Mycroft Holmes took a deep breath, and told us the details of the case.

"Several hours ago, l was being escorted to a . . . private location. Because of the documents and confidential information l was carrying, 3 bodyguards were necessary for my protection. However, a knife was hurled from a near building, and instead of shielding me from it's path, one of the guards picked it up from where it had hit the ground and came after me with it."

"Not the best day, brother dear." Sherlock smiled sweetly.

"Indeed." Mycroft said with dignity. "I barely survived the attack. However, the traitor was captured alive, and after some . . . convincing, he's given us enough information to know that the Ripper case you handled a few years ago was not ended conclusively."

Sherlock frowned. "What happened?"

Mycroft drew a folder out of his suit jacket, opening it up and passing it to one of the children. "Pass it around. The man you see in the first picture is Ezra Staine. He was arrested and convicted on 11 counts of first-degree murder after stalking then killing at least 11 young women and girls over a one year period."

The picture folder was passed into my hands, and I took a look at the man Staine. He was about forty, with clear and bright eyes, stubbly chin, and dark hair. He was gaunt, and not particularly handsome.

Sherlock looked over my shoulder at the picture. His face darkened, and he passed the pictures on to the boy beside me.

"This man sent letters in to the police, similar to the Ripper letters sent nearly 200 years ago when Jack the Ripper roamed the streets." Mycroft continued. "It took almost 6 months to catch him once one of his body-hiding sites were found, but finally, the 'Second Ripper' was caught, and identified as Ezra Staine, thanks to Sherlock."

"However, new evidence has been found which suggests that Ezra Staine was not the real Ripper, but someone else-- someone who tried to kill me."

"Mycroft, are you sure you're not overreacting?" Sherlock asked. At first I wondered if he were teasing his brother again, but the seriousness in his tone told me that the time for jokes was long past.

"I mean," the lean detective continued. "A little bit of evidence and a personal attack on you does not constitute the return of the Second Ripper."

Mycroft slipped a knife out of his pocket, passing it to Sherlock. It was a folding knife, and the detective quickly opened it. It was a kind of knife known as an Emerson knife, small and slightly curved, with a small hook on the top to make the blade catch on your pocket as you pulled it out, opening the knife. I noticed a slight nick running along the flat of the blade, and it had a worn appearance.

To all of us, the knife had little significance. But to the Holmes brothers, the knife was obviously a bad omen. Their faces were drawn and pale, and I asked quickly, "Not good?"

"Not good." Sherlock responded, sliding the knife into his pockets. "All of the Ripper victims were killed with a short knife with a nick running down the blade. After Staine was arrested, a search was conducted of his home, workplace, and anywhere else he could be connected to, but the knife was never found."

"So you're saying that this Staine was arrested falsely." The short girl, still holding a ping-pong paddle, interjected quickly. She was well-built and muscular, with dark brown eyes and pale auburn hair. Her English accent hinted at American, with short vowels and harsh consonants.

"Not only that, but the real Ripper is ready to start killing, and he's announced his return." Sherlock held up the closed knife blade, his cold eyes flashing with a dark fire.