(Warning: If you don't want a certain Disney movie ruined, pass this one by!)
Watson had always hated visiting the morgue at New Scotland Yard, but the sight awaiting him this morning made the cellar's usual chill seem ten times worse.
"Poor little things..." A brother and sister, both about the right age for Holmes's band of Irregulars – although the children's clothing underneath all that soot spoke of an upper middle-class family. Watson almost felt glad that his friend wasn't... wasn't here to see this.
Lestrade grunted his agreement, the look in his eye boding extremely ill for somebody. "We've got the nanny upstairs in the cells, sobbing her heart out." The Inspector removed his hat with a sigh and rubbed his temples wearily, shoulders sagging. "I don't know, you'd think a grown woman would know better, wouldn't you? Telling a couple of wide-eyed brats that chimney sweeps are lucky... though I suppose that's no worse than stories about bloody Father Christmas," he muttered sourly.
The doctor felt his mouth go dry. "...you mean...?"
"We might never have found them if the maid hadn't noticed the sooty footprints on the dining room fireback." Lestrade shook his head. "Some of those old houses, the flues can stretch for miles."
Dear God... Watson blinked hard, clearing his throat. "Have you told their parents?"
"The mother's not come home yet, but we've sent a runner to the bank..."