Here is the prequel to The Grace Chronicles. It is written by one of my friends and I really hope you enjoy it, I know I did. Please leave comments and tell me what you think. I will pass them onto the author :)

Grace's POV

I walked along the street towards the apartment building, like I do every morning on my way to "work." Just to stop in and see my brother. Or, more like it, go to Mrs. Hudson's place, climb out onto the old escape railing attached to the flat, nine stories high, and inch my way over to Sherlock Holmes apartment, because the escape was the only one left on the building, and very rickety.

It was part of my job.

Partly because Sherlock is the best detective in the business, and it's interesting to see his life where he isn't obsessed about crime, and the fact that he's the best, Moriarty could kill him too; and partly because his partner, sidekick, or whatever you want to call him is my brother: John. Also, because of my job. I could never give Sherlock this amazing case, because it isn't really a case; plus, I'm like him in a lot of ways-which means I can figure out a way to solve my own problems like he would. And either way, I'm just following Moriarty.

I've been following him since he sent me a note. Most people find it hard to believe that John has another little sister, not just Harriet, so when Moriarty sent me a note that he was going to kill John, I was out of the door in seconds, ready to stop him no matter what.

I walked over to their apartment, and peered in the window. John was reading the paper, as usual, and Sherlock was attempting to cook what appeared to be muffins, but was turning out more like hockey pucks.

"Oh, Sherlock. You're a brilliant detective, but a terrible cook," I whispered to myself. I realized they were okay, and I backed up from the window and climbed back into Mrs. Hudson's apartment.

Mrs. Hudson smiled at me. "You know, John and Sherlock are fine by themselves. They make a great team, and won't get into any trouble." She continued whisking her eggs, but then stopped. "Any more trouble then they already get themselves in." She flipped the sausages in her pan, and took her homemade jam out of the refrigerator. She then put her favorite oven mitt on and took her biscuits out of the oven. The food smelled so good, and when she put the eggs in the pan the sausage was in, and sprinkled a little cheese in, I figured I'd better go before I devoured all of her food, let alone her whole kitchen.

"Well, thank you again, Mrs. Hudson." I started walking out the door when I heard her laugh.

"Well aren't you going to stay for breakfast? Telling by the look in your eyes staring at my biscuits and sausages, you are hungry. And did you honestly think I made all of this food for myself?" She took two plates from her cabinet, along with two glasses, and set them down on her table, with a nice view of buildings out the window. I didn't want to intrude, but then again, how could I resist?

I walked over to the table, and sat down. She gave me plenty of everything, and I devoured it all. We talked about the weather, and about the local book club, and everything people do in London, until the news came on the TV.

"Breaking News. The famous Sherlock Holmes is reported at the new scene of a death near the London Bridge. The man—a 28 year old, working as a window cleaner at an apartment building, was pushed out of the scaffolding, reported by witnesses. The police are currently questioning the residents of this apartment building, but because it was a public area, on the lobby of the 25th floor, are residents are being questioned. More on this after the break."

I dropped my fork. I had a sneaking suspicion that this could be Moriarty's plot to finally kill John once and for all. I quickly thanked Mrs. Hudson, who asked me why I was in such a rush after a lovely conversation. I said I had to get to work, and started to leave. She knows I don't have a job.

"Why don't you…Why don't you stay, and watch the rest?"

"I'm not going for that. Work, like I told you."

She looked at me with those eyes. "Grace, I know you don't work. I'll support you in whatever you do, but do not get yourself killed. John could not take that."

"I know," I said, looking down. But before anything else could be said, the news turned back on.

"As reported before the break, Sherlock Holmes, the thirty-one-year-old detective who has solved many cases before, reports that this may be his toughest case yet."

"Right," I mumbled to myself.

"The bloodied body, clearly branded with an 'M' on the chest, leaves lead London Police Department Detective Lestrade clueless as the department continues to search for clues, leading to the pushing and ultimate death of Allen Redford earlier this morning. Witnesses stated that the death was not an accident, and one witness went as far as identifying the killer as a woman with long, dark, brown hair. While police are scrambling to figure out why Redford was killed, and may have theories on why, nothing is for certain at this moment."

I looked up at Mrs. Hudson. "I need to go."

I got a cab to the scene. Residents of the building were swarming around the bloodied body, branded with an "M" in the side of it. I looked up and saw the scaffolding of the window cleaner. It was very high up. I couldn't imagine how miserable that fall would have been.

I decided, after waiting for a very long time to investigate the body myself, I should distract the police.