A/N: new chappie! enjoy!

Chapter 37: Hansel and Gretel

"How did he get past the CCTV?" John wondered as he, Sherlock and Quennel rode in a taxi toward St Bart's. "If all the doors were locked…"

"He walked in when they weren't locked," Sherlock replied, simply when John trailed off.

"A stranger can't just walk into a school like that," John insisted.

"Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment," Sherlock insisted.

"Of course!" Quennel realized looking to the men sitting in front of her, drawing John's attention but Sherlock kept his gaze out his window at the city passing by. "Yesterday was end of term! There would've been parents, chauffeurs, staff—"

"What's one more stranger among that lot?" Sherlock cut in. "He was waiting for them. All he had to do was find a place to hide."

They were silent for the rest of the ride to St Bart's, and once they pulled up, Sherlock and John climbed out, followed by Quennel, but she stopped when she felt her phone buzz. She looked to the caller ID as John paid the cabby and froze when she recognized the number. Her heart pounded in terror before she was pulled out of her trance when Sherlock called to her.

"Quennel?"

Her wide eyes shot up to see Sherlock and John standing ahead of her, halfway to the door of the hospital.

"Everything alright?" John wondered, seeing her expression, and she could tell Sherlock was trying to read her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied through a false smile, making Sherlock narrow his eyes at her. He knew she was lying. "I'll catch you up. Just have to take this call."

They both nodded and turned to head inside, but she knew Sherlock would be questioning her later on. She looked to her phone, her heart thumping even harder when she realized she missed the call, then quickly redialed as she pressed the phone to her ear, hearing the ringback tone.

"Good thing you called back," Moriarty hummed. "I was about ready to have Sebby do something very bad to your sister."

"Sherlock was standing right there when you called!" she hissed in panic and anger. "I couldn't very well answer, could I?!"

"Now, now, Miss Bird. No need to shout. Did he take the kidnapped children case?"

Quennel swallowed hard, stunned for a moment that he even knew about it, but then recalled he was probably the one that set the whole thing up…or that he was probably watching them.

"Yes, he did," she shuddered. "But you knew he would, I'm sure."

"Excellent. Be a good little birdy and text me in an hour."

"Yes," she shuddered."Sebby might visit you soon, so keep a clean house. I hear he's your cousin! Congratulations! More extended family. Just remember, Uncle Jim's favorite had always been you."

Unable to take anymore, and having her orders, she hung up, shuddering in disgust before marching toward the door and dialing another number. She swept through the door as she pressed the phone to her ear once more, urging the person she was calling to answer by the second ring. Her wish was granted.

"Good afternoon, Miss Yule," Mycroft instantly answered.

"You heard that conversation, I suspect," she began, without greeting as she made her way through the hospital, knowing where Sherlock and John were headed. "I also suspect you know where I am and why we're here. When is this going to end, Mycroft?!"

"Soon, Miss Yule," he assured her, but it didn't assure her at all. "We have your mother and sister under close watch. His threat was quite empty."

"That doesn't make it any less frightening, Mr. Holmes," she shot back as she stopped next to the door to the lab. "You've been telling me this would be 'finished soon' for some time now. My patience with being yours and Moriarty's go-between is wearing thin."

"I understand—"

"No you don't," she snapped, cutting into whatever he was about to say. "You and Sherlock thrive on this sort of game, and I'm fine with that. Hell, I'm starting to enjoy it myself. But keeping this from Sherlock is making me die a little more inside, something that someone as hollow as yourself, would not understand. I'm going to hang up now, and the next time I speak with you, it had better be because all of this is finally over and Moriarty and Moran are either in jail, or in their graves!"

Quennel hung up and took in a deep breath, trying to calm herself before she even thought of going through that door. Once she was sure she was calm, she turned to open the door, but was beaten to it when Sherlock pushed the door open, making her jump with a start and stare up at him in wide-eyed wonder.

"You were taking too long," he reported as her heart thumped in panic.

How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard?

"Sorry," she blurted, trying to calm her heart. "It was Scarlett. She was letting me know how mum's doing."

"You're lying, Quennel," he shot back, and she could hear the irritation in his tone as she met his gaze and swallowed hard. "You always tell me Scarlett or your mother has called when you don't want me to know who you're truly talking to."

Instead of denying it, she only gave a nod…and instead of pressing her, he only nodded in return.

"Now that we understand each other, follow me," he ordered, turning toward the door again.

"Are you certain you need me here for this?" she wondered, stopping him mid-stride and making him turn back to her with a frown. "You're only going to analyze those pieces of wood, yes? You'll just ignore me like you did at Baskerville."

"I wasn't ignoring you," he argued, making her return his frown. "I didn't need your help. You're not any kind of researcher or scientist, though your knowledge in forensics is useful, but I wouldn't expect you to be able to help me and keep up with me in that respect. It was your mere presence that was needed, as it is now. Like John, you tend to catch things that I may miss…occasionally."

Quennel gave a small smile as she chewed on her lower lip before giving a nod, and his frown deepened as he noticed something.

"You're about to cry. Why would you cry?" he questioned.

"Because your obliviousness makes me happy, you clot," she laughed, stepping closer to stand on her tiptoes and press a tender kiss to the corner of his lips which he reflexively returned, quickly before she lowered herself away from him.

"I…don't understand the logic behind that, if there is any," he confessed.

"There isn't," she assured him, taking one of his hands. "Come on…let's catch a kidnapper. Not a moment to lose, yes?"

Sherlock, still frowning in confusion, nodded and turned to pull her into the lab where John and Molly were waiting.

Several Hours Later...

"So, chalk, asphalt, brick dust and vegetation," Quennel murmured, reading over Sherlock's shoulder as he stood at the microscope. "He could've picked any of this up anywhere, you know?"

"It's this glycerol molecule," he replied, not taking his gaze from what he was staring at in the microscope. "If I can just figure out exactly what it is."

"Well, I don't know about you three, but I'm famished," she smiled, glancing around the room as Molly and John looked up at her. "Take away?"

"Sounds lovely," Molly smiled, shyly with a small nod.

"Chinese?" John suggested.

"Glad you said that," Quennel smiled, grabbing her scarf from one of the lab chairs along with her bag. "I took the liberty of ordering it a few moments ago. Just have to pick it up. I'll be back in two shakes."

"Miss Yule," Sherlock called, still staring into the microscope.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, I know you don't eat during a case, but the rest of us do," she shot back, guessing what he was going to say as she made her way to the door.

"I know you're aware," he retorted, making her stop and look to him with a frown. "That's not what I was about to say. Come here, if you please?"

"Well, since you said 'please'…" she smirked, stepping back toward him. She glanced at Molly when she caught the other woman staring for a moment before looking away, and she could tell Molly was a bit uncomfortable. Quennel stepped up next to Sherlock and leaned on the counter next to him, casually as she asked, "Something on your mind?"

"You were about to forget something," he muttered, making her frown in wonder, but he only answered by lifting a hand and tapping a finger to his cheek, keeping his eyes on the microscope.

Quennel glanced at John, who had turned back to examining something before glancing back at Molly. The other woman kept taking quick glances at the couple, and Quennel could tell she was uncomfortable enough, she didn't want to make it worse. Instead of kissing him on the cheek, which is what she knew he was asking for, she patted his hand where it sat on the counter, making him frown and finally look up at her in astonishment.

"I'll be back," she only replied to his unasked question before leaning in just enough to whisper, "I'll text you."

Without waiting for a response from him, she turned and made her way to the door, Sherlock staring at her the entire way until she disappeared. A second later, he received a text on his phone, which he instantly opened.

I didn't want to make Molly uncomfortable

He gave a small frown before setting his phone down without responding. He knew she wouldn't expect a response.

"IOU…" he murmured, unconsciously as he stared into the microscope again, then examined something he'd written down, sighing, "Glycerol molecule. What are you?"

He turned back to the microscope to examine his slide further, Molly beside him, working on her own examinations.

"What did you mean, 'I owe you'?" Molly asked him, breaking the silence and making Sherlock pause to see where John was in the room, following him with his eyes as Molly turned to him. "You said 'I owe you.' You were muttering it while you were working."

"Nothing," Sherlock blurted, turning back to his microscope. "Mental note."

"You're a bit like my dad," Molly began. "He's dead. No, sorry—"

"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation," Sherlock cut in. "It's not really you're area."

"When he was dying, he was always cheerful, he was lovely," she resumed. "Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad."

"Molly…" Sherlock called in warning.

"You look sad when you think they can't see you," she noted, unwilling to stop speaking her mind. He paused and glanced to John before looking to her in curiosity. "Are you ok? And don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."

"You can see me," he noted.

"I don't count," she smiled, sadly, making him straighten. "What I'm trying to say is that if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all…you can have me. No, I just mean…I mean…I know you and Quennel are…But if there's anything you need…it's fine."

Sherlock watched her look away in embarrassment before coming back to reality and asking, "What could I need from you?"

"Nothing," she shrugged, looking back at him. "I don't know. But you could probably say thank you, actually."

He frowned in thought before hesitantly replying, "…Thank you."

Molly nodded before stepping around him, explaining, "I'm just going to go get some crisps to hold us over till Quennel gets back. Do you want anything? It's ok. I know you don't."

"Well, actually, maybe I'll—"

"I know you don't."

With that, she left the room, leaving a stunned Sherlock, but he turned back to his work. John rummaged through pictures taken at St Aldate's, pausing when he came to a picture of the wax seal on the envelope with the book Sherlock had found.

"Sherlock, this envelope was in her trunk," he explained, photo in hand and making his way to his jacket on one of the chairs. "There's another one."

"What?" Sherlock demanded, looking up from his work as John rummaged through his pockets.

"On our doorstep. Found it today," John explained, making his way back to Sherlock. "Yes, and look at that. Look at that. Exactly the same seal."

Sherlock took the smaller envelope from John and stuck his fingers inside to pick out what was in it, muttering, "Bread crumbs."

"It was there when I got back," John explained.

"Little trace of breads crumbs, hardback copy of fairy tales," Sherlock began, thoughtfully. "Two children led into the forest by a wicked father follow a little trail of bread crumbs."

"That's Hansel and Gretel," John realized then wondered, "What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?"

"The sort that likes to boast," Sherlock replied, knowingly. "The sort that thinks it's all a game. He sat in out flat and he said these exact words to me: 'All fairy tales need a good old-fashioned villain.' The fifth substance. It's part of the tale." He suddenly jumped in realization. "The witch's house…the glycerol molecule. PGPR!"

"What's that?" John wondered as Sherlock grabbed his coat next to him, making his way to the door.

"It's used in making chocolate," he explained, pulling on his coat and marching toward the door, John following him.

Once outside St Bart's, Sherlock pulled his collar up, not stopping as Quennel climbed out of a cab with her hands full of food. She turned to them in wonder as they both came toward her, then she lifted the bags I her hands.

"I brought the food!" she reported, still confused as the men approached and John told the cabby to stay.

"Bring it with you," Sherlock told her, turning her around to push her back toward the cab. "We're heading for Scotland Yard."

"But what about Molly?" she frowned, climbing in after John. "She needs to eat too."

"We'll make it up to her later," Sherlock retorted, climbing in after her, telling the driver, "Scotland Yard."

"I take it you found something," she guessed as the cab rolled into traffic.

"We're looking for Hansel and Gretel," Sherlock explained. "There was a glycerol molecule in the footprint. PGPR. It's used in—"

"Chocolate," she nodded, making the two of them look to her in shock. She glanced between them in wonder before shrugging, "I wrote an article on and allegedly contaminated sweet factory."

"That will be useful," Sherlock nodded as John reached over to take one of the containers in one of the bags she held and Sherlock started typing at his cell phone.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, looking at his phone's screen.

"Homeless network," he replied, glancing at her before looking back to his phone as she leaned back again with a slight sneer, making him frown in wonder. "Problem?"

"Not as such," she shrugged, slightly. "But are you sure you can trust them?"

"Trust? No," he replied, honestly. "But they take bribes without question. I can rely on them as long as I pay them."

"Would you trust them with your life if you could pay the right price?" she wondered, making John glance between them, curiously and Sherlock looked to her, narrowing his eyes before leaning closer to her, making her frown in wonder at him.

"Are you jealous, Miss Yule?" he murmured.

"Of your homeless network?" she retorted, sitting back slightly. "Certainly not. But, it does make me wonder if you would pay half as much attention to me if I were dressed in rags and smelled to high heaven as you do your homeless network, Mr. Holmes."

"I do believe that over these past months I've shown you adequate attention, haven't I?" he smirked, making her eyes widen as she stared at him in astonishment.

"A fact that I don't need to be reminded of, thank you," John chimed in, bringing Quennel back to reality as Sherlock sat back again, paying attention to his phone. "Even having a room upstairs doesn't drown out certain sounds from the sitting room, you know?"

"Sorry, John," Quennel winced, nervously scratching at her head while Sherlock frowned and glanced between them.

"Why should you apologize for something we do in the privacy of our own flat?" Sherlock questioned, honestly.

"Because you and I aren't the only there, Sherlock," Quennel shot back. "John was there first."

"Yes, but the logic of privacy still stands," Sherlock argued.

"The sitting room is public!" John shot back, irritably. "Have your…sessions in the privacy of your own bedroom, like everyone else does!"

Sherlock frowned at John before Quennel chewed on her lower lip and leaned in to confess, "Actually…it was my idea."

"For god's sake…of course it was," John sighed in exasperation.

Scotland Yard...

"This fax arrived an hour ago," Lestrade explained, handing Sherlock a piece of paper as the four made their way to the main bullpen of the Scotland Yard office. "What have you got for us?"

"'Hurry up. They're dying!'" Quennel murmured as she read the paper over John's shoulder when Sherlock handed it to him.

"We need to find a place in the city where all five of these intersect," Sherlock told Lestrade, handing him the paper he'd written his list of findings on.

"Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation… What is this? Chocolate?" Lestrade read then questioned as they came to a stop at one of the desks.

"I think we're looking for a disused sweet factory," Sherlock explained.

"We need to narrow that down," Lestrade reported. "A sweet factory with asphalt?"

"No, no, no," Sherlock objected. "Too general. We need something more specific. Chalk. Chalky clay. That's far thinner band of geology."

Quennel watched him stare into space, knowing he was most likely staring at a map of the city in his mind's eye. However, not wanting to remain idle, she pulled out her phone to look up the article she'd told Sherlock about in the cab.

"Brick dust…" she murmured, still researching on her phone.

"Building site," Sherlock thought aloud. "Bricks from the 1950s."

"There's thousands of building site in London!" Lestrade sighed in exasperation, rubbing his face with both hands.

"I've got people out looking," Sherlock reported, coming out of his mind palace to begin pacing.

"So have I!" Lestrade retorted, defensively.

"Homeless network," Sherlock countered. "Faster than the police. And far more relaxed about taking bribes."

As if on cue, his phone started alerting that he had messages, making Quennel hurry up next to him as he opened the messages and pictures. He dismissed several until he stopped at a picture of a flower, making her give a small frown.

"Rhododendron ponticom," he explained, showing the picture to John as well, who nodded. "Matches."

"'After being declared contaminated by Health and Safety'…" Quennel suddenly began reading, drawing everyone's attention to her. "…'the sweet factory in Addlestone is nothing more than a shadow of it's former self, it's remains consisting of nothing more than bricks, chalky clay and overgrown vegetation and standing as it's own gravestone.' Bloody hell, I was a good writer, wasn't I?"

"That's where they are," Sherlock concurred as Lestrade and Donovan stood to head for the door. Sherlock was about to head after them with john when Quennel only took a seat in one of the empty chairs. "Aren't you coming?"

"You've got enough people going to search for them," she replied, pulling a box from one the bags of Chinese she'd brought with her. "I've done my part. Go be Sherlock Holmes."

He glanced at the exiting officers before quickly leaning forward and leaving a kiss on top of her head, then turning and strolling off in one swift movement, making her smile after him. Once he had disappeared, she gave a tired sigh and reached for her mobile to send a text.

He solved your little Hansel and Gretel case

She swallowed hard when she instantly received a reply.

Of course he did! But the game isn't over yet, Little Bird ;) M

She sucked on her teeth as she tossed her phone away from her in disgust…at him and herself.

A/N: reviews?