Michigan University, 2009

Walter Holmes sat up straight in his chair, straightening his tie once again. He glanced at the clock, nervously watching as four thirty in the afternoon approached. His eyes flickered from the floor of his office to the bookshelves arranged against the far wall, and back to the desk he sat behind. Everything seemed to be in order. He reached out, straightening the already straight lamp on top of his desk, giving himself something to do for a couple of seconds. Dissatisfied with this new straightening, Walter put the lamp back into its original position.

Normally, he was an extraordinarily calm and logical person, almost to a fault, but today was an excuse for near panic. The board from the university where Walter worked as head scientist was coming out for a tour of the facilities in order to judge whether or not to continue the program that Walter and his colleague had begun almost three years ago. Walter straightened his tie once again, pulling on it sharply. Ties were such nuisances! Now he understood why he never wore one when he worked. They made him feel as though he was suffocating.

"I want to take this off," he muttered aloud. A voice in the back of his head firmly reminded him though, that image is everything, so he left the tie on and adjusted his suit once more.

Just as the clock on his bookshelf displayed that it was indeed four thirty, there was a knock on Walter's door. He cleared his throat and called, "Enter!"

His secretary, Melissa Peretric, entered, saying, "The board members are here, Walter."

Walter nodded. "Send them in," he said, wiping his forehead one more time before his guests arrived.

His secretary nodded and disappeared. Soon, three men were filing in through the door, their attitudes and their outfits indicating that they were of some importance. All dressed in suits, they looked much more comfortable than Walter felt. He stood immediately, smiling widely. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," Walter said, walking around his desk to shake each of their hands in turn.

Peter Grand, Benjamin Abrey, and Elijah Morris shook Walter's hand as he greeted each one, discreetly rubbing their hand over their pant leg after they had shook his hand without realizing that they had done so. They each responded to Walter Holmes greeting with tolerance, but when Peter Grand spoke up, it was evident that they had not come for a pleasant visit. "We've come to see about your science program," he said crisply.

Walter smiled. "I guessed as much," he said nervously. "We've come a long way in our DNA research. Would you care to come down to the lab so that I might give you a tour?" When the board members seemed about to protest, Walter added, "It might give you a more comprehensive feel for what we're doing, and how we're spending your money."

This statement surprised the members, but Benjamin Abrey nodded slightly. "By all means, Dr. Holmes," he said. "Lead the way."

Walter nodded back and hurried out of his office, calling, "This way, gentlemen." He led them through the maze of offices on the campus, all the while keeping up a running commentary. "We're in the process of expanding the lab, seeing as how the forensics class is now using up half of our lab space for their human anatomy." He pressed the Down button for the elevator and stepped back so that he could once again see the men he needed to impress. "We hope to create a room just for the forensics class to operate in so that we might have the lab space to ourselves."

The elevator arrived and the quartet stepped inside to transcend down to the floor below. Once there, they made a sharp left and saw the plain door marked LAB. Walter was just about to open the door when everyone heard the most awful sound of metal against flesh.

Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! The sickening crunches made the fastidious board members draw back, disgusted. Walter peered through the window in the door, placed there for observing the students at their work, and gasped at what he saw. Pulling open the door with lightning speed, he raced into the lab and cried, "What are you doing?!"

The person he was addressing was a petite girl about five foot six with reddish hair and brilliant green eyes. At the sound of his outraged voice, she whirled around, the crowbar she had been using dropping from her hands. Her eyes grew wider and she exclaimed, "Dad!"

Walter took great strides to where his daughter, Sydney Holmes, stood and picked up the crowbar, which now had traces of skin on it. He looked from his guilty-looking daughter to the now dismantled body before him and asked in an almost deadly tone, "What are you doing?"

The board members had drifted in, now that the horrid sounds had stopped, and were standing in the doorway, watching the interesting exchange. Sydney glanced from the board members, to the body, and back to her father, biting her lip. "I asked if it was alright!" she blurted out. "They told me that they had finished with the body, and that I could do whatever I wanted to it!"

Walter glared at his daughter. "So you decided to dismantle it, today of all days?"

Sydney glanced back at the board members and then rushed towards them. "I'm very sorry," she blurted out. "I completely forgot that today was the day you were coming. I don't do this on a regular basis, and I chose a very impractical time to start working on my research. Please don't fault my father for this."

"Research?" Benjamin asked curiously. "What kind of research are you doing?" The question was condescending, and Sydney's sharp eyes narrowed for a moment as she glanced over the man who stood before her.

"I was researching the length of time bruises could form post mortis," she explained, using the scientific term for "death" in order to prove to the man challenging her that she knew what she was talking about. "My great-grandfather did the same experiment, but he never recorded any of his results, and I wanted to know." She smiled, reverting back to her sixteen-year-old characteristics. "I'm a very curious person," she explained. She bit her lip as she glanced at her father, whose face had turned quite red, and was very drawn. Yes, she was dead when she arrived home. "I suppose I picked a rather bad day to begin my experiments."

Elijah Morris spoke for the first time. "That'll never work," he informed her. "But who was your great-grandfather?" he asked, changing the subject. "Was he a scientist?"

Sydney shook her head, her eyes shining with glee. "He was a great detective." She smirked. "Perhaps you've heard of him? His name was Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock Holmes was a story!" Benjamin scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Sydney nodded her head. "Yet here I am," she pointed out. "He wasn't just a story. He was one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's greatest, and most secret friends. He would solve a mystery, and then he would visit Sir Arthur, and Sir Arthur would write down exactly everything that happened." Sydney crossed her arms over her chest. "It's true."

Elijah Morris chimed in. "But Sherlock Holmes never married!"

Sydney rolled her eyes. "Of course he did. He married my great-grandmother, Irene. She was the only woman to ever outwit him."

"Irene Adler?!" Peter cried, shocked.

Sydney nodded. "He married her after her husband died." Seeing the men's disbelieving expressions, Sydney said, "Look, if you don't believe me, look it up. They have a marriage license and everything." She grinned, her eyes taking on a mischievous twinkle. "In the meantime though, Mr. Abrey, you should take care to cover up those red lipstick smudges under your collar better. Other people might notice that you are having an affair."

Benjamin started, and then bristled, and Walter grabbed his daughter by the elbow. "That's quite enough, Sydney," he said sternly. "Come, we're going." He pulled her with him out of the lab and turned at the doorway to address the shocked board members, one of which was furiously adjusting his collar. "I'm terribly sorry gentlemen, but this interview will have to take place at another time."

With that, he literally dragged Sydney out into the parking lot of the university, stuffing her into the passenger seat of the car and slipping into the driver's seat himself. With a roar, the engine came to life, and Walter pulled out of his parking spot with an uncharacteristic squeal of tires. Sydney, realizing that it would be in her best interest to keep quite, did so and slid down a little in her seat.

It did not take long for her dad to explode. "What on earth were you thinking?!" he asked, slamming the steering wheel with his hand.

"I wasn't?" Sydney responded questioningly, knowing that that was the answer her father wanted to hear.

"No, you weren't!" her father agreed. "How did you even get to the university?"

Sydney raised her eyebrow. He was just now asking the question of why she had been in the lab in the first place? How very like her father. "Dad, my high school's a five minute walk from the university," she explained again. They had had this conversation more times than Sydney could remember.

"Oh," said Walter flatly. "How did you get into the lab?"

"Josh Mintra let me in. I was looking for you when I saw the body." Sydney bit her lip. "I'm really sorry about what happened back there, dad," she told him. "I honestly forgot about today being the day for your meeting."

Walter made a mental note to give Josh, one of his students, a solid thrashing when Monday morning rolled around. Then, he sighed. "I suppose there's no real harm done." He grinned. "It was rather funny, now that I think about it, seeing those board members looking disgusted with you. They have absolutely no stomach for that sort of thing." He shook his head. "But why a crowbar?"

Sydney shrugged. "It wasn't just a crowbar that I was using. I was using different kinds of equipment on different parts of the body. It was just untimely for you to walk in while I was working on the abdomen." She glanced at her father, whose hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight that the knuckles had turned white. "You're really worried about the board members, aren't you?"

Walter glanced sideways at his daughter. "Okay," he said slowly. "I'll bite. How'd you figure that out?"

Sydney smiled at her dad. "You're too practical. That's easy. You have a death grip on the steering wheel and you're perspiring." She rolled her eyes. "Doesn't take a detective to figure that one out."

Walter ignored her and asked instead, "And how did you know that Ben Abrey was having an affair?" he asked.

"Just like I told him," Sydney answered. "Lipstick on his collar."

"But it could be his wife's," Walter pointed out, unconvinced. "You could've offended him."

Sydney shook her head. "The color of the lipstick showed that it was an affair, and his reaction when I cautioned him about it solidified my suspicions."

Walter glared at her. "Do you always have to talk like your great-grandfather?" he asked.

Sydney nodded. "You should be glad that I've chosen great-grandfather to imitate instead of some rock star or actress," she informed him, sitting back in her seat with her hands folded over her chest.

Walter shook his head. "I think it's time you and I both had a vacation. You have your nose buried too far into your great-grandfather's exploits, and I have myself buried too far into work. A few weeks in the countryside will do both of us a world of good."

Sydney snuck glances at her father as he drove the rest of the way home. Even though she had quite a bit of Sherlock Holmes in her, she was still not quite to his famous caliber, and her mind was working furiously. What was her father thinking? That small smile on his face looked suspicious……