A/N: It has been a while since I have started this, and about ten months since the last update. (Don't tomato me please!) I have finally come up with an ending I like, however, so here is the last chapter!

Creeping about at night while people were sleeping was only so much fun, Sherlock decided as he went about his business that night. As one rose to the level of the sleepers, a burglar ran the risk of even the slightest noise waking them to hue and cry. The resulting tension made every creak sound like a gunshot, freezing him in place for a moment. Over the last few hours, he had searched Father's office, Mycroft's room (while he was down in the kitchen eating a midnight snack), and had at last determined that the necklace was where a true burglar would place it all along.

His parent's room.

With silent steps that not even a cat could hear, Sherlock crept to the door. Using some butter he had pilfered from the kitchen the previous night, he greased the hinges of the door and opened it slowly. A lookout would be nice. He thought, but he quickly shook it away. Who would it have been, Mycroft? The floorboards would have creaked and given us away! No, better to do this alone. Stealthily, he stole his way through the room, to his mother's dressing table. They left it out in plain sight? What kind of game is this, if Father doesn't play it correctly? Disgusted, Sherlock grabbed the necklace and strode out of the room to the music of dueling snores; a light, tinkling one and the deep rasp of his father.

Through the well-placed applications of ladder, sheet-rope, meat-covered bone, and a pole, Holmes made his way down the side of the house, breaking into a run as he saw a floating lantern come around the side of the house opposite him. Safe. Sherlock thought scornfully as he slipped away across the fields of tall grass to the safety of the woods. That was too easy. They barely tried to stop me. If a dog is all they thought would keep me from burglarizing a simple necklace, they were sadly mistaken.

Picking his way across the dark woods, carrying a lantern similar to the one watching the house, Smith made his way to a camp he knew would be nearby. Seeing a flickering orange glow, he made his way to it.

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes." he said, walking up to the fire. "Did you bring the goods?"

Sherlock held up his mother's necklace silently, a scowl on his face.

"Did you have any trouble?"

"No."

"Good. The exchange we agreed upon then?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch, tossing it to the young Holmes, thinking with a slight smirk that Sherlock didn't even look tense when he reached into his pocket. He has a lot to learn about being a burglar. Sherlock counted the coins quickly, nodding when he reached the correct amount.

"Here." he said, tossing over the necklace. Smith winced inwardly as he saw it sail through the air, just managing to catch it.

"Ah, thank you. Unfortunately, I have to deal with lose ends now." he said. Sherlock looked up in shock, his eyes wide, as Smith pulled out a dark metallic object, pointing it at Sherlock. The two rose to their feet slowly, standing still for a moment. The mood was abruptly shattered as Mycroft began laughing.

"What did you expect when you brought the object, Sherlock? Burglars tend to wind up dead when they meet face-to-face with their employers, unless said employers need their services again."

"Well, the rest of the job went smoothly." the brother said with a pout. 'Father didn't even bother trying to keep the necklace from me. It was still sitting on Mother's dressing table."

"You knew going into this that the household would underestimate you. Not one of them even looked into your closet while you were sleeping." Mycroft said with an eye roll. "This was only an exercise to see if you could get away with it. Now that you have, what did you discover?"

"It's boring. It's a lot of waiting and preparation and then a lot of toe-stubbing. There's no excitement to it. Maybe if you had me steal some of Father's papers..."

"So do you still want to be a burglar?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "No. But I want to keep the lock picks." he said, with a stubborn look on his face.

"Then what do you want to be?" Mycroft asked patiently, dreading the response.

"I want to be an actor." Sherlock proclaimed with a broad smile.