Two months later:

I was exhausted. I had tried, really. I warned him and somehow, Kitty still got ahold of Moriarty's info and published it. It was frustrating, but I let it go for now. I had barely managed to convince Mrs. Hudson not to hire someone to fix the ceiling light in the hall; informing her that I'd find someone reliable to do it and texted Mycroft for the favor. I'd also been avoiding the texts and calls from my brothers, who had someone found a small article on me in the paper after I'd walked out with Sherlock and John for the trial that first day. I simply informed them it was an extra credit project my professor set up, I was in no danger and was working with police professionals, and that my trip was nearly over with anyway, so stay off my back. For two people who couldn't even show up properly for Christmas, they sure did care when I was briefly mentioned in a two paragraph article.

Currently though, I had a bigger problem. Namely attempting to keep my mouth shut as Sherlock criminalized himself over kidnapped children and wondering what Moriarty meant when he said he'd be seeing me again. It's too much stress. I'm going through almost two packs of cigarettes a week, have to take sleeping draughts every other day. I need to stick by Sherlock and John for now. I can't change anything here except try to convince Sherlock to stay away from the kids after we find them. If he doesn't walk in there and have them panic, then Donovan won't have an excuse to arrest him. There will be no proof. Then John can lead him to Kitty and 'Jim' and everything will still be on track aside from Sherlock being blamed for the kidnapping. But that's it. That's literally it. If I do anything else, everything will be ruined. So I need to stay sharp and keep my mouth shut. I just hope things will work out. We got out of the car upon showing up at the school and Lestrade pointed out a woman in a shock blanket.

"Miss Mackenzie, house mistress." He explained. "Go easy."

Sherlock went to head for the woman, but I grabbed his sleeve.

"Don't."

He frowned at me, but I tugged him towards the door.

"The doors and windows were locked as they should have been and she didn't see anyone go into their room, including herself. No need for you to traumatize some already frantic woman."

"Who said I would traumatize her?" He argued and I raised a brow, making him sigh. "Very well."

Sherlock pushed open a door with frosted glass—making note of it, I'm sure—and began searching the children's room.

"Six grand a term, you'd expect them to keep the kids safe for you." John commented. "You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?"

Lestrade nodded. "They were the only two sleeping on this floor. Absolutely no sign of a break-in. The intruder must have been hidden inside some place."

Sherlock picked up a lacrosse stick and dropped it before moving to a trunk. He picked up the envelope with Grimm's fairy tales inside and dropped it much like he had the lacrosse stick before standing.

"Show me where the brother slept." He demanded as I went to where he was and stopped the lid from being closed.

He gave me a look, but I simply reached in and scooped up the book he'd dismissed, handing it to him.

"Hang onto it."

He frowned and walked off, leaving it with me instead of holding it himself and I rolled my eyes. Donovan stopped me though, before I could follow him.

"Who are you? You some kid he picked up?"

I bristled slightly at the word 'kid', but shrugged. "Sort of. He caught me being clever and hung on. I don't mind."

She scoffed. "He just blew you off and you don't mind?"

I glanced at her. "He didn't blow me off. It might have looked that way, but I knew him better than most people. He's focused on trying to solve this case as quickly as he can. To find those kids as quickly as he can. He can't focus on minor bits, until they prove useful. He didn't walk away from me. He told me to hang onto it for him, because he's busy."

"You're as weird as him."

"Says the woman scrubbing Anderson's floor while his wife's away." I said, harsher than I wanted to as I walked off; not bothering to look at her furious expression. "You could be just as good as him, if you stopped insulting him and actually worked for it."

We entered the room where Sherlock was standing; myself leaning against the door frame as Donovan pushed past and joined Lestrade.

"The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor. He'd recognize every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door." Sherlock rambled.

"Okay, so…"

I closed the door a bit and stood outside with my hand raised like a weapon as Sherlock continued.

"So someone approaches the door who he doesn't recognize, an intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon." He mused as I walked back in. "What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out? This little boy. This particular little boy who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?"

"He'd leave a sign?" John offered as Sherlock started to sniff.

"The bed, Sherlock." I piped in and he dove under the bed to find the linseed oil bottle.

"Get Anderson." He said sternly and Donovan hurried off; though I didn't appreciate the look she sent me.

Note to self: Be more cautious of hints with Donovan and Lestrade around. I don't want to be the one arrested for knowing too much. Anderson soon showed up with a UV lamp and the shutters to the room were closed so Sherlock could reveal the writing on the wall.

Help us.

"Linseed oil."

"Not much—"

I stomped on Anderson's foot, shutting him up.

"Thank you, Sam." Sherlock said, shining the light on the ground. "The floor."

"He made a trail for us!" John exclaimed.

"The boy was made to walk ahead of them." Sherlock mused as John caught on.

"On, what, tiptoe?"

"Indicates anxiety. A gun held to his head." Sherlock explained quickly as he followed the trail out the door and into the hall. "The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck."

The trail stopped then and Anderson spoke up.

"That's the end of it. We don't know where they went from here."

"I suggest you stop there, or I'll stomp on your foot again." I threatened boredly and he flinched as Sherlock smirked.

"We know his shoe size, his height, his gait and his walking pace. We're a step closer than we were before." Sherlock mused, allowing light into the hall and going to pry a piece of the glowing floorboard of a footprint with a chuckle.

"Having fun?" John asked, kneeling beside him.

"Starting to."

"Maybe don't do the smiling." John commented. "Kidnapped children?"

Sherlock glanced at him before looking at me. "What's the importance of the book?"

I blinked, having not expected him to call on me. "Oh, um, less the book, more of what's in it."

Sherlock frowned. "I don't like riddles."

I resisted the urge to say 'learn to' as Moriarty had a few months ago, and turned to John.

"You got one too."

"Hm? One what?" He asked.

I waved the book at him. "A package. At Baker Street this morning."

"Oh!" He said, digging into his pockets and pulling out the crumpled envelope. "I forgot."

Sherlock stood, snatching it from him and scowling as he pulled out a handful of bread crumbs. "Crumbs?"

"Think a little." I mused, looking out the window with a small frown. "You'll understand when you look at what was on the kidnapper's shoe."

Sherlock came up beside me and ruffled my hair, making me turn to him with a scowl. "Excellent." He mused, practically bouncing off to head to Bart's.

Neither of us noticed the figure who'd been listening in from the doorway of the boy's room.

Sherlock looked intensely at the chemicals in front of him as he tried to analyze where the kidnapper had been. Sam was in the back of his mind though, driving him mad as he wondered what she was up to. She had been giving away far too much too easily. She was pushing things along at a break-neck pace and he only feared she was attempting to do something that would disrupt Moriarty's plan. He had already informed John to keep an eye on her, not taking a chance of Moriarty grabbing her should she wander from his side. He had vowed to keep her safe from him after she'd been taken, and he wouldn't let his promise falter now. Problem was, he didn't know her next move. Shocking, for the Sherlock Holmes to not be able to predict something as simple as a college student's schedule, but in this case she knew more than he did. She knew everything that was going to happen and how to prepare for it while he was stuck trailing just a step behind. And that was dangerous, for the both of them. That's the kind of man Moriarty was. Dangerous.

"I… owe… you." He muttered as he looked over the final sample on the computer. "Glycerol molecule. What are you?"

He turned back to his microscope, as if that would give him the answer, before Molly beside him spoke up; reminding him of her presence.

"What did you mean, 'I owe you'?"

"Nothing. Mental note." He said bluntly, and Molly turned to him.

"You're a bit like my dad. He's dead." She closed her eyes at what she'd blurted out. "No, sorry."

"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation." Sherlock said, ready to tack on something more, only to pause as he remembered the warning Sam gave him back during Christmas. "I… I'm trying to concentrate."

Molly looked a little glad that he hadn't prodded fun at her, for whatever reason, but continued with what she had been trying to say. "When he was… dying, he was always cheerful. He was lovely, except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad."

"Molly." Sherlock grumbled, keeping the bite from his tone.

"You look sad…" She finished, looking towards John and Sam who were across the room skimming papers. "…when you think they can't see you."

Sherlock finally turned to Molly as she questioned him.

"Are you okay?"

He went to answer, but she cut him off before he could.

"And don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."

"But you can see me." Sherlock argued, trying to figure out the meek woman in front of him, who he'd passed off as nothing for so long.

"I don't count." She said with a bitter smile. "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." She flinched away in embarrassment. "No, I just mean… I mean, if there's anything you need…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "It's fine."

Sherlock wasn't sure what to do, wishing that Sam had given him a hint for this problem. "W-W-What could I need from you?"

"Nothing." She said, before shrugging. "I don't know. You could probably say thank you, actually."

"…Thank you." Sherlock said, a bit confused as to why she wanted him to thank her, and she walked past him.

"I'm just going to get some crisps. Do you want anything?" She again cut him off before he could respond. "It's okay. I know you don't."

"Well, actually, maybe I'll—" He attempted, but she pressed on.

"I know you don't."

"Molly?" Sam called out, making the woman pause. "Are you going out?"

She hesitantly nodded. "For some crisps, yeah. Do you want anything?"

"A soda? A-And another pack of cigarettes, if you could. I'll pay!"

Molly smiled, shaking her head. "It's fine. I got it."

She hurried out then and Sherlock watched her go, before Sam sighed and turned to Sherlock.

"You really should give her more credit. She'll save your life one day."

Sherlock glanced at Sam, before almost shamefully turning away, just as she said something.

"Chocolate."

He frowned. "What?"

"It's a sugar molecule." She said, making Sherlock's eyes widen. "The book, the bread crumbs—"

"Hansel and Gretel." Sherlock breathed out as John headed over, getting wind of the excitement.

"What's that?" John asked.

"Two children led into the forest by a wicked father, follow a little trail of breadcrumbs."

"That's 'Hansel and Gretel'. What sort of kidnapped leaves clues?" John questioned.

"The sort that likes to boast. The sort that thinks it's all a game. He sat in our flat and he said these exact words to me." Sherlock said rapid-fire. "All fairytales need a good old-fashioned villain. The fifth substance. It's part of the tale. The witch's house."

"What?"

Sam sighed. "It's chocolate, or part of it. We're looking for an old brick chocolate making factory."

"Hurry, we've got to get to the Yard." Sherlock said and they soon showed up with their lead as Lestrade handed them a paper.

"This fax just arrived."

Hurry up their dying!

"What have you got for us?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock quickly passed him the list of molecules he'd found.

"Need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect."

"Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation… What the hell is this? Chocolate?"

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

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

"No. No, no, no. Too general." Sherlock urged, speaking quickly. "Need something more specific. Chalk. Chalky clay. That's a far thinner band of geology."

"Bricks, Sherlock." Sam piped in and he nodded.

"Building site. Bricks from the 1950s."

"There's thousands of building sites in London." Lestrade groaned.

"I've got people out looking." Sherlock replied curtly.

"So have I."

"Homeless network. Faster than the police." Sherlock smirked as Sam slapped his arm.

"Stop playing who's got better people and figure this out. Remember the specific vegetation."

Sherlock hummed, just as his phone went off and he began searching through the pictures, showing one to John and her.

"Rhododendron ponticum. It matches. Addlestone."

"What?" Lestrade blurted out.

"There's a mile of disused factories between the river and the park. It matches everything." Sherlock said, grabbing Sam's hand and rushing out with Lestrade on their heels.

They were quick to reach the factory and Donovan began having them spread out and search, but Sherlock paused as he spotted wrappers on the ground beside a candle.

"This was alight moments ago." He said, calling out. "They're still here!"

Sam passed him a wrapper and Sherlock took it, looking it over.

"Sweet wrappers. What's he been feeding you? Hansel and Gretel." He licked the wrapper and grimaced. "Mercury."

"What?" Lestrade questioned in shock.

"The papers. They're painted with mercury." Sherlock replied as John groaned. "Lethal. The more of the stuff they ate…"

"It was killing them."

"But it's not enough to kill them on its own. Taken in large enough quantities, eventually it would kill them." Sherlock said, frowning. "He didn't need to be there for the execution. Murder by remote control. He could be a thousand miles away. The hungrier they got, the more they ate… the faster they died."

"Sherlock." Sam interjected. "You're missing it."

He made a face. "Missing what?"

"It would have taken more than just this to kill them. Moriarty didn't care whether they died or not. This is bigger than them. It's a game for you, remember? He took them to do something with you. It's all part of a bigger plan and you need to be careful."

Sherlock watched her, seeing the seriousness in her eyes and not liking it one bit. "What's going on, Sam? There's something you haven't been telling me. What are you up to?"

"Just do me a favor. Promise me you'll do this."

"Do what?"

"Promise me, Sherlock." Sam said sharply, glancing at John. "And you make sure he holds to it."

John nodded and Sherlock even bowed his head.

"I promise."

"Don't see those kids."

Now he was confused. "What?"

"Exactly that. Don't interrogate them, don't let them see you. Stay away from them."

"What for?" John asked, but Sam shook her head.

"I can't say, but if you do that, then it will disrupt part of Moriarty's plan. Just know that it will help you and do as I said, because it is the only thing I can change in this mess. So do that for me."

"Over here!" Donovan called out and the group stood, hurrying over as she found the kids.

Sherlock was hesitant, but begrudgingly agreed and did as Sam had instructed. Lestrade was a bit confused about why he didn't want to interview the kids, but he was quick to make up some dribble about Sam teaching him to be better and leaving the traumatized kids alone. The kids haven't spoken anyway, so there wasn't much that Sherlock hoped to gain from them. The group headed out to returned to Baker Street, but Donovan stopped him.

"Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It's really amazing."

"Thank you." Sherlock replied automatically.

"I'd say it's unbelievable, but that kid—Sam—how did she know to look under the bed?"

Sherlock paused. "She caught light glinting off the bottle." He lied.

"She handed you that book too. Grimm's fairytales."

"She thought it was important. Didn't match with the kids' things."

"Huh." Donovan muttered, eyeing him as he left.

You're getting careless, Sam. You can't rush things. Sherlock mused as John hailed a cab only for him to steal it. He needed silent space to think. About Moriarty and about Sam.

Hello. Are you ready for the story? This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot and his tagalong friend. Sir Boast-a-lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table, but soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he'd slain and soon they began to wonder, 'Are Sir Boast-a-lot's stories even true?'. Oh no. But Sir Boast-a-lot's tagalong friend knew this would happen. She knew and made plans to change things, to protect him. So one of the knights went to King Arthur and said 'I don't believe Sir Boast-a-lot's stories. He's just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good. But it's his tagalong friend who's doing the impossible. How did she know so much? She's not even all that clever, but she knew exactly what to do.' And then, even the King began to wonder…