Ichabod Crane was rounding the corner as quickly as possible. He had been called from his normal patrol to investigate an attack. A murder.

With his long strides his hair flounced about a bit.

"When will it end?" he asked himself as he neared his destination.

Finally skipping up the cobbled steps, he entered the home to find-

one measly detective on the job.

"What's the matter of this?"

"Hmm?" the detective lazily looked up at Ichabod.

And to think, he's my superior! Ichabod thought.

"Oi, Constable Crane," the detective started upon recognizing the figure before him, "there's been a murder."

"I gathered, Detective Cronwell."

"Righ', well, I'll jus' be leavin' you to yer work then, Constable."

Ichabod nodded, glad to be rid of the oaf.

The higher one's status, the lower one's IQ. I hate to think what the President is really like in person.

And so, Ichabod opened his bag and took out a few tools. This would take a while, and he really needed his peace to work.

"CONSTABLE CRANE!"

Ichabod jumped and dropped his tools.

"I'm sorry, sir, it's just that Mrs. Crane-"

"Katrina?!" Ichabod turned, his attention fully caught by the young man before him, the not-so-young Masbeth.

"She, she sent Elouise after me to be sent after you."

"Yes, yes, and…?" Ichabod eagerly asked.

"And she says you're… late for dinner…" the young man mumbled.

"What?! I'm on a case! Does she not realize-"

"Yes, but sir, she's been awfully stressed lately. She was so urgent about everything."

Ichabod looked down to his work and sighed.

"I suppose I have enough gathered here. I'll be right out."

"Mrs. Crane told me I'm not to leave without you."

"Of course, of course."

"Need any help sir?"

"No, no, I'm fine."

Johnathon Masbeth, named for his father, stepped aside for his now somewhat adoptive father to work. The man of 22 had been taken in by Ichabod Crane after his own father's passing years ago. Now he was apprenticing in law, but was at too low a level to work directly with Ichabod Crane. Both had argued against his working with anyone else, considering all the work Masbeth had done alongside Ichabod, but the Burgomaster could not be talked down.

Once Ichabod had his tools gathered, he followed Masbeth outside and they began to make their way home.

"So were you too busy when called away from work?"

"I'm never busy at work, sir. They have me do nothing compared to what I've done alongside you."

"I love this city…" Ichabod mumbled.

"What was that, sir?"

"Nothing, nothing…"

And so the two men then made the rest of the way home mostly quiet, only broken occasionally by small talk. Unlike it had been the first few years after Katrina and Masbeth's moving to New York, the two men dreaded coming home. It used to be the highlight of the day. Now, there just wasn't something right about it. Nothing clicked. Masbeth and Ichabod still got along, but the former bond had deteriorated. And, very unfortunately, the bond Ichabod held with his own wife was in shambles. The only happy connections were the ones with Ichabod and Katrina's two daughters, Victoria and Selina. Victoria was the elder, at 7, while Selina was 5. Both parents loved their children immensely, and Masbeth was treated like an elder brother. The young girls, however, were unaware of the troubles that their parents had been having as of late. It was a blessing and a curse.

And then the two ment found themselves at home.