There was only so much they could do with a man that wouldn't talk, partially because he was unconscious, partially because he was more trained to withstand torture than he let them believe. Of course, he wasn't fooling the Holmes siblings. However, he had served his purpose and the group had agreed to administer the "forget me salts." They were like smelling salts in the stories of corseted ladies, only this concoction caused loss of all memories within the last twenty four hours.

They covered a lot of ground within twenty four hours. Stonehenge was just a memory, as was Big Ben, which turned out to be their next clue. Renae kept good her word and told Sherlock that it was his turn to "climb up the big, tall structure." John went with him, as he got somewhat nervous seeing Sherlock alone on top of things, understandably.

Renae scribbled in a pocket sized notepad absentmindedly while the rest of the group looked up for a selfie in front of Neuschwanstein Castle. The picture perfectly captured the essence of everyone's thought process. Mary was in mid-sentence - something about Renae looking up for the photo - but was smiling nonetheless. John looked slightly offended that, even for a moment, everyone forgot the real reason they were all on this trip. Molly's lips were pursed together, carefully smiling without showing teeth, as if she wasn't sure whether or not this was an appropriate occasion for taking selfies. Sherlock looked piercingly into the camera, not smiling but not frowning either, like when you stare into the sun and the scrunching of your nose causes the sides of your mouth to slightly turn up.

And then there was Renae, as we so affectionately call her, too absorbed in her note-taking to stop for aesthetic moments. Aggressively brainstorming any and all information they had been given thus far, she barely heard Mary taunting her, "Renae dear, look up and smile for the picture!"

Neuschwanstein Castle - Big Ben - Stonehenge - riddle - Acropolis - Eiffel Tower - Sphinx… She was taking each word apart, switching the letters around, counting every third letter, converting them into numbers, dividing everything by seven; anything that might help crack the code that she was so grossly overanalyzing. She had been desperately hoping that she would find a deeper meaning behind all the clues, in an attempt to beating Moriarty to the finish line. It was pointless. The locations really were just tourist spots, and they really were just spelling out a scrambled acronym.

Next she tried unscrambling the letters.

N-A-S-B-E-S-R

B-R-A-N-S-E-N

N-E-R-B-A-S-N

R-A-N-E-B-N-S

No no no… it wasn't enough letters. There was more to come. The question was, how much more? Four more letters? Five? Six? She was growing tired of this game and really hoped that he hadn't picked a place with a ridiculously long name.

Since all the clues had been names of famous tourist locations, it seemed reasonable to assume that the final location would also be a tourist spot. Her next project would be to search for places with all of those letters in them, which would prove to be a little more complicated than it sounds. After all, doing a web search for "famous landmarks with letters SEARSBN" didn't turn up any desirable results. She needed more information.

It was time to squeeze some data out of her brother.

"Sherlock," she half-mumbled in the midst of everyone around her giggling about their selfie. Ignored, she finally looked up to see everyone around her stupidly giggling about whether or not to post the photo on social media. She repeated his name, annoyed this time, and he looked up from the picture and handed the phone to one of the others to attend to his sister.

"I need you to tell me anything of importance about Moriarty," she emphasized. "Even if you don't think it sounds important, say it anyway. And," she saw a gleam of sarcasm flash across his face, "don't start on how I should know more about him because I've slept with him, I'm not in the mood for your crap. Just tell me about the guy. Does he have any go-to aliases or catchphrases? Is he secretly Canadian? Does he have a favorite shop?"

Sherlock was disappointed that his sister shot down his smart arse before he had a chance to spit anything out. The mention of an alias or catchphrase, however, caught his attention. He did recall quite a bit of toying around with one country's names and stories in particular.

"German," he stated shortly.

"Okay?"

Moriarty's wild eyes and psychotic smile repeating the phrase "Every fairytale needs a good old fashioned villain" echoed in his head as he visualized the book of Grimm's fairy tales on the hunt for the two missing children, a type of Hansel and Gretel. German names. Headlines in the papers heralding the hero of Reichenbach. A German word. Even "Richard Brook" translated to "Reichenbach." Suddenly, all the toying around with German names and phrases was starting to make sense. Moriarty was putting things in order to solve the Final Problem, and he was going to do it in Germany.

Sherlock snapped out of it and rattled off, "Moriarty's alias, Richard Brook, translates to Reichenbach in German, the case that made my name." He closed his mouth and breathed out through his nose before continuing. "He left a German fairytale book for me to find on the case to find some kidnapped children that were being slowly poisoned by candy wrappers."

"Hansel and Gretel," Renae affirmed so quietly he could barely hear her.

"Yes, and he left me a package with a burnt gingerbread man, like from the children's book."

So far, these two fairy tales only shared one thing in common. "You know, in the original stories, neither of those ended well. Kids today grow up with the politically correct version where everyone lives happily ever after, so they'll think that the good guys always have a happy ending." She looked up at Sherlock. "You need to get out of here."

"Not going to happen."

"Alright, fine," Renae tossed her hands in the air, "a lot of good you'll be to us dead." Shaking her head and uttering, "I give up," she approached the trained assassin with her next question.

"Mary, does Moriarty know much German?"

She looked up, as in reliving a memory and nodded her head as she acknowledged, "Yes, he's quite fluent in it as I recall. Had some inside jokes, favorite phrases, holiday locations of choice, the sorts."

"Thank you!" Renae blurted as she turned around and retreated to her phone, this time entering "famous German landmarks" into the search engine.

Sherlock had been standing with his back to the others ever since his sister had made a comment about the fairy tales not ending well. He knew that she needed more data to accurately pinpoint where Moriarty was holding Billie. John had mentioned that during one of his taunts, Moriarty had mentioned raising the girl to work for him, probably in an effort to scare them into trying harder to find him. However, that wasn't his only reasoning. Moriarty rarely said anything that did not have a double meaning. The type of location they were searching for had to be a centre for labor, and not the charitable, voluntary kind. This had to be a forced labor site. As dark and heinous as the thought was, Sherlock knew it was precisely the type of place Moriarty would lead them to.

"It's a concentration camp," Sherlock blurted, then turned his head to see everyone silently looking at him. He looked down at Renae's phone and nodded. "Search for German concentration camps."

She swallowed and typed in "list of major Nazi concentration camps" on her mobile and clicked on the first result. She silently read the ones located in Germany and their main function:

Bergen-Belsen: holding center

Buchenwald: forced labor

Dachau: forced labor

Dora-Mittelbau: forced labor

Flossenburg: forced labor

Neuengamme: forced labor

Ravensbruck: forced labor

Sachsenburg: forced labor

She read the last one over and over, inserting the letters S, S, R, B, N, E, and A and realizing that it was the only camp on the list that had all seven of those letters. She took a deep breath to keep her hand from shaking as she squeezed her mouth so the others wouldn't see it gaping open. She sighed. The answer was in her hands. Finally, after all this time, they had the information they needed to go save Billie.

"Here," she held up her phone screen to show the others, who had begun huddling around in anticipation, "it's this one." Sachsenburg. About five hours away from where they were standing.

Five hours away from the trap Moriarty had set for her brother. It would be a trick indeed to steer him away, so she decided that it would be best to cross that bridge when she got to it and possibly knock him unconscious before entering the historical site. He was an idiot for coming, but he was clever enough to figure out if she was lying to him about whether the location she pinpointed was indeed correct.

"Well, what the hell are we waiting for?" John exclaimed.

Molly bounced excitedly. "Let's go kick some kidnappers' bums!"

Mary just smirked. She couldn't wait to use her trained skills against Moriarty and whoever else was going to stand in her way. When she made the rare threat that she was going to kill someone, she wasn't messing around. She planned on making good her word.

As the first three talked and laughed in a clique in the direction of the bus station, the Holmes siblings lagged behind in tense silence. Renae was so, so angry that Sherlock had insisted on tagging along, but couldn't find any words that she hadn't already used to warned him. He was like a dumb pup who playfully bites around at your ankles and occasionally makes a mad dash into the street, and it was only a matter of time until a car would be on the road the same time he was. But he meant well, and had sworn to protect the Watsons, and her twenty years prior, and Molly sometime in between. It seemed logical to assume that having them all within throwing distance would guarantee some sort of security for him, knowing that they were all there. He really was a good brother and she loved him, stupid though he was for walking into Moriarty's trap.

"So what exactly is your plan if this turns sour?" Renae inquired after several minutes of quiet.

"I'll think of something," Sherlock attempted to assure her. "Let me guess: 'What if you don't?' The answer, of course, is that I always do. And if by some stretch he does succeed in trapping me, then I will do what is best for the majority of the group."

"And by 'majority' you mean 'not you,'" Renae interjected. When he did not respond, she blurted, "Do you have a death wish?"

He chuckled and lifted his eyebrows. "Not on a daily basis."

"Do you think Mikhail Kyznetsov will be there?"

"Oh, I count on it," he said with a dry smile and immediately let it fall back into his flat, deeply in-thought face.

She had a feeling he would be there as well. She very much looked forward to ending his pathetic excuse for a life. Although she took no pleasure in the thought of killing, she knew it was the only way to truly find rest. After twenty years of none, murder seemed a small price to pay. He and his spies had haunted her for her entire life, and she was weary of it. She liked to say to herself sometimes, "What didn't kill me should have tried harder, cuz now I'm pissed."

"Have you taken anyone's life before?" her brother broke the silence this time. "John was wondering."

"Once," she replied softly. "I had help."

Satisfied, Sherlock walked beside her for the remainder of the walk to the bus stop. Upon entering the bus, he sat beside John and Renae offered the seat by her to Molly. Mary sat in front of the two girls and made conversation. Sherlock and John sat quietly most of the way, John occasionally pointing out a particularly long German word on the street signs. He wanted to squeeze in as much casual, unforced time with John before they reached Sachsenburg. The stoic detective didn't want to think about the possibility of his sister being right; what if he wasn't able to wriggle out of this one? He had already died for John in nearly every way possible, but what staying alive truly wasn't an option anymore?

Surprisingly, it was a smooth ride all the way. No calls from a blocked number, no mysterious hooded characters handing out cryptic messages. Molly even fell asleep on Renae's shoulder at some point. It was the great calm before the storm, and everyone knew it.

The group unboarded a short walk from the present-day museum. The former four-story mill served as a constant reminder of the inhuman forced labor and gross mistreatment of anyone who opposed the Nazi regime. It was one of the first to be built, and was known for its function as a site for forced prison labor. However, the five would soon find that it held a dark secret that even decades of research had not uncovered.

As they approached the main entrance to begin their search for clues, Renae fell behind and grabbed Sherlock by the coat collar. She dragged him behind a stone memorial and waited for the others to be out of earshot.

"You are not going in there," she ordered. "You say it's 'your job' to keep us safe, or whatever. Well you've been keeping me safe for all this time, and it's about time I did something to help you. So I'm not going to just stand around and let something bad happen to you." It was hard to let all this out, as she had never really had the chance to say anything like this to him, although she thought about it often in the twenty years they had been apart. "I understand why you thought you had to come, but I'm going to protect you now, and you can't stop me."

Before Sherlock had time to answer, he heard a click and felt cold metal around his wrist. Oh no she did not. He looked down and tried to yank his hand, but she had cuffed him to the memorial.

"I was going to hit you in the head, but I decided to save all my aggression for Kyznetzov," she continued. "Plus, if one of their party discovers you out here alone, I don't want it to be while you're unconscious."

"And how do you expect me to defend myself if I'm restrained against this stupid piece of rock?" he bellowed.

"To quote you, dear brother, you'll 'think of something', I'm sure." With that, she ruffled his hair and hurried along to join the others, who had already entered the museum.

He moaned and rolled his eyes as she left. "Prat."