"I wonder if our friend shall ever speak again," Sherlock Holmes wondered aloud as the cab rattled once again away from Baker Street and flew around a corner at breakneck speed.

Sir Percy Blakeney only glared across the cab at the detective, then turned to face the window without a word.

"Holmes, must you insist on annoying every man you do not get along with?" Watson chided, his brow furrowed at Holmes's triumphant smirk.

"Sir Percy looks rather dashing in black, don't you think, Watson?" Holmes continued, his gray eyes dancing with amusement.

Then Sir Percy Blakeney, in an unprecedented moment in foppish history, blew up. "I LOOK LIKE MONSIEUR CHAMBERTIN!" he yelled, exasperated.

"Ah, you mean Monsieur Chauvelin," Holmes corrected with a smile. "Your long-avowed enemy, as I recall, and chief agent of the French Republic, known for his fondness of black attire, who has on many occasions-"

"I KNOW WHO HE IS, YOU SMARTY PANTS DETECTIVE!"

"There is no need to shout, Sir Percy. I quite conceive your hatred of the finer points of our modest nineteenth century fashion."

"Demmed right, sir, and I-" Blakeney suddenly stopped, his face blanching as his hands flew to his throat. "Where is my cravat?"

Holmes responded by presenting him with a hand mirror.

Percy's eyes bugged. "AUGH! WHAT IS THIS?"

Sherlock Holmes looked at him innocently, the aura of an angelic halo about his head. "Why, I thought you of all people, Blakeney, would recognize a cravat when you saw one," he replied serenely.

"A CRAVAT?" the fop sputtered, tugging furiously at the tie of black cloth about his neck. "This is deplorable, sir! Horrid! I demand you aid me in removing it!"

Holmes's innocent, angelic gaze shifted to the window. "I'm afraid that is impossible."

"You lie!"

The detective merely waved this accusation away as if it were of little importance. "I fear I cannot easily remove the generous amount of adhesive that now binds your cravat to-"

"YOU GLUED IT TO MY SHIRT?"

"A brilliant deduction, my good man," Holmes returned with a grin. "Your new sense of fashion, shall we say, will remain firmly intact."

"Holmes, that's not nice," Dr. Watson said, jabbing his friend in the side with his elbow.

"Come Watson, is it not you who is always telling me to have…oh, what is the word? Fun?"

"Not at another's expense!"

The detective looked thoughtful. "Ah yes. Like that time I tied your shoelaces together and measured the length of your stride in direct correlation to the velocity of your falling down."

Watson's eyes narrowed at the memory. "And I trust your results were informative?"

Holmes patted his friend on the shoulder. "No, I learned nothing whatsoever from the experiment. Except that it was quite entertaining to watch you try and chase me in your sudden fury. Now, gentlemen! I believe we have arrived at our destination."

The doctor and Blakeney exchanged a look, which Sherlock Holmes would have been wise to observe.

*****

"It seems, Mr. Lestrade, that this house has a knack for killing people," Percy Blakeney commented to the Scotland Yard detective as the company gathered around the body of the late landlady. "It is unfortunate that Miss Webber was woefully wounded and whilst-"

Holmes's hand clapped swiftly over his companion's mouth. "Please ignore my annoying poetic friend, Lestrade. You remember Blakeney? We can't leave him at home by himself."

"I see," the policeman said, obviously enjoying the detective's exasperation. "He must continue to be a valuable asset to your investigating process."

Holmes made a choking noise. "You have no idea."

"Holmes, it seems the landlady has the exact same injuries that Lyle the Murder Victim had," the good doctor pronounced from where he was examining the victim on the floor.

"I knew that already but thank you, Watson."

"What?"

"The murders are obviously connected. Same room. Same injuries. And I suspect there is the same strange stain somewhere on the floor that we found near Lyle the First Murder Victim."

"You mean the stain that I found," the tall Englishman corrected.

"We work as a team, Sir Percy, so we share credit," Holmes sniffed haughtily. Meanwhile, Dr. Watson began coughing uncontrollably from the floor.

"Stop that sarcasm, Watson, and come along. We have work to do elsewhere."

Inspector Lestrade stared as the detective sprinted for the door. "Why, you've barely looked at the scene, Mr. Holmes!"

Sherlock Holmes turned and cocked his head to the side. "Is that gentleman we met last time here, Lestrade? A man by the name of Sir Sidney P. Edwards?"

"I haven't seen him all day."

"Just as I suspected." And with that, Holmes flew out the door, with the doctor and fop in tow.

*****

Unfortunately, in the process of flying out the door, Sherlock Holmes found himself also flying into the person waiting just outside the entrance of the house.

"ACK! A woman!" the detective squeaked and immediately recoiled, brushing himself off vigorously as if a malevolent germ had accosted him.

The woman peered through narrow eyes at the three men before her. "Gentlemen, have any of you seen a Sir Sidney Edwards here recently?" she said in a cold voice.

"Our friend here spoke with him yesterday," Sir Percy replied as he gestured to the detective with a smile and winked at Watson.

"What!" The woman rushed toward Sherlock Holmes and clutched at his frock coat in a sudden passion. "Have you truly seen him?"

"ACKK! YOU ARE INVADING MY PERSONAL BUBBLE!" shrieked the detective, trying his best to ward off this sudden emotional attack by the woman, but only succeeding in toppling them both over.

"Where did you last talk with him?" the lady persisted harshly.

"GET OFF OF ME!"

"Not until you tell me where he's gone! Secrets! I know he has them! He must have told you something!"

Holmes clutched at the ground, trying his best to scoot away from his attacker. "LET GO OF MY LEG, YOU DEVIL WOMAN!"

"Now, now, Holmes," Sir Percy chided in between suppressed giggles. "That's no way to talk to a lady."

By now Holmes had freed himself and struggled to his feet, panting. He cast a wary glance at Sir Percy as he graciously helped the woman up. At once, a change came over the lady.

"I-I am so sorry," she said haltingly, her eyes still locked on the gentleman before her. "That was very untoward of me. I cannot imagine why I-"

"'Tis quite all right, m'lady," Blakeney returned kindly. He gestured to his two other companions. "Perhaps we may answer your questions this evening? We have some of our own to ask of you. I believe my sitting room may be more comfortable than this ghastly house."

"I shall be delighted to come," the lady acquiesced instantly, a flush coming to her cheeks. "And your address, sir?"

"Ah, but may I bring you there? You have been troubled enough today, I am sure."

The woman nodded, blushing deeper. "That would be most kind of you."

"Would six o'clock do?"

"Quite. I shall await you at the corner of the Strand, as I have some business there this afternoon. May I thank you, Mr…?"

"Sir Percy Blakeney, at your service," he replied, as he bowed low and flashed her a brilliant smile.

The woman giggled girlishly and bid the three men a good day.

"Ye gods, Blakeney!' Watson laughed. "A kindly gentleman indeed! What a change came over her!"

Sir Percy struck a dashing pose. "It is the duty of all us fops to be so irresistible. I simply cannot help it."

Meanwhile Holmes remained frozen where he stood, his eyes wide. "You…invited that rogue woman…to my house?"

Percy snickered. "Sink meh! But of course! You want more clues, do you not?"

"She's going to touch my stuff."

"And we'll be one step closer to the solution, what?" Blakeney prattled on.

"She going to be near me again," Holmes shuddered. "The same room. The same air…"

Sir Percy grinned. "And?"

Holmes's eyes narrowed. "Watson, would you do me a favor?"

"What is it, Holmes?"

"The next time we hit someone with our hansom cab, remind me not to stop and see who it was."