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Love you all more than chocolate!

~Mistro~

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Sherlock was not happy. In fact, he was so unhappy that he didn't even say how miserable he was. He didn't say anything. Sherlock was utterly and almost repulsively quiet, with a dissatisfied curl of his lip etched onto his face.

John had helped me steady myself after the incident. People started going back to their normal routines, but not without shooting me concerned or disgusted looks. I didn't care about any of their wandering eyes. Sherlock stood directly across from me, and it was then that I noticed how bitter he was becoming.

John chuckled softly as Sherlock and I held our gaze on one another. "Perhaps you should take Rena to get cleaned up. Surely this isn't the best welcome present." John was speaking to his friend, but his words did not elicit a response. "Holmes." Watson's voice was firm and loud when he finally gained the attention of his partner.

"Of course. Follow me, Miss Adkins."

Miss Adkins.

My breath sucked up inside of me, until it stopped inside of my chest and ached my heart. He was being formal again. That was the worst kind of Sherlock. "He's upset," I muttered briskly to Watson. "What do I do? I couldn't stay at Mycroft's house, let alone go back to London! It's not fair that he gets to throw me off of a train, and suddenly I'm the villain." Watson only smirked. It was because I already knew his response without him having to utter a syllable. It's because he wanted to keep you safe. I could practically hear John's voice floating in the air around me, but his lips remained shut.

Right. My headstrong attitude reappeared and wrapped itself around my clenched fists. If he wants to be the child here, then I am going to be the adult. He will not treat me this way. I'll teach him some manners. My feet rapidly took me to the other side of the boat, where Holmes had disappeared seconds before. When I finally got around to finding him, my stomach still upset and face as pale as sea foam, Sherlock was waiting with his fingers on a mysterious door handle.

"In here." That was all he said before he walked inside of a small door and disappeared.

Every inch of me wanted to move towards him. And yet, I couldn't find the strength. He was going to yell at me. He was going to tell me that I had to go back no matter what. Or worse, he was going to confess that his love was a lie. It was all just a way to get me off of the train and out of the picture.

How many times had I dreamed of him uttering those words to me? Sometimes, I had pictured it being said in a park. Other times, I had hoped that he would whisper it in my ear just as I was about to fall asleep. I never expected any of them to come true.

Let alone while I'm being shoved from a train.

"Are you coming?"

Sherlock's voice pulled me out of my distant wishes, and I quietly nodded and followed him inside the tiny compartment. He didn't bother to turn the light on, so the only glimpse of the sun was through a small window on the door. My hands began to grow moist with nerves as he stared down at me, only inches away from my face.

"You're very foolish to have come back."

"You're very foolish to believe that I wouldn't come back."

Any argument after that would have been invalid. He knew that I was right, and was all the more bitter for it. "Here." He slipped something soft into my hand. "Wash your face and mouth. John and I will wait at the front of the boat. Come out when you're finished." He looked at me as he spoke, but his eyes pulled away when he uttered his last words. "We can talk about things later."

He started to pull open the door of the restroom, but my hand wouldn't let him. I flung it towards his wrist, trying my hardest to get him to stay with me. If he didn't tell me the truth then, it would have driven me mad for the rest of the evening. I needed to know his feelings. The truth couldn't wait any longer.

"Sherlock, wait-" My voice was weak as I tried to stop him, but my queasy body held little strength over his strong one. He pulled himself away from me and slid out the door, as swiftly and smoothly as he had entered it. I stood in the darkness with my hand outstretched, waiting for him to come back to me. It was a child's dream. I was alone.

And, maybe it was for a good reason. Maybe I was actually as troublesome as I had always believed myself to be. Maybe he had wanted to get rid of me for so long, but felt too bad about it because my heart was so weak. He knew how pathetic I was. He saw through everyone without batting his eyes. When it came to me, he didn't even need to look. I was as transparent as glass.

And yet, if he knew that about me, why didn't he have the decency to care? Why couldn't he hold me and tell me that he was sorry that he lied? Didn't he have that much dignity?

The thoughts rolling in my brain were starting to give me a headache, along with my feverishly sick stomach. With a heavy sigh and watery eyes, I turned to the mirror, making sure not to look directly into it. I washed my face and mouth carefully, just as I had been ordered. Even though he was mad at me, I couldn't help but be obedient to Sherlock Holmes.

My eyelashes blinked to get the remaining water droplets off, and I shivered as the coldness of them passed my pale cheeks. They were almost like tears, but somehow more soothing- more consoling. Though I should have checked myself, I left the bathroom without a glance towards my face. I didn't want to see it. If I saw myself, I would inwardly attack my esteem. Sherlock was already taking care of that today.

And I wasn't going to cry. Sherlock Holmes might be able to order me about, but he wasn't going to reign over my emotions. He didn't deserve my tears. At least, not on that day.

So, with my head held high, I exited the bathroom and headed towards the bow of the ship. A small smile formed on my face when John eyed me from his seat. Sherlock was standing with his back towards us and made no note at my appearance.

"You're looking much better, Rena."

"Thank you, John," I tried my hardest to force a smile. He didn't seem to notice my effort, but that was because he was too busy trying to form his own. Of course, the doctor was happy to see me, but I could read through his mask. He missed Mary more than anything. He would have jumped off and swam back to her if he knew how much she missed him too. John convinced himself that she was a strong woman, and I would play along with that.

I took Sherlock's seat as both of us began to eye the peculiar detective. His hands were gripping the wooden railing like it was his last breath, but his eyes never bothered to meet ours. His dark hair tumbled behind him in small ripples, as elegant and entrancing as the waves surrounding us. "Holmes just told me that we're heading off to a gypsy camp that is renowned for his peaches."

"The girl." I remembered her face as clear as day. Her dark curls echoed mine, but with more romance and interest. She was beautiful and a fighter. Though we hadn't spoken of her and her brother for quite some time, I had not forgotten. "He wants to find her. Her brother is a key piece in the puzzle."

John nodded in response. With a heavy sigh, he itched at the back of his neck as disapproval flickered into his eyes. "Somehow, staying at a gypsy camp doesn't seem like the best idea. They're beggars and thieves, and will no doubt find something to steal, even though I have nothing."

"Sherlock will take care of things." Sarcasm in my voice was hard to cover. "He always seems to find some way of turning things around, even though he gets us into the worst of messes."

John managed to laugh, but my phrase somehow struck a chord with him. It didn't take long for him to confess something to me in a whisper. "Something's happened." Sherlock stood no chance of hearing with the roar of the boat beside him. "He's just tossed a handkerchief into the water."

My head snapped towards John with clear confusion, and a bemused chuckle could not resist falling from my chapped lips. "A handkerchief? Whose? Why would he do such a thing?"

John only stared me. A part of him looked miserable, as if telling the truth would hurt me; as if the name would cause my heart to falter even more.

"Irene," I whispered.

"I don't know why he did it," John's voice was filled with concern. "I haven't seen him so down in ages. The last time he was this quiet was when he wasn't doing a case. He slept for three days straight without any illness. He was just too bored of life."

I would have laughed if the anxiety hadn't already boiled up inside of me. Was I being too harsh? Did something happen to the glamorous American that he wasn't telling us about? "He'll have to forget about it," I mumbled. "Whatever it was. I'm sure Irene can take care of herself, right? She's always been so headstrong and confident."

John managed to give me a sad smirk. "That's because she doesn't want anyone to see her pain."

I understood. Irene Adler was a doll for a puppeteer, and she had no say in her own choices. She would frown when people turned their heads, but when she met their eyes, she was as glorious as the sun. It was all an act. We were merely her audience. "I know someone else like that." My eyes flickered up to Sherlock, but they did not linger long before he turned to meet my face.

He looked as if he were about to say something, perhaps 'you're in my seat', but shut his mouth before he could regret the words. My gaze was far from friendly; I was shifting into aggression mode just by the sight of his eyes. Without a word, I stood up from the chair and headed towards the other end of the ship. Looking at him made me realize that it was the last thing I wanted to do.

Irene Adler. His annoyance. Me falling into a river. Everything made sense. There was never any Rena and Sherlock. Or, if there was, it was only for a short while. Tears threatened to fall, but I firmly whispered to myself as my heels clicked against the wooden floorboards. "Don't you dare cry over a man, Renadale Adkins. Not today. Not ever."

My feet took me up towards the upper deck where the breeze startled me with a force. For a second, I nearly lost my footing as my hair began to fall from its ribbon. "Oh, no!" I shouted as I watched the blue string flutter away into the air. My feet quickly rushed across the desk to snatch it, but it was much too far away for savior.

"We'll be going to Paris soon. Surely you can buy another one there." Sherlock's voice took me by surprise on the empty deck. I stared at him with as much of a blank expression as I could muster up. Apparently, it worked, because before I knew it, he was trying to redeem himself. "I know that I've been harsh, but you must know why-"

A curt laugh fell from my lips. I made sure that it was loud enough to be heard over the wind. "Oh, I'm sure you'll come up with some brilliant excuse. You'll make me feel like I'm the bad one, and that you were really my hero all along."

"No." His voice was firm. Nothing about him expressed mockery or fear. He was stone-faced to the point of frightening. "You can't make me out to be a hero. I'm not and I never will be."

"What a surprise." My feet carried me over to him until we stood nose to nose. "Sherlock Holmes, you didn't need to tell me that you weren't a knight in shining armor. I've been able to pick that up for the past few hours very easily." For a second, he did not seem to hear me. His eyes were transfixed on my loose hair, blowing endlessly around my face. There was softness in his gaze, almost longing. He had mentioned once before how he preferred my hair to be loose, and I felt myself growing weak at the knees with his suddenly loving gaze.

Stop it, Renadale. Leave before you break your promise to yourself.

I began to make my way past him, but it was his turn to stop me. "You've seen Thomas recently."

All the confusion and hurt that I had been feeling suddenly came out in harshness. "How could you tell such a thing? Is it the color of my dress? Is it because my hair is less curled than the last time you saw it? Maybe it has something to do with my shoes."

"I know that you saw him because I told him to find you."

I was not expecting the blow that suddenly erupted in my stomach. The only thing I felt for a moment was pain and I was unable to hide it from my face. I thought that I was winning; that I had control over this strange man, but his last sentence made me realize. I would never win. Sherlock Holmes would always have the upper hand. He had my Queen without me ever knowing. "What do you mean… you told him to?"

"You needed someone to keep you company in Chichester. Who better than Thomas?" Sherlock batted his lashes innocently and continued with his speech. "Mycroft would be gone most of the time, and Mary would have no reason to stay. I thought that if Thomas were there, you could-"

"Fall back in love with him?"

Sherlock's emotions suddenly came through. He scrunched his face in bewilderment as he quickly tried to redeem himself. "Fall back in love? No, that wasn't what-"

"You don't need to lie to me. I see what you're doing." Sherlock shut his mouth as I hurled my assumptions like daggers. "You threw me from that train just after you lied to me so that I could start over. Thomas was the only other man that I swore to love besides you, and you didn't want to dispose of me without giving me a second option. Of course, Thomas never really gave up on me, so you figured he would come to the rescue. I suppose it was rather sweet of you."

"Renadale, that's not-"

"He was a gentleman when we met up, as he had always been. Thomas has made some foolish and unforgivable mistakes in the past, but at least he didn't quit. At least he never lied when he told me his feelings, and the fact that he still cares for me shows that he was a better man than I gave him credit for." I had to stop for an intake of breath. "And you, Sherlock Holmes, have given me a second chance with him. So, please allow me to thank you. Your generosity is overwhelming."

My feet rushed back down to the bottom deck. There was nowhere to hide except the restroom, and I soon found myself back in the enclosed quarters. The door slammed shut behind me, and as I rested my back upon it, I could not help the tears that came rushing down my face.

You told yourself you wouldn't cry. My knees began to shake until they collapsed beneath me. All I had was the coldness of the floor to give me comfort, far from a man's warm arms. My nails dug into the wood as I struggled to catch my breath. Stop crying, Renadale. Your heart just hurts. It will stop after a while. You'll be okay.

"I'll be okay." I tried to convince myself. The words filled the air for a few minutes before I buried my face in my knees and wept.

~.~.~.~.~.~

France was beautiful. That was something I could never lie about, despite my pessimistic view towards it. I was even more thrilled when Watson informed me that we were heading into its countryside, rather than rushing towards the hectic city. A breath of fresh air could do us all some good, not to mention take my mind off of my wobbly stomach.

John had picked up an exposed coach for the three of us. None of us were particularly fond of cramming beside one another in the single row, but we kept our thoughts to ourselves as time passed. A beautiful black horse led our path into the silent journey and I would have fallen asleep immediately if it hadn't been for one issue.

I was not comfortable with Sherlock Holmes. My eyes were dry by the time the boat had stopped, so thankfully he did not know of my miniature breakdown. I kept my head high and pretended as if nothing had happened, which was a struggle in itself.

The case was what would occupy my thoughts.

The case and nothing else.

"Such wonderful hills, don't you think?" Watson smiled as the fresh air hit our faces. My hair continued to fly about freely, and I couldn't help but form a smile at John's happiness. "I suppose I don't blame the gypsies for wanting to live the way they do. Surely it's not sanitary, but at least they get a sense of nature. You miss that when you live in a cesspool like London."

"London is the greatest place on the face of the Earth," Sherlock interjected. His chin was resting on his clenched fist as his pouted lips faced the opposite way. "The country is lovely, but the city is where lives are made."

"What an odd notion," John muttered with a whip of the reigns. "If you were to be my only example, I would say that the city rather detracted the life from someone." Sherlock let out a fake laugh before redirecting his attention towards the mountains. I sat quietly between the heated duo, fiddling with my thumbs.

My voice was small when I finally spoke. "I wonder if the gypsy woman will remember us."

Sherlock grunted and popped his collar further up his ears. "Simza needs us. We know about her brother, and that is enough to remember our faces." His eyes briefly met with mine. I thought I detected agony in his stare, but he turned before I could properly understand. "And that is all she cares about."

His messy face made me feel almost sympathetic, but the feeling dispersed as he tore his eyes away. The days I missed most were when I would catch him looking at me. He would turn red and quickly busy himself with something he deemed 'suddenly important'. My chest felt tight at the distant memories; when I could daydream without any fear. Instead, I let them fly off into the wind like the handkerchief Sherlock had held close.

My eyes were beginning to feel heavy with the tiredness that lingered behind them. Not only that, but the salty tears from before had left an uncomfortable after-effect. The only time I felt rested was when my eyes were sealed shut. And so, I let them be.

My head was sinking lower with every whip of the reigns, until it finally fell onto something rough. The musty fabric scratched against my cheek as we made our way over the bumpy road, but I was far too tired to care. Sense didn't take long to find me. I knew whose shoulder I was lying on.

"Let her be." John's voice was practically an order as I pretended to slumber. "Her eyes have never been so red and swollen. She needs to rest for a while."

The sun played across my skin, sending welcomed warmth along with the bitter winds. A white hue fell over my closed eyelids, bringing a smile to my lips as I was reminded of snowfall. For a moment, I was transported back to my bedroom where the sunlight always made my silvery curtains glow.

My body was pressed firmly against Sherlock's, my hands practically on top of his. He could have shoved me away, but I could hear his heart from beneath his jacket. It's drumming was louder than the horse hooves.

Why am I making his blood pump?

"Wake up." Watson's voice snapped me from my quick doze. Sherlock's fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose as the carriage pulled to a stop. I tried to nudge him, but he held his position. "We're here."

"Prepare yourself." Sherlock's words were filled with mockery. "We're about to be violated."

Before I could even ask him what he meant, the strong hands of a man wrapped themselves around my waist and pulled me into him. My embarrassment was too high to hide, and my fists knocked him away from me with sudden force. He only smiled and gave me a bow, his unshaven face cracking with delight. His eyes scanned me like I was something to eat, before he casually went back to fiddling on his blackened violin.

I could hardly breathe. I had met one gypsy in my entire life. Seeing their actual home made me realize that these people were practically a separate species. And, despite the crude looks, that eccentric universe captivated me.

Sherlock Holmes leaned over to whisper in my ear, though his words failed to drag me from my wonder. "Renadale… Meet the gypsies of the French Manouche."

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Hey y'all! Sorry for the long wait. I hope this chapter isn't too bland. The next one is sure to be a real treat, so please review and look for an update soon!

xx