A/N: new chappie! enjoy!

Chapter 36: Kidnapped Children

"'What next for the Reichenbach Hero?'" Quennel smiled as she read aloud one of the headlines of the newspapers scattered over Sherlock's bed as she lay under the covers, then resumed reading, "'Silence has followed the last high-profile case of boffin Sherlock Holmes. Since the trial of The Crown vs Moriarty, also called The Trial of the Century, Holmes has been strangely quiet, considering his antics in the courtroom that day. However, our Reichenbach Hero is not far from the public's mind as he is still seen roaming the streets of London with his assistant, bachelor Doctor John Watson and Reichenbach Heroine, Miss Quennel Yule.' Well, at least they've mentioned my name this time instead of calling me a mystery woman."

She flopped the paper down on her lap with a smirk to watch Sherlock approaching the bed from his closet, buttoning his shirt as he muttered, "Must you read every column I'm mentioned in?"

"You know I must," she shot back, lifting the paper again to glance over the caricature of Sherlock holding the Earth in one hand as she added, "It's also a professional interest for me. I like to read other journalists columns."

She set that paper aside as Sherlock shoved other papers over to sit next to her as she made a face at the article she'd picked up.

"Then there's this ridiculous one that Kitty Riley's written up in The Sun," she muttered, glancing at the bottom of the front page of said paper.

"That woman didn't learn anything from meeting me two months ago," Sherlock sighed, turning to flop back, his head landing in her lap as she kept her gaze on the paper, reading silently while one of her hands lowered to start running her fingers through his curls.

"Who the hell is Richard Brook, anyway?" she snapped, irritably. "She's claiming he's a friend of yours. She's obviously made that up."

"What did you say?" Sherlock questioned, suddenly sitting up to look at her as she frowned at him in wonder. "That name…say it again."

"What?" she frowned in wonder. "Richard Brook? Do you know him?"

"No," he muttered, distractedly and she could tell by the far-away look in his eyes that the wheels in his head were turning. "But…there's something…"

Quennel watched him thinking for a moment before setting the papers aside and climbing off the bed, changing from her usual nightwear and into something she could be seen in around John and anyone that decided to stop by unannounced…such as Mycroft or Lestrade.

"I'm going to make some tea," she announced as he still sat where he was in deep thought. "You come out when you're ready."

She wrapped herself in the burgundy dressing gown of his before stepping toward him and kissing him on the cheek then headed for the kitchen. She didn't expect a response when he was deep in thought like this.

Obviously something had clicked in his brain with the name Richard Brook, and now he was lost in his Mind Palace searching for its relevance.

She set the kettle to boil before making her way toward the window to draw the curtains when her mobile rang from the kitchen table. She hurried toward it, expecting a call to be returned, and quickly answered.

"Calvin, darling," she smiled, sitting at the chair in front of Sherlock's microscope and glancing at the hall where he remained in his bedroom. "Did you get those pictures I sent you?"

"I did," a New Yorker's accent replied.

"I was right, wasn't I?" she guessed by his tone. "Bad people, yes?"

"Very bad, Quennel," he confirmed. "You've got Sulejmani…Albanian hit squad. Ludmila Dyachenko, who's a Russian killer and two more top international assassins, whose names a refuse to speak aloud. Bad luck, ya know? Where the hell are you? Scratch that. I don't care. Just get the hell outta there!"

"I can't, Cal," she replied. "It's…complicated."

"When ain't it complicated with you, kid?" Calvin retorted, before guessing, "This has to do with that Holmes guy, doesn't it? He's been all over the news over here. He really as good as all that?"

"And more," she smiled, contentedly for a moment then returned to reality. "Thanks for the information, Calvin. I owe you…again."

"I'll call in that favor one day, don't you forget it," Calvin replied. "And seriously, stay safe."

"I will," she assured him before saying goodbye and hanging up.

As she went about making tea for herself and Sherlock, she let her mind wander on everything that had gone on since meeting him. Something about her today was feeling nostalgic, but instead of fighting it, as she sometimes did, this time she embraced it. She thought of the day she came to Sherlock for help, and everything that had happened since that day as she sat at the kitchen table with her tea, setting Sherlock's in front of the chair nearest her.

Lost a friend, lost my job, lost my flat, been kidnapped and tortured, which led to PTSD and watched my stepdad and brother murdered in front of my eyes before meeting the most dangerous men in all of England, she listed, silently to herself, but couldn't help but smile as she recalled all the good things that had come of meeting him. Got a new flat in the building right next to the man I love, got a new job working with him, and best of all…fell in love.

"Not all bad, then," she smiled, taking a sip of her tea.

"Lestrade is on his way with a case," Sherlock reported to her as he came from the hall, pulling on his suit jacket as she looked up at him. He stopped next to her and gave her a once over before adding, "You may want to change into something a bit more presentable."

"Well, I certainly didn't expect you to have a case first thing in the morning when I chose to walk 'round in my jim-jams," she shot back, watching him bustle about his flat.

"As much as I find your sarcasm charming, I'd rather I be the only one to see you in a state of dishevelment, Miss Yule," he shot back.

"Believe it or not, that is actually a very romantic thing to say, Mr. Holmes," she smirked, standing to head into the hall with her tea to go change.

Sherlock still bustled until she shut the door, then stopped and pulled his mobile from his pocket to begin dial a number.

"Sherlock," Mycroft greeted, curtly.

"Did you speak with John?" Sherlock replied without pretext.

"He just left."

"Will you be speaking with Miss Yule?"

"There is no reason to."

Sherlock's gaze narrowed as he stared ahead before demanding, "What aren't you telling me, Mycroft?"

"Patience, Brother Mine. Patience."

"Is this acceptable to you, Sherlock?" Quennel suddenly called from the hall as she came from his bedroom wearing a cozy red jumper and dark blue skinny jeans.

Sherlock hung up on Mycroft as he turned toward Quennel who brought her tea with her to sit in his chair and sip at it.

"Quite acceptable, yes," he nodded in approval before staring at her as she still sat. "Must you always sit in my chair?"

"Yes," she replied with a coy smile over the brim of her teacup. He raised a brow at her in question, to which she replied, "Think of it as my primal urge to claim what's mine. Sitting in your chair shows any other woman that, as your girlfriend, I have the honor of doing so."

"You're right," Sherlock blurted, making her frown before she rolled her eyes when he added, "That is primal."

"At least I didn't mention sentiment," she smirked as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Yes, thank you for that consideration," he retorted, bringing his cup of tea from the kitchen to set it down by his lap top as she chuckled while taking a sip of her tea, nearly spilling it.

"You're quite welcome, you prick," she laughed, making him frown at her in wonder, but he had no time to question her to clear up his confusion.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs caught their attention, making them both look to the door to see Lestrade hurrying in with Donovan right behind him. Quennel couldn't help but sneer at the sight of Donovan. The women had tried successfully up to now to avoid each other, nether one caring for the other and both of them knowing it.

"File," Sherlock demanded, holding a hand out toward Donovan.

She looked at him incredulously, as if he'd asked her to do some unspeakable act, though Quennel was sure, after sleeping with Anderson, nothing would be unspeakable to her now. Quennel still cringed at the thought of them, but somehow managed to keep herself from gagging as she stood and marched toward Donovan. She pulled the file from Donovan's hand, catching her off guard and making her glare at Quennel, who only stepped toward Sherlock and placed it in his outstretched hand.

"Thank you, Miss Yule," Sherlock replied, instantly looking it over.

"You've certainly made yourself at home here," Donovan noted to Quennel as she sat in Sherlock's chair again with more purpose, which didn't go unnoticed by Sherlock as he glanced through the file. "You sure you want to be so close to this—?"

"Say 'freak' and I'll kick your bloody horse teeth in, Donovan," Quennel snapped, making Donovan glare at her and open her mouth to reply.

"Alright, ladies, let's keep clear of any arresting offences on both sides, yeah?" Lestrade intervened, stepping between the girls but out of the line of fire of the women glaring at each other.

Sherlock only smirked proudly as he kept his focus more on the file than on his surroundings, until everyone caught the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Sherlock, there's something weird…" John called, but cut himself off as he stepped through the threshold, seeing Lestrade and Donovan in their flat. "What's going on?"

"Kidnapping," Sherlock replied, handing the file back to Lestrade and stepping toward his laptop.

"Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the U.S.," Lestrade began, handing some of the papers in the file to Donovan.

"He's in Washington, isn't he?" John recalled with frown between them.

"Not him, his children," Lestrade explained. "Max and Claudette, aged seven and nine. They're at St Aldate's."

"Posh boarding place down in Surrey," Donovan added, showing John some pictures of the kids.

"School broke up, all the other boarders went home," Lestrade resumed. "Just a few kids remained, including those two."

"The kids have vanished," Donovan reported.

"The ambassador's asked for you personally," Lestrade reported to Sherlock, who stood from the laptop to step toward the coat rack where his coat was.

"The Reichenbach Hero," Donovan called, sarcastically as he passed by her.

Quennel glared at Donovan as she stood and marched past her as well, slipping on some dark tan Uggs sitting by the doorway, grabbing her purse from the hook where Sherlock's coat would normally hang then followed him out the door.

"Isn't it great to be working with a celebrity?" Lestrade smirked as he followed Quennel out of the flat, John politely entreating Donovan to head out before him as he followed her.

"Here," Sherlock blurted, handing Quennel something white, making her frown in wonder at it before she took it as they still made their way down the stairs.

"Is this…?" she trailed off as she examined the thing in her hand, "…my scarf?"

"Yes," he nodded, pulling on his own scarf as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "I thought it best that you have something hanging there to keep you warm when we go out."

Quennel smiled as she wrapped her scarf around her neck, then lifted on of the ends to her face to inhale before grinning at him, "It smells like you now. Was it hanging under your coat?"

"Yes," he frowned. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," she still smiled as the other three came down the stairs.

"Alright, lovebirds, let's get a move on," Lestrade urged, stepping between them to head toward the door.

Quennel and Donovan stared each other down as Donovan passed, but John stopped between the couple.

"Quennel, you gonna be able to deal with Sally?" John wondered.

"Oh, you don't worry about me," she retorted, turning to the door to head out, adding, "You'll have to worry about her."

The two men watched her march out the door before John looked to his friend.

"Sherlock…"

"Yes, John, I know," Sherlock sighed before heading after Quennel as John only gave a chuckle on the way out. He noted Lestrade holding the back door to his car open for Quennel to climb in as Donovan climbed into the front passenger seat. Without a word, Sherlock grabbed Quennel's wrist before she could think to get into the car and she shouted in surprise as he dragged her away from the car, telling John, "Go with them."

"Ey?" Lestrade frowned, watching Sherlock pull Quennel along to stand on the curb with her. "How are you gettin' there?"

"We'll take a taxi," Sherlock replied, lifting an arm to hail one over, still holding onto Quennel's hand as she frowned around at the group in wonder. "We'll be right behind you."

"Hang on—!"

"Let's just go, Greg," John insisted, climbing into the back seat of the car. "You know how he gets. He'll meet us there."

Lestrade sighed and rolled his eyes before getting into his car as a taxi pulled up for Sherlock and Quennel. Sherlock quickly pulled the door open for the taxi and nearly shoved Quennel inside ahead of him before climbing in himself. She landed in the back seat with a startled shout as he sat next to her, closing the door.

"Where to, then?" the cabby asked as Quennel stared at Sherlock incredulously.

"St Aldate's boarding school," Sherlock replied. "Just follow that silver car."

"Why did you do that?" Quennel wondered as the cab pulled into traffic. "I told you I was fine."

"And you were lying," he retorted. "I couldn't have you upset before we get to the crime scene. I need you in your best frame of mind if you are going to help me. Besides, your anger is wasted on Donovan. I make it a rule never to waste my rage on idiots, you should follow suit."

Quennel chuckled, unable to help herself before she sighed, "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm not like that. I hear her insult you and I just want to wring her neck."

"As Lestrade pointed out, let's steer clear of arresting offenses," he reiterated, then smirked, "I would be lost without my Reichenbach Heroine."

"Oh, yes, because I'm the one that keeps you afloat, yes? Not John?" she shot back with a smirk.

"You could say that, I suppose. All jesting aside, I do hate seeing you upset by Donovan, so we'll stay as far away from her as we can."

"Sherlock, you don't have to—"

"I know," he cut in.

She frowned at him in wonder as he only turned his gaze toward the window, but she soon smiled when he lifted his arm without a word, expecting what she wanted to do next. As he had guessed she would do, she leaned toward him and nestled herself against his side, under his arm and rested her head on his shoulder.

"You're getting better at this," she smiled, contentedly.

"At what, exactly?" he wondered with a frown.

"Extending the intimacy," she replied, snuggling against him a little more.

"Well, I learned from the best," he smirked, making her give a giggle, leaving them in a comfortable silence for the rest of the drive.

St Aldate's...

Sherlock climbed out of the cab when it came to a stop, leaving Quennel to pay the cabby before climbing out herself. Sherlock strode toward Lestrade as he, Donovan and John climbed out of his car, Quennel and John falling in behind Sherlock and Lestrade, ignoring wherever Donovan went.

"Miss MacKenzie, house mistress," Lestrade explained to Sherlock as they made their way toward a crying woman leaning on a police car wrapped in a shock blanket, then he warned, "Go easy."

Quennel rushed up to stand with Sherlock as he approached Miss MacKenzie.

"Miss MacKenzie, hello," Quennel smiled, softly, before Sherlock could speak…but that didn't last long.

"You're in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night!" Sherlock snapped, his tone rising as he yanked the blanket from her shoulders, yelling, "What are you, an idiot, a drink or a criminal?! Now, quickly, tell me!"

"Sherlock—!"

"All the doors and windows were properly bolted!" Miss MacKenzie replied in a panicked Irish accent as he kept his gaze on her. "No one, not even me, went into their room last night. You have to believe me!"

"I do, I just wanted you to speak quickly," Sherlock smiled, coldly as he patted her arm, handing the blanket back to Quennel as he turned toward the house, calling, "Miss MacKenzie will need to breathe into a bag now. Miss Yule, you can give her the blanket back as well, but hurry after me quickly."

Miss MacKenzie began sobbing again as Quennel replaced the blanket over her shoulders, apologizing for Sherlock's behavior before racing after him, John looking on incredulously before hurrying after the couple himself.

"I'd ask what the bloody hell that was, but part of me is not surprised," she growled at Sherlock, hurrying up next to him. "You frightened that poor woman!"

"I said I needed her to speak quickly," he reiterated, making his way up the steps to the front door. "Do you not listen any more, Miss Yule?"

"I ignore your version of logic, Mr. Holmes," she shot back. "There are other ways to get quick answers out of people. I'm a reporter, remember? You should take advantage of that. You told me yourself I was useful, if I recall correctly."

"You are always useful, Miss Yule, and I do take advantage of that usefulness, when it suits me," he replied as they came to the door of one of the children. "At the moment, your presence alone is useful to me."

He lifted his hand to press his fingertips to the frosted window of the door, pushing it forward to step into the room, Quennel right behind him with John, Lestrade and Donovan trailing behind the pair. She remained quiet as he searched around the girl's room, his eyes sharp and catching every detail of the room as he did.

"Six grand a term, you'd expect them to keep the kids safe for you," John blurted as Sherlock opened a cabinet then looked under the bed. "So the other kids had all left on their holidays?"

"They were the only two sleeping on this floor," Lestrade reported as Sherlock lifted a lacrosse stick to swing it, testing the balance out of curiosity, she supposed, before dropping it and moving on. "Absolutely no sign of a break-in. The intruder must have been hidden someplace."

Quennel followed Sherlock to the toy chest where he knelt down to open it and rummage through it. She stepped next to him as he seemed to hesitate when he found something. It was a book wrapped in an envelope that had a wax seal, which was broken. She watched him run his fingers deftly over the seal, unable to keep from recalling how he'd touched her in that exact same way the night before. She was snapped back to reality when she noted the title of the book when he slid it from the envelope.

"Grimm's Fairy Tales?" she read aloud.

"So it would seem," he retorted, distractedly, then asked, "Isn't it something children normally have in their book collection?"

"Yes, but not usually wrapped in an envelope with a seal on it," she replied, and he gave a thoughtful hum before lifting the book and flipping through the pages to examine it, then slapped it shut and set it down in the chest again.

"Show me where the brother slept," he called to Lestrade as he stood, swiftly and followed the DI out of the room.

Lestrade pointed toward the end of the hall where the boy's room was, letting Sherlock stride by him with John and Quennel right after him. He stepped into the room, opening the door the same way he had the other, his eyes darting around the room before he stood between the two beds inside, facing the door.

"Boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor," Sherlock deduced, pointing to the bed on his left.

"He'd recognize every silhouette of everyone that came to the door," Quennel voice as she and the others stepped in.

"Ok, so?" Lestrade shrugged.

"So, if someone approaches the door who he doesn't recognize," Sherlock resumed, heading toward the door. "An intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon…"

He trailed off as he stepped on the other side of the door, lifting his hand in the shape of a gun to demonstrate before stepping back into the room, his wheels turning in thought.

"What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room?" he wondered, starting to pace the room. "How would he use them if not to cry out? This little boy, this particular little boy, who reads all those spy books. What would he do?"

Sherlock stepped around the boy's bed to kneel in front of the bookcase, his eyes darting around at everything that caught his gaze.

"Leave a sign?" John guessed.

The group frowned in wonder when Sherlock suddenly began sniffing loudly, standing on looking around, trying to find the source of the smell. He looked to his right, finding a cricket bat leaning against the wall and lifted it to inhale the scent of the wood. He knelt down again, setting the bat down to look around the floor. Finding something, he lifted it as Quennel stepped closer in curiosity to see him holding an empty bottle of linseed oil.

"Get Anderson," Sherlock ordered.

Soon he had the room and hall darkened as Anderson arrived in his forensic coveralls and UV wands. Sherlock took one of them to scan it over the wall above the nightstand next to his bed. In linseed oil, the boy had written two words, hoping someone as clever as he was would find it…Help us.

"He used the oil," Quennel breathed in awe as Sherlock moved the wand over the words.

"Not much use," Anderson chimed in, making her roll her eyes. "Doesn't lead us to the kidnappers."

"Brilliant, Anderson," Sherlock blurted, making her frown as he moved the wand to the floor.

"Really?"

"Yes, brilliant impression of an idiot," Sherlock added, making Quennel giggle, which caused glares from Anderson and Donovan her way, but John and Lestrade only shook their heads. Sherlock interrupted her silent scolding when he drew their attention, calling, "The floor."

"He made a trail for us," John noted, all seeing the scattered blotches of linseed oil where the kidnapper and children had stepped.

"The boy was made to walk ahead of them," Sherlock reported.

"On, what, tiptoe?" John guessed.

"Indicates anxiety."

"He had to have been scared to death," Quennel murmured.

"Gun held to his head," Sherlock resumed, shuffling out of the door and leading the way as he examined the trail of linseed oil. "The girl is pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck."

They followed the trail until it faded, causing Anderson to blurt out, "That's the end of it. We don't know where they went from here. Tells us nothing after all."

"You're right, Anderson. Nothing," Sherlock retorted, making Quennel frown incredulously before she smirked as he added, "Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace."

Sherlock turned to tear down the covering over the window right next to him as Anderson glared at him but shuffled away. Lestrade and Donovan made their way back to the rooms to collect evidence, along with Anderson as Sherlock handed the UV wand to Quennel before kneeling down where he'd seen one of the footprints. He gestured that Quennel hold the wand over it as he pulled out his small toolkit from his coat pocket with a chuckle, John stepping up on the other side of him to bend down and speak to him.

"Having fun, are we?" Quennel wondered at Sherlock as he took a scalpel from his kit.

"Starting to," he replied, lifting the cup he'd had with him to begin scraping up samples from the floor.

"Maybe don't do the smiling," John advised, making Sherlock frown at him in wonder before he added, "Kidnapped children."

Quennel knelt down next to Sherlock as he turned back to gathering his sample, and John stood to look around on his own. She watched John step away for a moment before whispering to Sherlock, "Much as I have to agree with John…this is rather fun."

Sherlock turned his gaze to her in slight surprise before grinning and leaning closer to her to whisper, "That's my girl."

A/N: reviews?