I walked in late that night to find my dad fast asleep in front of the fire. I didn't have the heart to wake the old man up. I covered him with a blanket a crept upstairs to my room.

The next morning, I got up early. Dad wasn't in his chair and something told me he wasn't even in the house. I almost felt bad about not telling my parents what I was up to, but my father had felt this business to protect my mum and me. That kind of just blew up in his face.

I went out the front door to find a cab waiting outside. Scarlett leaned against the door.

"About time," she said.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Picking you up; we've got to get to work. Get in," she said opening the door. My head was still stuck on the fact that she knew where I lived, but I got in any way. As soon as, I sat down, the cab started rolling. Scarlett was looking down at her phone.

"Where are we going?"

"You ask a lot of questions, James," said Scarlett. "To visit some old friends of dad's. So where's your father gone this early?"

"How did you know he wasn't a home?" She didn't answer. "Alright, how did you know about the nurse a few days ago? And that I had seen the murders?"

"I don't know; I noticed." She sighed.

"How do you just notice something like that?"

"Lots and lots of questions. You read my father's website," she said. I looked at her and she looked at me.

"What I read is impossible," I retorted.

"Yet here we are." This had two meanings but I only understood it as we made it to our destination. The cab had stopped, outside Scotland Yard. Scarlett got out without another word and I followed.

I had never been inside this building before. The lobby was filled with men and women in suits carrying briefcases. A large security guard stopped us inside the door.

"I.D.," he puffed.

"Of course," said Scarlett as she reached inside her coat. She pulled out a single card and held it up the man's face. He stared in shock at the piece of plastic.

"Holmes?" he muttered. Suddenly, everyone in the building stopped and stared at us. Scarlett looked down at the floor, she pushed a curl of her hair behind her ear. She was actually embarrassed.

While the guard continued to stare, Scarlett brushed past him to the stairs.

"Wow, your dad really did make a name for himself," I said.

"Yes, the Holmes were the ones for making a name."

"Wait, did you just say ones? As in more than one?" I asked.

"I forgot, you don't know my uncle." Scarlett sighed.

"Who's your uncle?"

"You'll find out soon enough." I was getting sick for Scarlett's little cliff-hangers. I got it. She was an awful past and a strange sort of family but really? If we were going to work together, I kind of needed to know these things.

We finally made it the top floor, where we wondered past cubicles and closed office doors. Scarlett went straight up to a door and reached out to the doorknob. I barely got a chance to read the name on the door before it flew open. DONAVAN.

A woman sat at a desk writing on a piece of paper. "I asked to not be disturbed," she said, then she looked up and gasped. "My God."

"It's been a while, Donavan," said Scarlett.

"You're his kid aren't you?" the woman said standing up. "Should have known; you look just like him."

"Scarlett and this is James Watson," said Scarlett. I held out a hand, but Donavan ignored it.

"I can't believe they let you two in here."

"You mean after what happened to Lestrade?" Scarlett asked.

"Don't you dare use that on me."

"What deduction? I didn't; I heard my share of the late officer."

"Excuse me, but who the hell is Lestrade?" I butted in.

"The man who was in charge of this place before Donavan," answered Scarlett.

"What happened to him?" I asked.

"This girl's dead-beat for a father got him shot," hissed Donavan.

"What the hell did you just say about my father?" A cold, evil glare shot from Scarlett's eyes.

"Hey, stop it," I said. I grabbed her arm thinking she may lash out. "Ms. Donavan, we here about the murders, right?"

"Right," Scarlett confirmed.

"Why should I give you two this information? As far as I know, could just be a couple of crazy kids."

"Did you know that there are two murders?" asked Scarlett.

Donavan stared at her, then crossed her arms. "No."

"Did you know that the murders are German?"

"No."

"Did you know-?"

"Alright, I get it!" Donavan yelled. "You are just as good as Sherlock!" Suddenly, the phone rang and she answered. "What? Where?" I looked at Scarlett who gave me a cocky smile. She held up five fingers and began to count down. As soon as her last finger went down, Donavan hung up the phone and looked at us.

"How old are you, Holmes?" she asked quietly.

"20."

"Alright," Donavan grabbed a gun from her desk and clipped it to her belt. "You're coming with me."

"We'll follow you in a cab."

"Now, I didn't say he could come along."

"Hey, it's a two or one special. It's both of us or nothing."

Donavan sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine, just keep up."

As we marched down the halls of Scotland Yard, Donavan hand-picked a group of men and women to follow us. We exited the building and got into a cab while the cops jumped into their own squad car.

"So how did you know that the murders are German?" I asked.

"Well, I was going some research, and the stories come from the original Grimm fairy tales story book that was written in Germany in 1812. So if my findings are correct we should be jumping straight into 'Little Snow White.'"

"So another woman?"

"More than likely."

"Scarlett, could there be a chance that-?" I trailed off. That's stupid, I thought. She noticed that I stopped talking and looked at me. I looked back into her beautiful green eyes.

"No idea is stupid, James. What were you saying?" She asked. There was a sudden sweetness in her voice. I laughed at turned my head out the window, my face hardened as the cab came to a stop.

"Oh no," I breathed. Scarlett rushed out the door. The police were taping off a day-care center. She ran under the tape and dashed through the glass door which had been smashed in. I ran after her, my boots crunching on top of the shattered glass. I found Scarlett in the door-way of a class room. Her hand covered her mouth and nose.

I was right a young woman sat in a rocking chair. Her face was pure white and her lips the second darkest shade of natural red I had ever seen. The first being Scarlett's. A huge silver dagger was sticking out from her chest and blood stained her yellow t-shirt. But the most disturbing, were the children. Seven kids around the ages of four lie dead on the carpet. Their small faces were deep purple and their eyes large and blood-shot. The large bay window was closed and on the inside was written, "WHO'S THE FAIREST OF THEM ALL?"

Donavan entered the room and stood beside Scarlett and I. "Damn," was the only word the escaped her lips. Scarlett swallowed hard and slowly glided across the room to a little girl on the floor. She knelt and turned the child's face so that it looked up at her. Scarlett bit her lip; she then reached up a hand and closed the girl's eyes.

"They were poisoned," Scarlett reported.

"I've never heard of a poison that could work this quickly and have this kind of effect," I said.

"That's just it, James. This poison took time." Scarlett stood up and walked over to a small table cluttered with paper and crayons. She picked up every other crayon and finally rubbed her hand across the surface. Scarlett brought her fingers up to her face and sniffed. Her eyes stared to water. "Is there a trashcan in this room?"

I looked around the room. "Here's one by the door." Scarlett hurried over and began to rummage through the trash. After a few minutes, she pulled out several juice boxes. She touched the end of a straw and sniffed her finger again. This time, she coughed.

"What was Snow White poisoned with again?" she asked.

She held a box to my face. My jaw dropped. "That's just cruel," I said. The children had been drinking apple juice.