Hey everyone! Thanks for waiting for the next chapter. I've been really busy finishing up the end of my first year at University. I'm not even done yet, and considering I have a politics exam coming up, this is probably a bad idea… At any rate, I've been craving this story and needed to get back to it. So voila!

PLEASE REVIEW. I'm really nervous about this chapter and I want to know what all of you think. Xxoo I write for you, remember? So please write for me.

Please go and check out the BEAUTIFUL artwork that Toxic-Mai-Panda made in honor of my second story, "Poisoned Dreams" - the photo is on my homepage and it's blindingly wonderful, so make sure to go and take a look! This chapter is dedicated to her. Hopefully the emotions in this chapter reflect some similar ones in her drawing. x3 x3

Yours truly,

Mistro

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Time was catching up to us. In the back of my mind, I knew that we had little of it, but I could not comprehend what that would mean. When time is scare, the mind does not think properly and that is when it should be thinking most carefully.

The bedroom given to me was small, but quaint. The room didn't need to be big. I doubted I would sleep that night when we returned, if we returned at all. All I could focus on was that my body was pumping pure adrenaline… the human Renadale was disappearing into an anxious creature. Pacing the floors, not a candle lit in sight… where had I disappeared to?

Mycroft had kindly prepared dresses for Simza and myself. We left to our chambers after the meal in order to make ourselves more presentable. Perhaps that was why I was so nervous. The last time I had tried looking decent was the day I met Edward Brettingham and that had not ended quite as anticipated. A glamorous Renadale was sure to bring about tragedy. A fashionable Renadale was a dangerous one. It was when I was plain and kept hidden in the shadows that the world turned normally. In fact, I was starting to prefer it that way.

Despite my fear for the upcoming evening, the dress was hardly a disappointment. Mycroft's wealth truly showed in the splendor of my outfit, particularly since it would most likely be worn once. Though it took me half of an hour to assemble, once it was situated, it seemed as if it were a fitting puzzle piece to my bodice.

"Splendid," I whispered while catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. "Such grand material." I refused to flame any of the candles, so my only source of light was the moonlight seeping across the room. The darkness calmed me, and heaven knows I needed calming that night. However, the moon's rays were bright enough to view my dress in the elongated mirror hanging on the wall near the door.

The shoulders were bare aside from a thin strap holding the bustle up. Sleeves hung loosely on my upper arms and the vines they were fashioned after matched the curl of my hair quite delicately. The neck swooped sharply down and then back up again, rather like the letter 'v' with only a minor amount of cleavage. Normally this would have frightened me, but the dress was so magnificent that I could not complain. Tightly, it hugged my waist, and then fell to the floor in a sweeping wave of silk. The light green hue of it all echoed my eyes, and for once I felt beautiful. Not beautiful in the sense of worth, but beautiful in looks. And though it sounds haughty, complimenting myself on my appearance was an entirely new feeling. The opportunity was too rare to pass.

The only obscurity to my appearance was the bandage on the back of my neck, but Mycroft had seen to a flesh hued one that diminished its appearance. The pain was receding rather quickly, though stress and a quick movement was enough to send it soaring back.

Knock. Knock.

"Yes?" My eyes pulled away from my vanity and towards the sealed door. I watched the handle turn slowly, waiting for the visitors to make themselves known. "It's quite alright; I'm fully dressed. I'll only need a minute or so to put on my powder- Oh, hello."

Sherlock closed the door gently as if he were keeping a secret locked in with him. I eyed him quizzically, too focused on his shy manner to linger on his dapper appearance. "Is everything alright?" His question was asked without a gaze in my direction.

"I think I should be asking you that."

Sherlock's eyes momentarily locked with mine, but a glimpse of the dress overtook his vision. It seemed to consume his attention. "You look marvelous, Miss Adkins."

Flattery was well received and reciprocated. My eyes glanced over his suit. Black and snugly pressed to his body, one could tell the well-made figure that lay beneath the tuxedo. A smooth, white bowtie hugged his neck, but the main eye-catcher was the red sash draped smoothly across his torso. He looked like a proper English gentleman; something I had never seen him appear as through all of our days. "I can say the same to you, Mister Holmes."

"It's one thing to look good physically," he mumbled with a heavy fall onto the bed. "The issue is acting like you're someone important to the world."

A smile spread across my face. "Well, that shouldn't be difficult for you."

Sherlock did not take the compliment. His gloved hands found themselves rubbing his eyes with a heavy groan. My feet took me closer to him, the sound of my dress against the wooden floor being the only expression for worry I could muster up. "Renadale, I need to speak to you about our discussion earlier."

"I can tell it has become distressing to you."

His face was powdered over, but the bruises remained. When his head turned towards me and his eyes caught the blue clouds, he looked not much more than a child who needed comfort. "I worry that my decisions have become more important to me than when I first planned them."

"Whatever do you mean?"

He moved over, allowing space for me beside him. Our shoulders pressed against one another. His hand reached for mine in minute protection, his skin suddenly softer and more familiar than on the train. "You knew of things that I had planned, but a time has come in which you cannot predict the outcome."

A minor smirk appeared on my pink lips. "I don't think I was ever supposed to find out. Sometimes I think the case I'm working on is actually about your strange moods instead of Moriarty."

He disregarded my teasing comment as stress seeped its way into the wrinkles on his face. "That is the issue," he sighed. "You weren't supposed to know anything, but sometimes you are far too clever for your own good."

That was probably the first and last time that I would receive such a compliment. "Sherlock, what's bothering you really? We've made it so far with our sanity and lives still in tact. We have Moriarty on the edge… literally!" A chuckle passed my lips, but Sherlock did not respond. He only seemed to become more flustered. "Surely you're not afraid now? When we are so close to the end?"

There was hesitation on his mouth. I watched his chest flutter in anticipation, the unspoken words dripping towards the tip of his tongue. "Renadale, since you have come into my life, I am always afraid. Afraid that I will lose you."

My hand gripped itself more strongly around his. I watched as his eyes danced towards the flowered walls. What was he thinking? "You're not going to lose me, Sherlock." When I spoke, something did not sound confident in my voice. It was as if my body knew a secret about its own protection that my mind could not comprehend.

"The first case I worked with you on, a man set out to kill you due to connections that ultimately linked to me." Sherlock's voice was as bitter as poison and as sharp as a blade. "I hardly even knew you, but when the targets led to you it seemed that nothing in the world would be the same. It was as if I was bound to you. If I did not save you, my life would be worthless."

"You have never expressed such feelings."

"I do not make it a notion to express many feelings in general."

I made sure my voice was steady as I replied. "I never doubted you for a minute. You were always going to save me. You'd risk your own life for John and I, even for those you barely know. The pressure you put on yourself is enormous." His head continued to face away from me, so I snatched his chin tightly in my hand and let our eyes meet. "I will never ask you to look after me… The act of wishing is a selfish desire. And yet, the only time I have ever done it was when I hoped you could see me differently. I would convince myself that when you stared at me, it was merely amusement. I lied to myself when you began to love me because how could I receive such affection when I held none of it for my own soul? Sherlock Holmes, you have set out to save my physical being in every case that we have been in. And if one day you fail, you must know that you have saved my soul a thousand times over. To me, that is all that matters." My voice grew small and fizzled out like a flame when I stopped speaking. His eyes were wide and wet, the secrets incomprehensible behind them. Something was wrong, but it was my not my job to ask him. I had a feeling I would soon figure out.

Sherlock did not reply with words. He whispered something as his forehead pressed against mine, but the beating of my heart had drowned it out and my throat was too sealed to ask for a repeat. I will never know what Sherlock Holmes whispered to me on that night.

What he felt… that was another story. As my heart continued to make its way up my throat, the feeling of a kiss silenced every beat and hum inside of me. With my eyes wide, it was like being kissed for the very first time. As his lips parted and sealed against mine, the taste of him lingering on my tongue, I could feel that heated sensation making its way throughout my body. A visible shudder erupted across my skin and his hands gripped my arms to stop it. It was as if I could hear him saying,

I have protected you, my darling. Do not be fearful. I have never aimed to hurt you.

Though I felt foolish, tears began to sting the bottom of my eyes. I knew it would be a disaster for the powder and blush, but something was overwhelming inside of me; a realization that I could not live without this man. I could not breathe properly without him, nor think, nor sleep, nor dream. He had become my dreams. He was the one calmed me and set me let the bird of my heart free from its cage. It frightened me to love him. Such emotions controlled you and evaporated all sense. If he was not there, I could not be myself. And though it sounded like dependency, I couldn't help but believe he felt the same.

The hands that were holding my arms moved towards my back. Slowly, like one of my inventions, his fingers elegantly peeled at the strings on my dress. A startled gasp bubbled up in my lips, but he ended it with another kiss. My vision began to blur. Before I could concentrate on sane thoughts as opposed to passion, the top layer of my dress had fallen from my torso and was limply lying across my waist. Sherlock opened his eyes momentarily to survey me in my undergarments. I blushed, though not much could be seen beneath my chemise and corset. No movement was made to caress me. I could see the embarrassment sprinkling a red flush across his cheeks, tormenting him with something he thought he could never have.

I knew that it was wrong. Everything was happening quickly and without a second thought. And yet, as I snatched his hands and placed them carefully over the strings of my corset, everything in my mind told me that it was right. We were not married, nor did I expect us to ever be, but he loved me. Why couldn't that be enough? My face twisted in confusion as my thoughts battled one another in my head. "Renadale." His voice took me off guard. "This is unmerited." His thick brows scrunched together. His voice was telling him something different than his heart. He had always been a man to follow his brain… but had he been choosing the wrong conscience his whole life? Was it time for his heart to have a say? "I am living in poverty with my own thoughts."

"I love you," I whispered. "To me, that is all that matters."

"Something inside of me attracts me to the unfamiliarity of you." Sherlock's face twisted with dishonor. The warmth of his hands began to slip through the corset's fabric as he continued to rest them atop it. "If I continue, I will not be able to restrain…" Whether it was from fear, excitement, or hatred for himself, he could not finish his sentence. One again, a mystery of the night appeared.

I silenced him with a deep kiss. As it continued, his fingers greedily tugged at the strings on my chest. With a firm tug, the torso collapsed from my body and flew to the floor beneath us. Sherlock's slender torso pushed me down onto my back. His arms rested beside my head as he leaned over me with shock dedicated to his own actions. "It's alright," I murmured. "I trust you."

I did not know if it was his first time. Judging by his nerves, I may have said yes. But that may have been due to the heated desire lingering between us for over a year. And then the thought of Irene flew into my brain. A beautiful, American woman… She had mentioned before of a hotel they used to meet in. And why would they meet? For a single cup of coffee and a nighttime of innocent flirtations? Somehow I doubted it.

The thought did not bother me. As he stared down into my face, the tears that lingered dangerously on the edge of his eyes reminded me that I was not alone in my worries. Though we were both afraid, it was what we wanted.

My hands lightly shrugged off his black jacket. Afraid that it might get wrinkled, I set it gently on the floor beside us, setting the sleeves in an 'x' formation across the front. His bowtie was far trickier, but with a swift shove, it snapped from his neck. It might have been broken, but somehow removing it was all that seemed to satisfy me. His sash was far easier to remove and soon there was only two pieces left on his torso. In a moment's time, his chest would be bare.

I could not comprehend what would come afterwards.

I let the thoughts disperse from my head as I removed the white vest and undershirt. Though the room was dark, I could see the powerful muscles that dispersed themselves easily across his body. His arms were particularly strong, and his smooth chest allowed for his stomach muscles to shine. I think I stared for too long as a fit of laughter began to erupt from his lips. "What?" The color could not stray from my cheeks.

"You've seen me without a shirt on before. More than once, if I recall correctly." His smile was tormenting.

"I think this situation constitutes for different emotions."

"Perhaps you're right," he said teasingly. With both hands, he slid the rest of my torso clothing away. I gasped in shock, my arms quickly covering my exposed breasts. "Forgive me," he mumbled, suddenly serious. "That was too hasty."

I shook my head, trying to express that it was all right. The cold wind coming the open window stung my bare flesh, but somehow it was refreshing. It cooled down the burning nerves that spread fire across every body part. My neck stung a minor amount, but I tried my hardest to ignore its pain and continue on. Quietly, I let my arms fall. Sherlock's eyes remained on my face, however, as if reading my eyes was the only thing he truly wished for.

We did not speak after that. His fingers silently pulled the rest of my clothing past my hips and onto the floor. I continued to cover myself as he removed his trousers and belt, but the shaking of his hands was entirely noticeable as the metal rattled. His body pressed itself against mine after a moment or two, the heat of his skin making my vision blur and my mind disappear. I was lost into him.

His fingers quietly trailed over my arms, my chest, my stomach, my hips, and my legs. His eyes followed alongside it, as if viewing me was the most magnificent discovery he had ever been rewarded with. His lips pressed against my neck, and for a moment I could feel his wet cheek. His tears were shed not for grief and not for joy, but perhaps for guilt. All I could do was cradle his cheeks in my hands to tell him it was fine by me.

I cannot give details of everything. My mind escapes me in moments such as that, and the overwhelming confusion, joy, and lust that consumed me made time go fast and made my thoughts slip. I remember feeling something harden against me, the warmth and solidity of it making me nervous. My mother had spoken to me once on the subject, but hearing such vivid mannerisms made me uncomfortable and I retreated to my room. I wish I had listened.

His hands caressed my skin as our lips met over and over. My body began to grow moist as sweat covered my skin. As I felt the hardness once again, but this time closer to my secret area, I finally realized how badly I was shaking. I had been shaking the entire time, but I knew what it would come to. The desire to not turn back consumed me.

However, Sherlock fought it off. I could feel himself weaken as his arms collapsed beside my ears and his torso tumble gently atop mine. His eyes continued to wetten, their brown jewels drowning in a flowing, dark river. I stared at him silently for a moment and then proceeded to remove his weight. The bed covers were used to hide my bare bodice; a bodice that shook like a spooked horse. He took little notice of my discouragement, as he was intertwined in his own regrets.

The moonlight kept swimming in. I thought that my evening would turn out differently. I thought that Sherlock Holmes might take the most important thing in my life. And yet, if he did that, the world would not be the same. Our lives would be at risk of the possibility of a child. We would have to married; a process Sherlock was unsure of. I would not be able to continue inventing as a hobby, but instead find a real occupation. Sherlock would be forced to stop his detecting. As I lay in that bed on the wintery eve in Mycroft's cottage, the irrational thoughts became startlingly logical.

"Do not feel shame," I whispered to him. "Nothing occurred."

"It might have."

"'Might' is not a word of certainty."

Sherlock's back was towards me. His only response was a ruffle of his head as he pushed his bare self from the covers. I watched in silence as he slipped his clothing back on, the wrinkles hardly noticeable. His hand snatched the numerous pieces of my dress from the floor. Without looking at me, he set them on the bed, lit a single candle and made his way as quietly and swiftly from the room as when he had entered it.

It was not what I wanted. His leaving was not what I had planned as he kissed me. And yet, my life was constantly unpredictable and confusing. In my soul, I knew that I should not have been terribly disappointed. He had wanted me, that was true. But he was a good man, a decent man, and therefore wanted to wait. Where was the shame in that?

And though these thoughts comforted me against the chill wind snipping at my arms, the tears that fell from my eyes led a pathway straight to my crumbling heart.

~.~.~.~.~.~

We were gathered in the lobby of Mycroft's house at nearly twenty minutes until nine. Watson alone stood beside me as the others continued to brush themselves up in their chambers. I had tried my hardest to remove the redness from my swollen eyes, but it was clear that something had upset me as the pink hue lingered around my temples. Or perhaps it was the beating of my aching heart that continued to torment me.

"Has he seen you?" Watson said calmly, his loving eyes fixated upon my drooped face.

I nodded. It was all that I could manage.

Watson did not ask further questions. His eyes scanned my body, watching it shake every few minutes and then stiffen itself back up. Somehow, I think he might have guessed what had happened. And part of me believed that he would not assume such drastic measures were reached. Whatever he believed, I never found out. He gripped my hand tightly in the empty corridor, sending me silent reflections of love and comfort. They were what I needed, but my body could not find solace. I continued replying Sherlock and I's last moment in my mind. He had left without so much as a word or a glance. Did he love me? He had not said so. Perhaps he was realizing that things were a mistake.

My knees grew weak at the sudden thought.

"You have become dear to me, Rena." Watson's voice took me by surprise in the echoing hall. "Far dearer than you can probably imagine yourself to be. I feel as if you do not give yourself enough credit for how wonderful you have been."

A sad smile trickled across my face. It hurt to wear it and somehow it tugged my tears back towards the edge of my eyes. My words were irrelevant, though they spoke what crossed my mind. "You are lucky to be married, John Watson."

His head jerked more noticeably in my direction. "Married? Marriage is not what gets me though my life, Rena. It is friends like you and Sherlock who somehow have an effect on me, though I consider Mary closest to my heart." We stayed silent for a while. I continued to linger on how wonderful the idea of marriage might be while Watson attempted to decipher my thoughts. "Does this have anything to do with Sherlock?"

My head shook desperately back and forth. He could not know of the events that occurred. He could not know that as each minute passed and each memory of Sherlock's hesitation consumed me, I felt weaker inside. "It hasn't anything to do with anyone."

"Rena-"

"I'm doing quite well." My grin became even firmer, stretching itself out into a straight line rather than an actual beam of happiness. "When have you ever seen me upset?"

Watson's brow rose playfully. "Shall I list them in alphabetical or chronological order?"

"Save your list," I mumbled. "You'll be adding to it soon."

The others soon joined us by the door. I was thankful, as it forced my demeanor to become even more solidified and unchangeable. Simza looked as radiant as ever in her maroon dress. It was triple the size of her others, and although her dark features echoed those of a gypsy woman, her sudden femininity could easily pass her off as a noble lady to those who did not know her. Sherlock looked the same as when I had seen him earlier, but with a fresh coat of powder over his nose and another layer of gel across his hair. And perhaps a jacket of regret weighing down his shoulders.

"Shall we be off?" Sherlock's voice sounded chipper, as if he were ready for it all to be over. And yet no one could deny the sheer terror that lingered somewhere behind each syllable. It was terror of the unknown. His eyes met mine momentaril as if to share a thought with me. I quickly turned my head in order to let my heart settle itself.

"Quickly," Simza encouraged. "Tonight is the night I will be reunited with my brother."

"And this will be the night that leads me to my wife," John smirked.

I shrugged lazily. "In reality, I'm rather looking forward to the alcohol."

And with that being the final note, the steep hillside of the mountains soon become our crumbling companions.

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Sorry again for the short, not too inclusive chapter once again. I just wanted to let you know that I'm trying to update small quantities, because this story only has about three chapters left and I'm hoping to write the next story after the new film comes out… However, since there hasn't been a release date for that… it can be a bit scary.

The next story will be original and the last one in the series.

Please please please review to this chapter! And another big shoutout to Toxic-Mai-Panda :)