Chapter 1

"Ugh," grunted John Watson as he lugged the heavy grocery bags up the steps and into their apartment. He had no idea why Sherlock wanted so much soup, but he wasn't about to argue with him. He knew what the outcome would be if he tried to start a debate with him.

"Where do you want these bags?" asked Watson as he stumbled into the apartment.

There was no answer from Sherlock. Watson tried to peek around the bags in his hands and noticed that Sherlock was on his hands and knees in front of their fireplace. Curious as to what Sherlock was up to, Watson put the bags down on the kitchen table and walked over to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, what is so interesting?" asked Watson.

Sherlock brought his head out of the fireplace momentarily. Soot and ash had colored parts of his face black, making his blue eyes seem wilery than usually. His suit that he had on was stained black, leaving smudges on the carpet.

"Sh, you'll scare it away," said Sherlock before turning back around to stick his head back in the fireplace.

This time, Sherlock reached an arm up into the fireplace, obviously trying to reach something.

"Sherlock..."

"I GOT IT!" exclaimed Sherlock suddenly as he quickly stood up.

Sherlock had something tiny, black, and fuzzy clutched in his hands. It was screeching, trying to get free. Watson got closer and realized that the screeching animal was a bat.

"Sherlock...that's a bat! Why is there a bat in the apartment?!"

Sherlock looked at the panic on Watson's face and gave him a quick smile before saying, "Never you mind. I'm taking care of it."

"You know Mrs. Hudson isn't going to be happy that you soiled another one of your outfits," said Watson as he watched Sherlock open the window and release the bat.

"Mrs. Hudson worries too much for her own good. I am a grown man. I think I know how to soil my clothes properly so that the stains will come out," said Sherlock as he locked the window after the bat had flown off.

Watson sighed and said, "That's not what I mea-"

"I see you got the soup that I asked for," said Sherlock as he walked past him and into the kitchen.

"Yes," said Watson. "Though I still don't know why..."

"I'm going to test all the different brands of soup to see which one has the best strength to fight off a cold," said Sherlock. "I'm betting it is not Soupy's. Their slogan, 'Try the best soup around' is a little off putting. Why on earth would someone need to persuade you to eat their soup if it was indeed the best? It suggests that it doesn't actually work in the manner that-"

"Sherlock," piped up Watson cutting him off, "Why on earth do you need to compare soups? Are you bored?"

"Ah, that's half of it Watson," said Sherlock. "But you have not noticed the other half. Mrs. Hudson's absence in the apartment today proves that she has fallen ill."

"Mrs. Hudson is ill?" asked Watson.

"Yes," said Sherlock, examining the cans of soup, "And I'll only feed her the one that provides her with the sustenance needed to get better."

"I see," said Watson. "How do you plan on doing this?"

Sherlock put the cans down for a moment and picked up a microscope that was set on a shelf underneath the table. He placed it on top of the table and sat down.

"I see," said Watson once again. "You're going to put the soup under a microscope?"

"I must analyze everything, seen and unseen. There's no telling what's really in these mixtures," said Sherlock.

Watson looked at Sherlock. He was obviously yearning for a case, but there hadn't been one in at least two weeks. Although he had to admit that he liked seeing the role reversal with Sherlock taking care of Mrs. Hudson, even though Sherlock had to disect everything.

Watson walked over to the laptops and saw the daily newspaper lying there. He picked it up and started to study the articles.

"Did you know that there is a magician in town this week Sherlock?" asked Watson. "He's suppose to take your imagination to new heights."

"Yes," said Sherlock. "Your imagination. The unreal. Fraud."

"Sherlock, they are called magic tricks. No one thinks that they are actually real," said Watson.

"Interesting," mused Sherlock.

Watson turned to look at Sherlock and saw that he was intensely focused on whatever he was viewing under the microscope.

"Did you find something of interest?" asked Watson.

"Yes," said Sherlock.

He suddenly stood up from his seat and held a can of soup in his hands.

"Just as I deduced. Soupy's soup is not the best soup like they claim."

"Oh Sherlock," said Watson shaking his head.

"Are you ready son?" asked Norman as he straightened his bow tie in front of the mirror.

Grayson looked at his father's reflection in the mirror. In what little of his own reflection he could see in the mirror, Grayson saw that he looked like his father, apart from the fact that his father's brown hair held traces of gray. He however still had his father's stature, face, and bright blue eyes.

"Yes," said Grayson with a slight smile. "I am."

Having a father who was a magician sure kept Grayson entertained.

Norman turned around and smiled as he reached forward and gave his son a hug.

"I'm so pleased," said Norman. "Shall we go on with the show then?"

"Yes," said Grayson. "Lets go on with the show."

Norman and Grayson left the dressing room and started to make their way through the back stage area. As they walked along, Grayson looked at all the people that were walking around. All of the backstage crew were decked out in black t-shirts and blue jeans. Grayson looked at how buff some of these people looked. He wondered why backstage crew members always looked so muscular then came to the conclusion that it must be because they lift a lot of heavy boxes.

As they rounded the corner where the curtain had been drawn across the darkened stage, Grayson could hear the murmurs of the crowd as they were filing into the auditorium. He turned to see that his father was getting some last minute adjustments from the crew, the top hat that they had just put on him was slightly sideways on his head.

"This is it my boy," said Norman as he gripped Grayson by the shoulders and shook him. "It's showtime!"

The curtain started to be pulled back to let the spotlights flood onto the stage. Norman walked out from the backstage area and started to wave and bow at the crowd that started applauding. Grayson could see the smiles on the crowd and the smile on his father's face. The smiling was infectious for Grayson smiled himself. Yes. Let the show begin.

Fifteen minutes into the show, Norman bowed during a round of applause that he had just received for his last magic trick. Two backstage crew members quickly ran onto the stage and were pushing the small table with the magic hat on it offstage. Grayson stood in the center of the stage next to a large rectangular box. It was now time for his father's most famous trick.

"Now," said Norman as the applause started to die down. "I will need a volunteer from the audience in order to perform my next trick."

A good amount of the crowd started to raise their hands. Norman turned to look at Grayson and said, "Son, how about you choose the lucky volunteer tonight?"

Grayson's eyes scanned the crowd and he suddenly caught sight of a pretty red head girl. A warm feeling came over him and he had to shake it away before his father noticed.

"How about you good lady?" asked Grayson as he pointed right at her, trying to hide a blush from rising to his cheeks.

The young lady rose from her seats, her dark blue dress swaying from side to side as she made her way onto the stage.

"And what might your name be young lady?" asked Norman.

"Johanna," she said with a smile that lit up her whole face, making her green eyes sparkle.

"Grayson, will you please escort Johanna over to the box?" asked Norman.

"Most certainly," said Grayson as he walked over to Johanna and she looped her arm through his.

Grayson led her over to the box and opened it up. She got in the box and before Grayson backed up and shut the box on her, he leaned forward and whispered next to her ear, "Make sure you use the exit at the bottom of the box in order to vanish."

In response, Johanna leaned forward and kissed Grayson's cheek.

"Whatever you say," she said with a slight smile as she drew away from him.

Grayson smiled back at her and shut the box door on her, encasing her in the box.

"Now," bellowed out Norman to the audience. "I will make Johanna disappear from this very box."

Grayson watched as Norman walked over to the box, his magic wand at the ready.

"Now when I count to three, Johanna will no longer occupy this box. One...two...three!"

When he said three, Norman tapped the box with his magic wand. After a momentary pause, Grayson opened the door to the box to reveal that the interior was empty. The audience was awed at the fact that Johanna had disappeared.

Grayson re-closed the box door and Norman turned to address the audience once more.

"Now when I count to three again, Johanna will reappear," said Norman. "One...two...three!"

Norman tapped the box and Grayson reached forward to open the box door. As soon as he did, something toppled out of the box and landed on the stage floor. The audience members screeched. Norman and Grayson looked at what had just fallen out of the box. Norman's face grew as white as a sheet while Grayson felt like he was going to throw up.

Lying on the floor in a small pool of blood was Johanna, dead.