William sighed as he reached the house.

"Home sweet home," he muttered as he unlocked the door.

As he stepped into the house, something felt out of place. It was relatively cool in their shared home. Grell always cut the heat on he got home. His eyes darted to the corner Grell's chainsaw usually sat in; it was there, leaning neatly against the wall.

"Grell?" he called as he shrugged out of his coat. There was no reply. "Grell?"

Draping his coat over the back of a chair, he searched the entire house for his redheaded lover. William began to get worried when he couldn't find him. Putting his coat back on, he locked the door back and closed it behind him. He began to think like Grell. Walking back to London, he made a list of places he would look. There were a series of stores the flaming red head loved to go to. He checked those first, but there was no sign of Grell. Cutting through the alleyways, he found the fruit stand he sat by with Ronald.

"Knox!" He called as he approached the stand.

The two toned blonde jumped. "H-hey boss! I thought you went home."

"Have you seen Grell?" he asked, ignoring Ronald's comment.

"Uh, yeah. Last I seen him, he was walking home. He cut through the alleys. If he's not at home, he's probably wandering the streets somewhere."

"Thanks, Knox. Pay raise."

He turned away from Ronald, heading in a some direction. William hated it when Grell never let him know where he was going, and he knew it worried him sick. He's caught the redhead wandering the streets aimlessly, usually into a demon's trap. Blinded by his thoughts of where Grell could be, he ran into someone, his glasses flying off. He stumbled back, losing his balance, and fell. He shook his head and uttered an apology. He cursed under his breath as he tried to find his glasses.

"Are you looking for these?" a horribly familiar voice said.

William froze as he realized who he ran into. He stood, dusting himself off. He really didn't feel like talking to Sebastian… "Please return my glasses, demon."

"Since you said please…" Sebastian slipped his glasses onto his face. "You do look rather odd without them."

William took a deep breath to keep his cool. He now had a purpose to talk to Sebastian. "I'm looking for Grell. Have you seen him?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

"Thank the higher gods no. Haven't seen him today, but someone did leave this" he held out an envelope marked William T. Spears, "for you."

William snatched it away and quickly opened it, his eyes scanning quickly over the format. It was a letter written dark red ink.

Dear William T. Spears,

I suppose you are looking for your darling scarlet reaper, hm? If you're reading this, than you are. Have you heard talk of Mr. Jace in London. The very same Mr. Jace that's been terrorizing London's women, shredding apart its men.

William's brows furrowed as he continued to read. An interesting fate for your Scarlet. Claims to be a woman but actually is a man. So what should I, Mr. Jace, do? Ah, I have many plans for him. I've been following your little reaper for weeks, tracking every place he goes, every shortcut he takes home. I know his routines, I even keep in contact with the butler he fancies, or so he did anyways. I'll give you two months to find us. I'll give you a hint. By the time you're done with this we'll be in America. Don't worry. I'll make it a little easy for you. I left clues for you to follow.

Sincerely,

Mr. Jace.

William snarled at no one in particular. Some filthy demon has got his hands on his Grell! He crumpled the letter and threw it on the ground, flitting away. He panted as he ran. He wasn't sure where he was running to now; all he knew was that he didn't have much time. He only had two months. Running through the alleyways, he took to the roofs. Being the organized man he was, he had memorized all the flight plans to and from other countries earlier in the day. He didn't know why he did; he had had a feeling he was going to need it later. He was thankful he did. He was also thankful he had a light workload. He glanced at his watch. It was only five thirty. The next plane to America left at eight thirty. He had time to think about things. Stopping suddenly, nearly sliding off in the process, he turned around and headed back home. If anything was going to help him, it might as well be his cell phone. And maybe catch an hour nap so he could think strait….