renadale, you must heed my advice." Her voice grew more serious. "The main question is not of his affections for you. It's whether or not you love him."

Mary couldn't have put it more bluntly, but inwardly, I thanked her for it. She was right, was she not? When someone confesses their love to another, the whole universe waits for a response. There is no hope in loving if not to be loved equally in return. And I never got the chance to say it.

"He has no idea…" The idea tauntingly began to trickle down my mind. Sherlock Holmes made his heart known, but I never got the proper opportunity to accept or decline. Did he know already? Or, was it far worse? Perhaps he thought that I did not feel the same, and therefore threw me from the train to separate us. If that were so, he was wrong. He was so terribly wrong. "Mary, I have to find them. I can't leave him like this."

The corner of her lip curled up slyly. "Good luck with that. The second they arrive to a place, they leave before their dinner can get cold."

"They're going to Paris," I recalled. "Sherlock told me ahead of time. It was a stupid mistake on his part, if he honestly thought that I wouldn't go after him."

"Are you sure you want to?" Trepidation briefly passed over Mary's face. "I just don't want to see all three of you gone. Losing one of you would be bad enough, but the thought of all of you disappearing makes me nervous." She did not need to tell me. The fear was clear in her eyes. "Not to mention, Mycroft Holmes puts me on edge. He is as strange of a creature as his younger brother."

I tried my hardest not to laugh aloud. At least she had never seen him naked. "Take a train back to London. I know that you are eager to be with John, but he will arrive home soon. He will be safe." She did not believe my words, nor did she want to follow them. "If something happens, John will listen to me. I can convince him to come back to you."

Mary's porcelain face began to look cracked. She was just as tired as her husband, yet hers was more internal. Her first response was a small smile directed towards the carpeted floor. "I only wish he didn't need convincing."

I realized then how harsh my words must have sounded. Who was a husband that needed pressure to return to his wife? We both knew that John was not that sort of person, but my words were already in the air. The tension was too strong to dissipate. I went to reach for her, but she stood up before my fingers could take her hand. I knew. I knew she was crying as she headed towards the door. "Have a good sleep, Mary." There was no confidence in my voice. There was nothing else I could say.

She did not reply. I thought there might have been a whispered gratitude, but if there had been, it was covered with the clicking of the door.

~.~.~.~.~.~

While I was in the Chichester region, I thought I might allow myself some time to reflect on the unsettled case.

That is, when I wasn't thinking about Sherlock Holmes.

The only boat to Paris was the next day in the early afternoon. John and Sherlock would have to be on that ship, and so would I. Seasickness was one of my most hated opponents, but we would have to battle it out once again. I presumed he would be the winner.

I knew that the boys would be unhappy to see me, but I cared little for their approval. I was a grown woman. My legs would follow no ordered words from their lips. They were not going to push me around.

Or off of trains, for that matter.

My broken boots filled with dirt as I made my way down the main square. It was a busy day, and everyone went about as normal. Part of me was disgusted by the daily life, because it was only a short while ago that a bomb had gone off in that same piazza. And yet, life moved on as it always did. Street beggars shoved their unwashed hands towards the rich, and the rich spat back at them. Shopkeepers cleaned their windows and children peeked inside with peculiar eyes.

None of them knew the danger that engulfed them. None of them knew that a war was coming. And it was all because of a short, red-haired man. Professor James Moriarty.

I tried my hardest to push away the idea of him. When his image appeared in my head, nothing but guilt washed over me. Embarrassment formed in my throat and stopped all of my words. My hero was a murderer. He cared for no one but himself.

And pigeons.

Like I had practiced, I distracted myself with something else. My feet were taking me towards the library; my place of solitude. I had woken with a mission of discovering more about the Illuminati. There had to be something in the shelves that would be useful to the previous case. If I discovered more about the symbols, I could perhaps crack a code. If the code was cracked, then I might be able to find a society or particular person who killed the government men. Sherlock might have forgotten, but I was determined to know who he was.

In fact, I was so obsessed with the idea that I had hardly noticed when I nearly clashed into someone. I kept my head down and mumbled my apologies as fast as I could. My victim stood quietly without uttering a word or moving an inch. With a scoff, I continued on my way.

When I finally entered the tall-ceilinged hall, my feet instantly took me towards the nonfiction section. Though I knew very little about it, Illuminati societies were quite a scandal. There would have to be one or two documents on it. Conspiracy theories began to surround me as I quietly shuffled down the rows of books. Each spine was fresh and unbent. Either the stories were new, or many people did not care much about secret Bavarian associations.

However, as I began to come to the end of the line, a specific book caught my eye. The Reign of Illumination. My fingers snapped towards it quickly, flicking open the pages like a child at Christmas. The information given was just what I needed. I saw previous histories, relevant alphabets and symbols. Everything that I needed was there.

Apparently someone else needed it too.

Scribbles and notes lined the edges of the page. Each symbol written in the book had a note on it, and for some reason the writing struck me as familiar. "What?" My fingers continued to flick back the paper until I reached the cover. There wasn't a page or line unblemished. Who had wanted this as much as I did?

My nose rose towards the outwards spine. The scent of ink hit me, and I knew it had not been long since someone had scribbled down those words. Confusion was glued to my face as I stared at the cover in my hands. Was Moriarty the one who took it? No. That was not possible. He was in London and had no business in Chichester. Not to mention, he would never be that obvious.

But, if it wasn't him, who could it have been?

"You look like you're thinking very hard. Be careful not to hurt yourself too much."

The book tumbled from my hands as the final words were spoken directly in my ear. I spun around to say my excuses, but was stopped at the sight of a familiar face. His eyes were wide as they stared into mine, and his smile was crooked and cheeky as it had always been. "Are you following me?" My voice rose in the soundless halls. Thomas took an inch forward, placing his warm finger over my lips.

"Come, come, Renadale." His voice was almost provocative as he whispered, but I knew that it was just his way of speaking. "We're in a library. This is a place of solitude. Surely you know that you should be a bit quieter."

Before I stormed from the area, I made sure to scoop up the book I had dropped. I turned on my heels and headed for the reception desk, all the while feeling his feet practically on the hem of my dress. How unbelievable of him! He could have said his greetings like a normal person. Things would have gone on splendidly if he had done so. Naturally, Thomas had to make everything a game. Unable to get the irritation out of my fingers, I slammed the book down onto the reception table. "I want this book."

The young librarian's face was startled with my confrontational manner. Her blue eyes grew wide as she glanced between Thomas and I. "D-Do you have a membership with this library?"

Damn it. "No," I grumbled. "Can I just borrow it for the day? I'll return it back to you." It was clear that I was not convincing enough. I had never been a good liar.

"She's with me," Thomas smiled. "This is my wife. The name is Thomas Smith. Have her take it out under my account, will you?" Before I could protest, Thomas's arm found its way around my shoulders. He pulled me closer to him, the side of his body warming up against mine.

The woman did her work swiftly while her eyes continued to glance up towards the man at my hip. Her cheeks were flustered. It was not from my aggression, but from the striking gentleman standing before her. His deep, soft voice was certainly enticing to her ear. Americans. Somehow they were like Gods, no matter who they were. She could have him for all I cared.

"Thank you." I did not try to hide the disapproval in my voice as she handed the book back to me. Perhaps she believed herself to be admiring my husband, but I was really more upset with the fact that she assumed we were wed. I subtly shoved Thomas away from my side before rushing towards the door.

"Now, wait just a second!" My ears tried to escape from his voice, but my arm was unable to stop his grasp. "Renadale, why are you suddenly so worried?" He laughed as he spoke. Though he spun me around, I refused to look at him. "We left on good terms. Every time I think we're fine, you come back just to spite me. I'm finally getting over you and here you are! I half wonder if you plan it all out just to torment me." His eyes rolled up towards the heavens. "God Almighty, what do you want me to do with this woman?"

"Nothing. He wants you to do nothing with me." Grumpily, I poked his silk tie with a warning finger. "I'm leaving tomorrow and I just needed a book. Which, by the way, is going to get you a mark on your card. I never planned on giving it back."

"Yes," he smiled. "I figured you'd be getting that book sooner or later. As for the mark, I'm sure the receptionist will let me off easy." He tossed me a quick wink.

The handwriting. His cunning smirk. It all made sense as I watched his composure falter. "You were the one who took these notes?" His response was a pearly smile. "Why? What interest do you have in all of this?"

Thomas almost looked offended by my words. I was made certain of it when he brushed past me with a grunt. Now it was my turn to follow. "You come here asking me a question that I couldn't answer. Why else would I be writing notes in that book? I wanted to understand. I wanted to give you a proper reply."

"Yes, but don't you have other things to do? Better things?" I tried to make myself sound calmer. "I'm just curious as to why you still care about the case. Even Sherlock has forgotten about it."

Thomas paused near a fountain in the square. Flicks of water were falling softly onto his curls, and with the sun gently lingering behind him, he almost looked angelic. His frown stole away any happiness. "Peoples lives are important to me, believe it or not. I study symbols and work with archeologists, geologists, and historians. Don't you think I'd be slightly interested in a murder case dealing with ancient societies?" His thick brows rose to his smooth forehead. "You might be surprised that I have a wide range of interests, Miss Adkins." I shuddered as he used my formal name. "Not to mention, you didn't properly finish the case. I was just seeing if I could be of any more help if you happened to return to it."

My lips defied me as they swooped into a grin. "That's very kind of you, Thomas." He was still upset about my cold attitude from before. He could only manage to brush off my sudden gratitude with a flick of his wrist. "I mean it. Sherlock gave up on the case because we presume the murderer is dead, but I'm still itching to know who it was. It's strange to not have closure on something that seems so important at the time."

Nothing could have made my heart stop quite as fast as the look he gave me. His eyes tormented me with memories of late nights, rolling hills, and hidden smiles passed between crowds of people. Though the sun was shining, the day was cold and I watched as his lips began to turn white. They did not move much when he finally spoke. "Yes. Getting what you want can be the greatest happiness in life." I swallowed firmly as I read into his subtext. "Yes, I think that's very true indeed."

Quickly, I tried to change the subject. "Do you want to talk to me about it? I mean, did you discover anything while you were reading?"

Typical of the ever-changing British weather, a slight rain began to tumble down upon us. Thomas only nodded his head before the droplets grew and we headed towards the nearest pub.

~.~.~.~.~.~

I should have known that I would run into Thomas Smith. Naturally, it was an odd coincidence with the size of the city, but with my luck it was exactly what would have happened. And though I was in the company of my first love, my present affections did not flicker from my mind. Not even for a second.

Thomas held a beer tightly in his hands. I watched him awkwardly from across the table, remembering times when we would sit around the fire and get to know one another. His skin was softer when we had meet and his eyes were clear of dark circles. There had always been nonchalance on his face, but as I sat opposite him years later, I knew time had not been at its kindest. And yet, he was still so charming.

"It's difficult for me to explain." Thomas's voice distracted me. "You were right about the Illuminati, but what you said about the caduceus is still a bit unnerving."

I had just finished explaining to him all of the symbols we had seen. The Illuminati clearly connected to Moriarty, but what about the snakes? What did that have to do with anything? "Everything is so much deeper than we thought," I sipped a bit of my tea before it grew hot on my tongue. "Sherlock is so wrapped up with getting Moriarty out of the picture that he seems to have forgotten about everything else."

"'Getting him out of the picture'?" Thomas's voice was suddenly filled with concern. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"I'm not sure. That's the worst part."

Sherlock never said what would happen if we were to confront James Moriarty. Would he kill him? Not without a fight. Would he expose him? I doubted it. That would draw too much attention to Sherlock's reclusive nature.

Thomas spoke up again, this time with more eagerness. "Well, what about hospitals? Caduceus can be found within medical fields. Does he have anything to do with doctors?" I shook my head. Nothing we had ever done related to infirmaries. Thomas pondered for a bit longer before another burst of surprise crossed his face. "Cemeteries!"

"Excuse me?"

"You can find those symbols on many tombstones. What if it has to do with a specific grave?" I knew Thomas was right, but the idea seemed outlandish. If it did have to do with a grave, where was I supposed to start? "Maybe you shouldn't go to Paris. Your best bet might be the London Cemetery."

I rolled my eyes. "Paris or the London Cemetery… that doesn't exactly sound like a difficult decision." Thomas shrugged defensively. "In any case, I have to go and meet John and Sherlock tomorrow. There's no time to head back to London. Maybe I can send Mary to look at it, though I'm sure she'll just want to rest."

Thomas perked up at the sight of my willpower. "Why do you have to do anything? You're nearly twenty-six, Renadale. I'm pretty sure you can make decisions for yourself." He remembered my birthday. Thankfully, he didn't catch the small gasp I let loose upon this flattery. He simply stared into the bottom of his cup as he consumed more alcohol. Something struck me as odd. He never used to drink. He always said it damaged his gentlemanly figure. Yet, I watched with reserve as he drank his beer with a firm amount of determination.

"Thomas, are you alright?"

He stopped in the midst of a sip before quietly returning his stein back to its coaster. Words were about to fall from his mouth; potentially heart breaking ones. I braced myself for the worst. "I'm perfectly fine," he said softly. My shoulders dropped a bit with relaxation. "You know, honestly, this is just the way things are. I've come to realize that I need to accept it." My fingers automatically shot out towards his. I knew that I might be giving him the wrong idea, but I let him have it. Just for a moment. For a second. His fingers traced the insides of mine. His gaze was fixated on the wrinkles near my knuckles, and his fingers were as cold as ice. I could not turn away from his face. The hurt that lingered there was enough to shatter the roughest heart. It didn't take long for him to push my hand away. "I'm not yours, anymore." He managed to put some joy into his voice. "You are happily matched, though it does worry me."

"Does it?" I laughed. "I suppose it rightly should. He has an odd way of doing things. Some even say he's not in his right mind." Though it might have sounded potentially degrading, the thought of Sherlock's oddities brought warmth into my heart. With my imagination, I could feel the roughness of his hand in my own.

Thomas nodded his head slowly. "None of us are, are we? He's just got the worst of it, I suppose." I knew Thomas was not making fun of Sherlock Holmes. People admired Sherlock Holmes, no matter how mad he drove you. "Renadale, can I ask you something? Does he love you? I mean, has he ever said it?"

Oh no.

My shoulders hunched up again as my eyes began to dart about uncomfortably. I wasn't ashamed of telling people, but it was a personal thing. And Thomas Smith was a different personal matter. Colliding those two seemed like the start of a very bad nightmare. I also wasn't entirely sure if he did love me. He shoved me from a train right after he said it. That didn't give me a lot of reassurance.

"Yes." My palms began to drip with sweat and I folded them neatly together in my lap. "Yes, he had said it before."

Thomas instantly lifted his brows. It was clear that he was not expecting that response. Some hurt might have been relevant on his face, but it was more shock than anything else. "Well, bravo for him!" He whispered incredulously. "He's certainly made a fine decision, I'll tell you that much."

My eyes narrowed into sharp slits. "Thomas…"

"I'm being honest." He shrugged casually with another swig of his booze. "You cannot condemn a man for that."

No, I thought to myself. But I can certainly dislike him for it.

~.~.~.~.~.~

Thanks for reading! A pretty slow chapter, I know. But, things will get quicker eventually. Back and forth, back and forth.

Please review!

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