(ST. ALDATE’S SCHOOL, Alice’s POV: )

Greg’s car drove into the grounds of the boarding school and pulled up outside the front entrance. Two police cars were already there and a woman was standing in front of one of them, leaning against the bonnet and wearing a shock blanket around her shoulders and crying while a uniformed female police officer talked reassuringly to her. A man, probably a plain clothed police officer, was talking to her but walked away as Lestrade, Donovan, the boys and I got out of the car and approached. The woman blew her nose on her handkerchief.

“It’s all right.” The female officer comforted.

“Miss Mackenzie, House Mistress. Go easy.” Lestrade told Sherlock. I grabbed the detectives arm and gave him a threatening look to emphasize. He just looked back at me blankly. We stayed back and let Sherlock walk over to the woman on his own.

“Miss Mackenzie, you’re in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night.” He began sternly. “What are you: an idiot, a drunk or a criminal?” He demanded, his voice rising angrily. He grabbed the blanket and abruptly pulled it from around her shoulders. She gasped in fear as he glared furiously at her. I was about to go over but John grabbed my wrist and stopped me, looking exasperated.  “Now quickly, tell me!” Sherlock commanded angrily.

“All the doors and windows were properly bolted. No-one – not even me – went into their room last night. You have to believe me!” She replied tearfully, cringing in terror. Sherlock’s demeanour instantly changed and he smiled reassuringly and gently took hold of her shoulders.

“I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly.” He said sincerely. He looked at the nearby police officers as he turned and walked away. “Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now.” He said clearly. She sobbed in distress and the female police officer hurried over to comfort her as I ran ahead of the others to Sherlock.

“What was that!?” I hissed, trying to get in front of him as he walked. He ignored me. I pursed my lips angrily and backed up to John as Sherlock led us into one of the dormitories.

“Six grand a term, you’d expect them to keep the kids safe for you. You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?” John said, glancing at me but not registering the anger on my face. Sherlock had already looked in a cupboard beside one of the beds and now dropped to his knees and peered under the bed.

“They were the only two sleeping on this floor. Absolutely no sign of a break-in.” Lestrade replied. Sherlock picked up a lacrosse stick lying on the floor and got to his feet while looking at the stick closely. He briefly wielded it as if using it as a weapon but then decided it wasn’t used in that way and dropped it to the floor again. “The intruder must have been hidden inside some place.” He added. Sherlock went over to a wooden trunk and opened the lid as I sat on the bed. Amongst the other items inside the trunk he found a large brown envelope with a wax seal on the back, which had already been broken as if someone had opened the envelope. Inside was a large hardback book, and suddenly I was by his side. Checking the envelope carefully first, he then took the book out and looked at the cover. The book was ‘Grimm’s Fairy Tales.’ He looked along the edges of the book and then riffled the pages quickly. Finding nothing of interest, he looked up.

“Show me where the brother slept.” He ordered. I sighed, thinking that this was going along a lot faster than usual. We were taken to another smaller dormitory and Sherlock looked around, going to stand beside a bed which was facing the door. The door has a frosted glass pane in it. He looked towards the door while gesturing down to the bed. “The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor. He’d recognise every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door.” He said quickly.

“Okay, so...” Lestrade began.

“So someone approaches the door who he doesn’t recognise, an intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon,” I explained, quickly catching on. Leaving us inside the room, Sherlock went outside the door and pulled it almost closed, and then raised his hand and pointed his fingers as if they were a gun, showing us how it would have been seen through the frosted glass. He pushed the door open and came back into the room. “What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out?” He walked around the bed, looking at the boy’s possessions, and I felt a buzz in my pocket. A streak of fear shot through me, thinking back to the tea party with Moriarty when he revealed that he had been the one texting me. I licked my lips nervously and pulled it out, moving slowly. “This little boy; this particular little boy...” He looked at the bedside table and didn’t say anything, though it seemed like he would have. He glanced at me, confused, and then continued. “…who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?” He said rhetorically.

“He’d leave a sign?” John asked, looking at me, but only because Sherlock had. I unlocked my mobile and hesitated, seeing that it was from an anonymous number. Sherlock started sniffing noisily. He picked up a cricket bat leaning against the nearby cupboard and sniffed along both sides of it. Putting the bat down again, he squatted and sniffed around the bedside table, then reached under the bed and found an almost empty glass bottle of linseed oil. He looked up.

“Get Anderson.” He ordered sternly, saying the one sentence I never thought he would. I opened the text and read it, just as Lestrade went to get the forensics man and as Sherlock came over to me.

“How are you, love? I hope all is well with the riddle so far. Oh, and do pay more attention, dear. If you don’t you may end up getting killed.

xx JM”

Sherlock was standing in front of me expectantly as my muscles tightened. I nearly threw my mobile, but Sherlock grabbed it out of my hand. I sighed and looked down at my feet, my mind running over the text, the kidnapping, the linseed oil, everything. Sherlock let John read the text, then put my mobile in his pocket and walked out of the room without another word.

Not long afterwards, the room had been darkened as much as possible by closing the wooden shutters over the windows. Sherlock shone an ultraviolet light on the wall beside the boy’s bed where the words “HELP US” had been written on the wall, only now visible in the light.

“Linseed oil.” I mumbled.

“Not much use. Doesn’t lead us to the kidnapper.” Anderson scoffed, sounding like the moron he was.

“Brilliant, Anderson.” I said, sounding sincere.

“Really?” the dunce asked. 

“Yes. Brilliant impression of an idiot.” Sherlock clarified, getting a smile out of me. He pointed downwards, shining the light close to the wooden floorboards. “The floor.” He said simply. There were several sets of illuminated footprints of varying sizes leading towards the door. Sherlock followed them slowly.

“He made a trail for us!” John said, clearly impressed.

“The boy was made to walk ahead of them.” I said, moving next to Sherlock.

“On, what, tiptoe?” John questioned, looking at the shape of some of the smaller footprints curiously.

“Indicates anxiety; a gun held to his head,” Sherlock answered. He walked slowly out into the corridor, which had also been blacked out, and followed the footsteps. Anderson walked beside him with another ultraviolet light, and I moved behind Sherlock. “The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck.” Sherlock continued. A few yards along the corridor the glowing footsteps stopped.

“That’s the end of it. We don’t know where they went from here,” Anderson said, his words annoying me to no end. Sherlock stopped and Anderson turned back to him. I looked back at Anderson, wanting to shout at him and ask him why we was so stupid. “Tells us nothing after all.” He said snidely, ignoring my death glare, which made even John back down usually.

“You’re right, Anderson – nothing,” Sherlock said flatly.

“Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace,” I almost shouted, quick-fire and snappily. Sherlock reached to the closest window and tore down the blackout material that had been stuck across it. Daylight flooded back into the corridor. Putting the light onto the window sill, he kneeled down and takes took wallet of tools and a small lidded plastic Petri dish from his inside pocket. As the police went back towards the bedroom, he put the dish on the floor, opened the wallet and chuckled contentedly. John squatted down beside him as I leaned over him, hand on his back. I eyed the worn and old-looking wallet curiously as the two conversed.

“Having fun?” John asked.

“Starting to,” Sherlock replied, smiling contentedly.

“Maybe don’t do the smiling,” John suggested. Sherlock lifted his head as I looked away from the wallet. “Kidnapped children?” He added sarcastically. Sherlock lowered his head again and concentrated on scraping some of the dried linseed oil and floor wax loose with a small scalpel and then, using tweezers, picking up the loosened pieces and putting them into the container.

LONDON

All three of us were in a taxi, me opposite to Sherlock and eyeing the pocket that held my mobile in it enviously.

“But how did he get past the CCTV? If all the doors were locked...” John began.

“He walked in when they weren’t locked,” Sherlock answered.

“But a stranger can’t just walk into a school like that,” John argued.

“Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment,” I broke in, fiddling with a loose button on my coat.

“Yesterday – end of term, parents milling around, chauffeurs, staff. What’s one more stranger among that lot?” Sherlock said, explaining more.

“He was waiting for them. All he had to do was find a place to hide,” I mumbled darkly.

ST. BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL

We walked down the fire exit hallway that led to the morgue in a very dramatic fashion. Sherlock in front, his coat billowing behind him as it always did, John on his left and a bit behind, and me on his right, adjacent to the doctor. We walked through the fire exit doors just as Molly Hooper had begun to open them.

“Molly!” Sherlock greeted with mock eagerness.

“Oh, hello. I’m just going out,” She replied politely.

“No you’re not,” Sherlock argued, putting his hands onto her shoulders and turning her back the way she just came.

“I’ve got a lunch date,” She tried, attempting to go around the detective.

“Cancel it. You’re having lunch with me,” Sherlock said in the same tone, putting a hand on her back to start her walking again and reaching into his coat pockets. He dramatically produced a bag of Quavers crisps from each pocket.

“What?” She asked, a bit startled.

“Need your help. It’s one of your old boyfriends – we’re trying to track him down. He’s been a bit naughty!” Sherlock half-explained, trying to be perky and putting the crisps back into his pockets. Reaching the fire doors at the other end of the corridor, he turned and smiled back at Molly, who had stopped dead a few paces back. John also stopped and stares at him. I was facing the door, not feeling particularly sympathetic for the girl and wanting to focus on the case.

“It’s Moriarty?” John asked, sounding a bit lost.

“Course it’s Moriarty,” I scoffed, beginning to reach into Sherlocks pocket to get my mobile.

“Er, Jim actually wasn’t even my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it,” Molly retorted. She sounded quite proud at the last bit.

“Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organised a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly,” Sherlock listed, lightly slapping my hand away from his pocket and pulling out and brandishing the Quavers at her again. He then continued on through the fire door acting as if nothing ever happened.

Shortly afterwards, wearing her lab coat, Molly pushed her way through the door into Sherlock’s favourite lab, weighed down by the huge pile of books and files she was carrying. As she staggered into the room, Sherlock was sitting at the bench in front of a microscope and John is standing at the other side of the bench. I went and grabbed about half the books for Molly, and she looked at me thankfully.

“Oil, John,” Sherlock said simply. He opened the plastic Petri dish and took out one of the samples with tweezers. “The oil in the kidnapper’s footprint – it’ll lead us to Moriarty,” He explained somewhat. He dropped the sample into a test tube, which had some liquid in the bottom. The fluid began to fizz. He suctioned up some of the liquid and dropped it onto a slide.

“All the chemical traces on his shoe have been preserved. The sole of the shoe is like a passport. If we’re lucky we can see everything that he’s been up to,” I said, seeing Johns face. Sherlock looked at the slide under the microscope.

A bit later, Sherlock and Molly were doing the experiments to find the kidnapper. John and I we just sitting on the other side of the room, leaning against each other’s backs. Put on some latex gloves, making some interesting faces as she did.

“I need that analysis,” Sherlock said flatly. Molly squeezed some liquid into a glass dish and applied some Litmus paper to it. The paper turned blue.

“Alkaline.” Molly confirmed.

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock said absentmindedly. I looked at him in surprise.

“Molly,” She corrected.

“Yes,” Sherlock confirmed, looking like he acknowledged his mistake but didn’t regret it. She turned away unhappily. Sherlock had found the first component in the mixture of items and made a note of it:

“1. Chalk” He took another sample and dissolved it. The results revealed another item:

“2. Asphalt” Dissolving another sample into a yet another dish:

“3. Brick Dust” And another sample dissolved and heated over a Bunsen burner:

“4. Vegetation” Later, he had another sample on a slide and was looking at it in the microscope. He quietly murmured to himself.

“I... owe... you,” He said softly. I looked up, looking at him worriedly. He turned his head and looked at the nearby computer screen. “Glycerol molecule,” He mumbled. He sighs heavily as he struggled to identify the item.  “What are you?” He looked into the microscope again as Molly stood beside him typing onto a laptop.

“What did you mean, I owe you’?” She asked. John walked across the lab on the other side of the bench, me still on the bench. Sherlock raised his eyes from the microscope and watched John as he crossed the room, looking sad. “You said, ‘I owe you’. You were muttering it while you were working,” Molly continued. Sherlock and I’s eyes met for a moment before he looked into the ’scope again.

“Nothing. Mental note,” He dismissed. Molly looked at him.

“You’re a bit like my dad. He’s dead,” She commented. I sighed in pity as she closed her eyes, embarrassed. “No, sorry.”

“Molly, please don’t feel the need to make conversation. It’s really not your area,” Sherlock said honestly. Molly cringed but continued.

“When he was... dying, he was always cheerful; he was lovely – except when he thought no-one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad,” Molly said carefully. I looked over at her, intrigued by what she was saying.

“Molly...” Sherlock warned sternly.

“You look sad...” She glanced towards John. “...when you think he can’t see you,” She said knowingly. My eyes widened as I realized she was right. Sherlock’s eyes lifted from the microscope and drifted towards John, who was looking through papers on the other side of the lab some distance away, unaware of the conversation. Sherlock turned his head and looked at Molly. “Are you okay?” She asked softly. He opened his mouth but she interrupted before he could speak. “And don’t just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no-one can see you.”

“You can see me,” Sherlock offered.

“I don’t count,” She countered sadly. That nearly broke my heart. She thought she didn’t matter. Sherlock blinked and really looked at her, possibly for the first time since he had known her. “What I’m trying to say is that, if there’s anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me.” She flinched and looked away briefly. “No, I just mean... I mean if there’s anything you need...” She shook her head. “It’s fine.” She turned away. Sherlock looked shaken.

“What-what-what could I need from you?” He asked, stammering a bit.

“Nothing,” She said, turning back to him. She shrugged. “I dunno. You could probably say thank you, actually,” she added. She nodded nervously but firmly. The side of Sherlock’s mouth twitched as if it didn’t know how to say the words.

“...Thank you,” He said hesitantly. He frowned and turned his head away as if surprised that he had said it. I hid a small smile as Molly started to walk towards the door.

“I’m just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything?” Molly asked in the same tone as before. He started to open his mouth but she turned back and beat him to it. “It’s okay, I know you don’t.”

“Well, actually, maybe I’ll...” Sherlock began.

“I know you don’t,” She cut off again. She turned and walked away, leaving the room. He watched her go, and then looked at me, confused. He opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off like Molly had.

“You’ll learn eventually and on your own. I’m not gonna help.”

He rolled his eyes then gazed into the distance thoughtfully for a moment before looking back to his microscope. Behind me and ignorant of the conversation that had just taken place, John was looking through police photographs taken at the school. He found one of the inside of the wooden trunk which showed the envelope with the wax seal, and another with a close-up of the seal.

“Sherlock,” He called.

“Hmm?” He hummed, not looking up. I got up and began stretching; having a feeling that something would happen soon.

“This envelope that was in her trunk. There’s another one,” John replied. That got my attention. John walked over to where he had put his jacket.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“On our doorstep. Found it today,” John explained. He got the envelope out of his pocket and looked at it. I got up and stood next to him, looking over his shoulder. “Yes, and look at that,” He confirmed. He brought the envelope round the bench and gave it to Sherlock, me moving to the other side of the detective and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Look at that. Exactly the same seal.” Sherlock reached into the envelope and took out some of the brown dust.

“Breadcrumbs,” Sherlock and I said blankly.

“Uh-huh. It was there when I got back,” John said, sounding a little proud.

“A little trace of breadcrumbs; hardback copy of fairy tales,” I mumbled, thinking that it sounded familiar. Sherlocks eyes widened.

“Two children led into the forest by a wicked father follow a little trail of breadcrumbs,” Sherlock realized.

“That’s ‘Hansel and Gretel.’ What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?” John asked.

“The sort that likes to boast; the sort that thinks it’s all a game. He sat in our flat and he said these exact words to us...”

“Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain,” I said, looking into the distance a bit. Sherlock put the envelope down and adjusted his microscope before starting to look into it again.

“The fifth substance: it’s part of the tale,” Sherlock began, looking up again. “The witch’s house.”

“What?” John asked, me asking the same question but not at the same time.

“The glycerol molecule,” Sherlock said happily, the final element coming clear to him. I was beginning to catch on as well. “PGPR!” He announced.

“What’s that?” I asked, a bit lost when it came to the chemicals.

“It’s used in making chocolate,” Sherlock announced, leaping to his feet. He hurried out of the lab, John and I following faithfully.

I'm sorry it took so long again!! In return for your wonderful patience, I give you a long chapter! Enjoy, vote, and comment fun peoples! =)