A/N: So, this is a rather long one shot I wrote when I was bored. It was a what-if that tugged at my muse, and morphed into something entirely different. It has not been betaed or brit-picked, so I apologize for any obvious mistakes.

"So, do you think they'll phone the police?" Dr. John Watson asked, glancing up at the front of the house he and his flatmate had just left. Even with the front door closed, he could hear the raised voices coming from inside. "Awful thing for a boy to do what he did."

"Since they are a family who hired me to avoid a scandal, I think it highly unlikely," Sherlock answered, flipping his coat collar up. He started down the sidewalk. "Why must the world be so boring?"

The street was quiet, being in a rather wealthy residential part of London and late in the afternoon. "I'm sure you'll get another case soon," John answered, knowing it was useless to come to the defense of the world. "Didn't Lestrade text you earlier this morning?"

"Stupidly simple," Sherlock condemned. He scowled at the street. "Why must everyone be so transparent?" He gestured ahead of them. "Take her for example."

Sighing, John followed his flatmate gesture and saw a young woman just coming onto the street. John frowned as he took in her outfit. A long brown coat, buttoned up the front, and a boyish black cap on her head. Her black hair was braided down her back. "Clearly a young student taking part in her school's dramatic program," Sherlock stated as the girl went to the edge of the sidewalk and began glancing up and down the street. "She's received bad news and is waiting to get collected by family. She's new to London."

"Sherlock, that's enough," John told him sharply. "Just because you think you have nothing to do doesn't mean you can start deducing everything about the people we pass in the street."

"We haven't passed her and I was making a point," Sherlock pointed out. "With people so easy to read, how will anyone ever provide a challenge?"

The girl glanced around once more and then hurried on down the sidewalk until she turned a corner, vanishing from sight. Seconds later there was a sharp cry. "Sherlock," John said.

When he glanced over at his flatmate, Sherlock wasn't there. In fact, Sherlock was already halfway to where the girl had turned. John raced after Sherlock, praying they could get to the girl in time. When he turned the corner, he saw the girl on the ground, and Sherlock chasing after a fleeing man.

Swiftly, John went to the girl and knelt her. "Are you all right, miss?"

After a moment, she uncurled and lifted her head. "I'm fine," she answered, her accent distinctly American. She shook her head and accepted John's hand in getting up. Her right hand went to her throat. "What was that?"

"That was someone trying to mug you, since you can't seem to grasp the obvious," Sherlock announced, making her and John jump in surprise. He strode right up to the teen, and bent down to study her face. She was tall, but was still several inches shorter than the detective. "Who are you? Why would someone want you dead?"

"I-I don't know," the girl stammered, recoiling slightly. For a moment, she frowned and then her blue eyes widened. "You're Sherlock Holmes."

For the first time, John saw Sherlock's eyes widen in what could only be surprise. The girl looked down. "Oh, no," she wailed, crouching down. She scooped up the pieces of her phone.

"Who are you?" Sherlock repeated again.

Standing up, the teen's eyes flicked over the pair for a second and then she spun around. Moving quickly, Sherlock grabbed her arm before she could run. "Why does someone want you dead?" he demanded. "Who are you?"

"No one wants me dead," she answered. "Let me go. Or I'll scream again."

Again, John was surprised by Sherlock's reaction. The tall detective let the girl go. "What was that about?" John asked. Sherlock just turned and began walking away. "Of course. Don't tell me," John sighed, hurrying to catch up.

With a yawn, John went into the kitchen. He looked at the science experiments on the counter and kept moving. He made himself a cup of tea and felt able to handle the day. He went out to where his flatmate was sprawled on the sofa, looking exactly the same from when John had left him after midnight.

"Sherlock, are you going to lie there all day?" John asked, already knowing the response he would get. He waited several moments, but the on the couch didn't even move. "I know you can hear me."

"Bored."

There it was: the dull, bored tone that signaled possible trouble later on. Deciding to deal with that when he came to it, John went to his laptop intending to update his blog. As he began to type, Sherlock's phone went off, signaling a text. John glanced up and rolled his eyes as his flatmate made no move to reach for it.

"Are you going to get that?" John asked.

"What's the point?"

"It might be a case," John answered, even as he set aside his computer. He got up, walked across the room, and picked up the phone. "See I'm right. It says, 'I need your help. KN'"

"Missing persons case," Sherlock said derisively. "Boring."

The phone went off again. "'I know you are the best in London. The police are of no help. Please will you help me? KN'" John read off. "Sherlock, this person needs help. The least we can do is respond."

"Fine. Ask for details, and then, when its boring, say we are busy."

John sent a sharp look at his flatmate once he sent the request for more details. "Did you stop to think that maybe this 'boring' case might not be boring?" he asked.

"Why would it not be boring?"

A third text was signaled. "'My brother hasn't been to any of his classes in two days. He is not answering his cell. KN'"

"See? Boring."

Just as John was about to reluctantly inform the texter that Sherlock was unavailable, a fourth text arrived in two parts. "'You didn't seem to think I was boring yesterday. I will be on your doorstep in one minute. KN'" John smirked as he read it off. "This person is persistent and seems to know you well."

All at once, Sherlock was sitting up straight. "Yesterday," he repeated. "Did you just say, yesterday"

"Yes. Why?"

"I am an idiot! Stupid!"

"What?" John asked, frowning at him. "What are you talking about? How have you been stupid?"

Sherlock was on his feet, going from side to side of the room. It almost looked like he was...cleaning up. "Is she coming?"

"Who?" John asked, getting to his feet. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"Hurry up, John!" Sherlock ordered. "Text KN and tell her to come up."

Hesitantly, John sent the text. Seconds later, he received a simple thank you in response and then the doorbell rang. Sherlock vanished from the room, and John could only hope that he was making himself presentable for company.

Black hair still in a simple braid that rested on her shoulder, the girl from the day before regarded John seriously when he met her at the door of the flat. This time she was dressed as any other teenage girl: jeans and a black jacket over a plain white shirt. "Hello again," John said. "I'm John Watson."

"Hello, Dr. Watson," the girl responded, looking past him into the flat. "I'm here to see Mr. Holmes. Is he-?"

"I am," Sherlock informed her, coming into view. John looked over his shoulder, surprised to see that his flatmate had changed so quickly into his usual neat dress for prospective clients. "You said your brother is missing?"

The girl nodded once. "Perhaps we should have a seat," John suggested, gesturing to the sofa and chairs. "Your name is...?"

"Nelson. Kendra Nelson," she said, moving to one f the chairs. She waited until Sherlock had taken the other chair and John was seated on the sofa. "I was told that you are the only person in London who can possibly help me, Mr. Holmes. I got your number off your website."

"Kendra," Sherlock repeated, seeming to disregard her last statement. "An interesting name."

Miss Nelson raised an eyebrow. "So is Sherlock," she responded.

John cleared his throat. It wouldn't be good if Sherlock got into an argument with the girl if she was to be their next client. "May I ask why you were dressed like ...you were yesterday?" he asked, catching Miss Nelson's attention.

"I told you already, John. Obviously she had just came from a dress rehearsal," Sherlock said, the bored note back in his voice, "and she left quickly without changing from her costume. Why can you not see, John? All of the evidence was right in front of you!"

The girl looked between them. "If everyone saw things as you did, of what value would you be?" she asked.

Dumbfounded, John blinked at her cool question. "There was her costume, which in and of itself is obvious," Sherlock said as if she hadn't spoken. "And then there was the rolled up script in her left pocket. Now, you said you required my help," Sherlock addressed Miss Nelson abruptly. "My number hasn't been on the website for months."

"True, but my brother frequented it often, and gave me several print outs," Kendra answered. She looked down at her hands. "He seems to think you're worth following."

There was silence for a long minute. Miss Nelson lifted her head and met Sherlock's eyes. The detective raised an eyebrow. "Mmm," was all he said, though. "Tell me why you need my help. Keep it brief and, if you have acting talent in you, keep emotion to a minimum."

With a flinch, John swung his head around to glare at his flatmate. Miss Nelson bit her lip and bowed her head. When she lifted it once more, she said, "My younger brother is missing. I have not heard from him in four days. This morning, one of his professors called to ask why Hadley had not returned to finish his experiment he'd begin several days ago."

"You didn't suspect anything was wrong before this morning?" John asked in some surprise.

A ghost of a smile crossed the young woman's face and then disappeared just as quickly. "Certainly not," she answered, her tone cool and distant. "My brother is often in his own world with his experiments and studies. It is not unusual for us to go several weeks without speaking to each other."

"And you have no other family?"

Visibly, Kendra hesitated. "There is our mother, but that's part of my problem," she admitted. "When I returned home last night, she wasn't there." She balled her right hand into a fist. "I'm sorry, I can't help but be emotional, Mr. Holmes! My family is missing!"

"Clearly, you will not go far on the stage if you cannot continue acting in the face of emotional distress," Sherlock informed her.

"I do not intend to go far on the stage," Miss Nelson informed him smugly.

Sherlock smiled. "Perhaps not, but it is a part of your current studies," he responded. "And naturally you would want to be good at it."

"What did the police say?" John asked, interrupting as Miss Nelson's eyes narrowed.

The girl sighed. "They said my mother hadn't been missing for a long enough time to be considered a missing person, and that they will look into my brother's disappearance."

"Inept, as usual," Sherlock muttered.

John shot a sharp look at him. "What is your brother studying? Maybe he got involved in something he should have? Drugs, maybe?"

Miss Nelson turned to him, her eyes blazing with fury. "Drugs? Absolutely not! As to what he studies, I don't know," she said. "Hadley studies...whatever he feels like. He takes several courses at a time. Sometimes he finishes them, sometimes not. I haven't had to help out since we came to London last year. Please, will you help me or not?"

Sherlock almost smiled. "You have some small bit of intelligence, then," he said, cryptically. "But tell me, Miss Kendra. Why aren't you giving the police time to at least attempt to do the job?"

"The detective I spoke to was very...condescending," the girl responded. "He ignored me when I said my brother is...special."

"And what makes your brother so special?"

"My brother is deaf, Mr. Holmes," Miss Nelson said bluntly. "He doesn't think like everyone else."

That caused a brief frown to appear on Sherlock's forehead. "What about your mother, Miss Nelson?" he asked suddenly. "You've spent all of this time speaking of your brother, but you haven't said a word about your mother, who is missing as well. You don't get on with her, do you?"

Freezing, the girl took a deep breath. "Not very well, no," she admitted. "My mother, Mr. Holmes, is an interior decorator, and her occupation takes up all of her time. All I know is that my mother wasn't home last night, and she wouldn't answer my calls. I found...I found blood on the floor, which is when I called the police. They found no clues."

"Very well, Miss Kendra," Sherlock said, taking John off guard. "I will take the case. Give John the address of your brother's school, and a way for us to contact you. Good day."

Surprised, Miss Nelson looked from him to John. "And that's all he has to say on the matter," John told her. "You'll hear from us soon enough, Miss Nelson. If you'll give me your number so we can let you know what we've found."

Standing up, Miss Nelson rubbed her palms on her jeans nervously. "Thank you," she said.

"I haven't done anything yet," Sherlock responded, frowning at her.

"No, but you will, and that's enough for me," she replied. "Good day, Mr. Holmes. I look forward to hearing from you."

She dug into her pocket. She brought out a card and a folded piece of paper. She offered it to John. "Here is my card and the address of Hadley's University," she said. "Good day."

"How old are you?" John asked, frowning.

"I will be seventeen in a few months and Hadley is fourteen."

"Then, why is your brother at a University?"

Amused, and with a hint of pride, Kendra smiled. "Because he's clever."

Sherlock sat up straight suddenly. "Thank you, Kendra, you should go now," he said.

It was then that John heard footsteps on the stairs. "Ok," Kendra said, looking puzzled. She reached to open the door but it opened before she touched the knob. "Oh. Hello."

John saw Mycroft barely keep from starting, his eyes widening. Glancing over, John saw Sherock smirk. "Mycroft, meet my client," Sherlock said, inclining his head towards the doorway. "Kendra Nelson. Kendra, my older brother, Mycroft. Whatever it is, Mycroft, I'm not interested. I already have a case."

"Kendra...Nelson?" Mycroft repeated, his entire focus on Kendra.

The girl nodded. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Holmes," Kendra said, awkwardly. She glanced between the three men as if she didn't know what she'd just walked into.

"What does bring you here, Mycroft?" John asked, making an attempt to relieve Kendra a little.

"A rather important agent of mine has gone missing," Mycroft informed him, pulling his gaze from Kendra.

Clearing his throat, John moved over to Kendra. "You'll be hearing from us, Miss Nelson," he told the girl, escorting her out the door. He lowered his voice. "Believe me, you don't want to get between them."

"I didn't know he had a brother," Kendra whispered back. "Are they the same?"

"Yes, and they get bloody awful after five minutes," John responded. He made sure she was going down the stairs before he closed the door.

"It seems I was slow in coming to you, Sherlock. I'm not to believe it a coincidence that your client has the same last name as my missing operative, am I?" Mycroft asked after a moment. "Odd that I wasn't aware that she had a child."

"Amelia Nelson is your operative?" John asked in surprise as he went to Sherlock's side.

"She has two children, actually, Mycroft," Sherlock corrected, looking almost gleeful. "One would think you would know more about your spies." That drew another frown from Mycroft, and Sherlock's delight at knowing something his brother didn't was practically palpable. "The boy, I hear, is actually very clever."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and for the briefest of moments, a speculative look crossed his face. "While this has been extremely interesting, I must be getting back to the office," he announced. "I look forward to hearing the end of this little case or yours, Sherlock."

"I don't doubt it," was Sherlock's cryptic response. He closed his eyes.

Puzzled, John frowned as Mycroft left the flat. "What was that about?"

"Never mind, John," Sherlock said, jumping to his feet. "We should be on our way. Miss Kendra Nelson will be expecting to hear from us soon, I'm sure."

With some quick talking, Sherlock was able to get into the dorm that Hadley Nelson lived in during the week. "My God, this looks like our flat!" John said, staring at the chaos inside. "Are those...are those chemical experiments?"

"They would appear to be," Sherlock answered, already prowling the room. "Are you finding any of this intriguing, John? A missing fourteen year old boy, who apparently has the intelligence of...well, not me. But higher than all you other people."

"Right," John said, turning away. "Well, when you have need of this 'other person' call me."

"John, look at this," Sherlock called out, kneeling down. He studied a fallen textbook. "Advanced Mathematics."

Frowning, John came over. "What about it?"

"Where's that list of courses Hadley Nelson was taking?" Sherlock asked, holding his hand out.

Still puzzled, John fished the list out of his pocket. "Chemistry, political science," he read off before handing it over. He kept reading over Sherlock's shoulder. "There. At the bottom. Advanced mathematics. Why is that interesting?"

"What do you see when you look around this room?" Sherlock asked instead of answering the question.

Glancing around, John shrugged. "It seems like an average teenager's room," he answered. "Except for the science experiments and the books all over the place. And those equations."

"I see a highly intelligent person who hadn't left these rooms for 24, maybe 36 hours," Sherlock said. "He was working on something, and then, he left.

"So, we have an unusually clever teenager who didn't show up for his classes," Sherlock said, straightening up. "His last class was on Mathematics, but not regular mathematics. Advanced Mathematics." He nudged a stack of papers with his foot. "He was taking a lot of notes, but what was important he took with him when he left."

"You think he learned something in that class that made him just leave?" John asked.

"Given what we know of him, as told to us by dear Miss Kendra Nelson, Hadley Nelson is an intelligent boy," Sherlock responded. "These mathematics books are the only books out at the moment, so they were the last ones he saw before he left. Yes, left. There's no sign of struggle, though he was in a hurry."

John frowned. "So, he left and didn't come back," he clarified. However Sherlock had deduced all of that, he knew came from sound clues. "He was kidnapped afterward, then, once he left his rooms?"

"I need more data," Sherlock declared. "Hadley Nelson left here, in a hurry. Something he read? We need to speak to his professors to find out what he was last studying."

With that, he spun and stalked out the door. Shaking his head, John followed his friend out.

Shaking his head, Professor Hellton took his glasses off. "I'm afraid I can't help you much," he said apologetically "I'm just a substitute for the regular teacher. I was actually concerned when Nelson didn't come in. He's a brilliant student, Mr. Holmes. Records show he has never missed a class before."

"So you don't actually know Hadley?" John asked, glancing at his silent friend.

Hellton shook his head again. "I'm afraid not," he answered. "If you wait a while, the students may know something and you can talk to them." He frowned as he looked at Sherlock. "Wait. You're the Sherlock Holmes, aren't you? Several of my students have mentioned you on many occasions."

"Who is the regular teacher?" Sherlock demanded, ignoring the man's last statement.

"Profesor James," the professor said. "From what I'm told, he hadn't been with the University for long. He resigned unexpectedly just last week."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Professor James?" he repeated softly.

A young woman entered the room, glancing at Sherlock and John with interest. Prof. Hellton accepted a paper from the woman, who then left reluctantly. Sherlock seemed to have gone into his own world, and John moved to excuse them. "Hold on," Hellton said. He gestured in the air with the paper. "Hadley Nelson has resigned from school. The dean just got the call. No more mystery."

The announcement snapped Sherlock's focus back to the man. "Who made the call?" Sherlock demanded.

"It doesn't say. It obviously was his mother, though. She's the only one who could."

Spinning on his heel, Sherlock strode from the classroom. Jogging slightly to keep up, John followed Sherlock out of the building. "So, we should find this Professor James? he asked. "Right, Sherlock? Maybe he can tell us about Hadley?"

"Why would Hadley Nelson suddenly get pulled from his school?" Sherlock, who was typing away on his phone, came to a sudden stop. Sherlock raised his hand to hail a cab. "Professor James, John," he told John. "Do you realize who it is? Of course he would be interested in a clever person! And Hadley Nelson is a clever person."

"He?" John repeated, frowning. "You can't mean...not Jim Moriarty. Why would he have kidnapped Hadley?"

"If Hadley was clever enough to work out some scheme of Moriarty's, then Moriarty would take action," Sherlock said as a cab pulled up. "We have to get into the Nelson family flat. You are forgetting that Amelia Nelson is missing as well, and now that we know Moriarty has his hand in this, time is of the essence."

The flat was on a quiet street, much similar to the one where they had first made the acquaintance of Kendra Nelson. The front door was open and they just walked in. Up on the second floor, there was tape across the door, marking the correct flat. Easily, Sherlock picked the lock and ducked under the tape. Casting a quick glace around, John followed him in.

"Its cleaner than the dorm," John commented, taking in the neatness and elegance of the flat.

"But there's still obvious clues," Sherlock said, entering the main part of the flat. He spun around. "What do you see that's missing?" Taking a quick, cursory look, John shrugged. "Photos, John. All family's have photos around. Family. Friends. All of that. There are none here."

It was then that John noticed that it was true. There were paintings and statues, but no photos of Kendra and her family. "Kendra said she and her mother didn't get on," he pointed out. "And some families just never get around to family photos. Harry and I haven't for years now."

Making no answer, Sherlock flipped through the folder that sat on the table still, part of Amelia Nelson's design work, John assumed. Turning away, Sherlock crouched down to examine the floor. He took out a pen knife and began prying at the floor. "Something to put this in, John," he ordered.

"What is that?" John asked, going into the kitchen in search of a baggie or something.

"Amelia Nelson's blood."

Finding a small baggie in a drawer, John returned to Sherlock and handed it over. "Why do you need her blood?" he asked.

"A theory," Sherlock said shortly, depositing the dried flakes in the baggie. He held it out to John. "Hang onto this for me, please."

Sighing, John took the baggie back. "What's your theory?"

"An untested one." Sherlock went down the hallway. "Time is of the essence, John, if we want to find Hadley Nelson alive."

"You think he's still alive then?" John asked, trailing along behind.

"There is a chance," Sherlock answered, dodging into a bedroom. "Someone as clever as Moriarty wouldn't kidnap Hadley Nelson to just kill him. He wants something."

Nodding in understanding, John went on ahead. He opened a door. "Sherlock, look at this," he said.

"What?" Sherlock asked snappishly. "If its not Hadley Nelson, then I'm not interested."

"No, I really think you want to see this," John answered, glancing back. He reached over and pulled Sherlock over. "It's Kendra's bedroom."

"What about it?" Sherlock asked his tone sarcastic. His eyes lit up at the sight of Kendra Nelson's room. "Oh. But this brilliant."

Every solid surface was covered with some painting or sketch, even the wood floor had been used as a canvas. The paint brushes and paper on the desk showed that Kendra was the artist. A harp stood in one corner, but it was half covered by a tarp. Beyond that, there was nothing out of place in the room.

"The artist and musician," Sherlock said softly, passing John to go in. He chuckled. "I knew there was more to her than the actress."

"And she's into fencing," John commented, looking at the slender rapier that hung on her wall.

"Do you see what this is, John?" Sherlock asked, ignoring his friend's observation. The consulting detective crouched to examine the floor. "She's drawn part of London on her floor. To scale. These must be the streets she's been on since she arrived here. Imagine what she will do once enough time has passed."

John had to smile. Trust Sherlock to be fascinated with such a thing. He heard a door creak open nearby. "Yeah, I knew you'd like that," he said. "But shouldn't we do what we came for? Before the police catch us at it?"

With a jerk, Sherlock rose to his feet. He left Kendra's room and went into the other room, Hadley's. It was an almost exact copy of the dorm room they had been in only a few hours earlier: books everywhere, odd science experiments half finished. "I think we're found your double, Sherlock," John joked, eyeing a particularly odd mass of mold that was growing in a corner.

"What did you say?" Sherlock demanded sharply.

"I was just kidding," John said. "Touchy."

"Do I need to arrest you for breaking and entering?"

Both men spun around to find Detective Inspector Lestrade standing in the hallway, watching them with raised eyebrows. "What are you doing here, Sherlock?"

"Investigating a crime," Sherlock answered. "What are you doing here?"

"This happens to be my crime scene," Lestrade answered. "I thought you were too bored to be interested in a simple kidnapping."

"Well, that was before I met Kendra Nelson," Sherlock told him.

Lestrade eyed him with suspicion for a few moments. "What have you found?" he asked, seeming to accept that Sherlock was on the case and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Nothing much," Sherlock answered. He glanced at John swiftly.

"Do you have any leads?" John asked, knowing Sherlock wanted to know but would never ask.

Turning to John, Lestrade shook his head. "Nothing solid," he answered. "The son is missing too, you know. It doesn't look like he left in a struggle, so he may have something to do with Mrs. Nelson's death?"

His tone held an obvious questioning note in it. "Just Miss Nelson," Sherlock corrected, ignoring the question. "Kendra Nelson said nothing about her father, so its obvious he isn't in her life. And from what I've found, Amelia Nelson has never changed her last name. So, she is a single woman, raising two children alone."

"If you're making this up..." Sherlock sent him a sharp, condescending look. "Right," Lestrade said. "Well, if you two are done in here, I'm going to have to lock it up again." He paused. "Though, if you wanted back in, it really wouldn't matter, would it?"

"Good day, Inspector," Sherlock said, making his way to the front door.

"What is it about Miss Kendra Nelson that caught his interest?" Lestrade asked, stopping John from following. "I texted him a dozen times about this case and didn't get an answer."

"I have honestly, no idea," John responded. "Other than she's clever."

Shaking his head, Lestrade heaved a sigh. "Right. Because there are so very few clever ones in the world that Sherlock can speak to."

"That's about it."

John had expected Sherlock to take the blood sample to Bart's and hand it over to Molly Hooper, but Sherlock simply returned to the flat As soon as they walked in, Mrs. Hudson hurried out. "There's a young man here to see you," she informed them. "I put him in your sitting room. And really! The state of the flat!"

"What does he want?" Sherlock demanded, looking annoyed.

"He only said something odd had happened to him last night, and he needed your help," Mrs. Hudson answered. She lowered her voice. "He's a foreigner."

Pulling his scarf off, Sherlock bounded up the stairs easily. Just as curious about their visitor, John followed quickly. A dark haired, olive skinned man rose and turned as they entered. "Hello," he said. "I'm James Melas. You're Sherlock Holmes?"

"I am," Sherlock responded, his eyes flicking overt the man quickly. He waved for the man to sit down as he moved to take his own seat. "I warn you I am very busy at the moment. What brings you here?"

"Something...rather alarming occurred very early this morning," the man responded, sinking back down in his seat. "I tried to speak to the police, but nothing came of it. I was very nearly laughed out."

"Perhaps if you began at the beginning," John suggested, recognizing the look of boredom and refusal that was swiftly appearing Sherlock's face. "What was so alarming and why did you feel the need to go to the police?"

Melas took a deep breath. "I work as a interpreter," he began. "For many different languages and any kind of situation. Its my career. Last night, just after midnight, there was a knock on my door. There were two men and they said they had an important negotiation that required my services. Thinking nothing of it, I went with them."

"What happened?"

"The car had tinted windows and I couldn't see out," Melas continued, looking at John as he spoke. "The men said it was for my own protection. It felt like we drove for hours. I had no idea of where we were when I finally left that car."

John was almost amused to see Sherlock's eyes brighten at that. "And what kind of interpreting was needed?" John asked, as his flatmate continued to hide his interest.

"I was taken to a room where there was a teenage boy sitting at a table," Melas explained. "He seemed an average boy, but he was-."

"Deaf," Sherlock interrupted. "And his name was Hadley."

Shocked, Melas turned his gaze to him. "Yes. How did you know?" he asked.

"That's not important," Sherlock responded, waving his hand. "What was it these men wanted you to convey to young Hadley?"

"They wanted something from him," Melas said. "They were never specific. Hadley's signing was more..home signs. Things he had made up to convey what he wanted, so it was difficult to understand when he tried to explain. The men simply kept demanding that Hadley cooperate with them."

Sherlock closed his eyes, taking the information in. "You were interrupted?"

"A woman came in, someone who knew Hadley," Melas answered. "She begged him to cooperate before a Kendra was involved. She put a silver necklace on the table and Hadley began writing on the paper in front of him.

"A different man came in then and ordered me out," Melas said. "I was paid for my services and ordered not to tell anyone of what had happened. I was driven back to my street and left on the corner. I went straight to the police and have spent most of today trying to convince them that I'm not making this up."

"Thank you, Mr. Melas," Sherlock said, steepling his fingers. "You've added several interesting pieces to my puzzle. I will look into this immediately."

Melas breathed out in obvious relief. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes," he said, getting to his feet. He took his leave.

Moments later, Sherlock was bounding out of the apartment. John debated following him, but instead began making some tea. Sherlock was back within a matter of moments. "Where did you go?" John asked, resignedly handing his cup over and beginning a second one.

"To arrange a tail for Melas," Sherlock responded. "Moriarty knows he came here, so Melas is going to be taken out of the equation."

John frowned. "What? Why didn't you warn him?"

"He knew the risks before he even went to the police, and I'm surprised Moriarty didn't stop him before he reached here," Sherlock answered. "I've set the Homeless Network on him. When he gets kidnapped, I will merely follow the trail to him and Hadley Nelson."

"Still, the decent thing to do would have been to put Melas on his guard."

Shrugging, Sherlock pulled out his sample of Amelia Nelson's blood and went into the kitchen.

Several hours later, whatever Sherlock found in his examination of the blood sample he didn't make any mention of when he left the kitchen. He drew his bow over the violin strings only to put the instrument back in it's case. John watched from his seat as Sherlock went to stare out the window.

"Problem?" John finally asked, breaking the silence.

"I had expected an update by now," Sherlock complained. "Surely Moriarty is not idiot enough to let Melas remain free this long."

"There must be a reason," John said. Sherlock's phone went off then and John shook his head as the tall man practically dove across the room to grab it. Sherlock's eyes scanned the text quickly and he smiled.

"Finally," the detective said. "Melas has been taken from his home and the Network has someone following the car." Another text sounded.

John's phone signal's a text before he could chide Sherlock about being gleeful over a kidnapping or ask what the second text was about. "Its Lestrade," he reported, quickly reading the text. "Sherlock, Kendra's school just reported a break in and Kendra is missing."

"What?" Sherlock looked up sharply. "Is he sure?"

"I don't think he would text if he wasn't sure, Sherlock."

Frowning, Sherlock looked again at his phone. "John, look at this," he said, holding the deice out. "Kendra just texted. What do you see?"

Taking the phone, John frowned at the message displayed: "School N 2 blocks right help.'" he read out loud. "How can she be texting if she's been kidnapped?"

"She's giving us directions," Sherlock said, pulling a map of London. "Start at the school. Go north two blocks and then turn right." He laughed then. "The men are idiots. Moriarty is slipping."

"Slipping?"

Turning around, Sherlock took back his phone. "They didn't check her for a phone because they think she doesn't have one," he answered. "Remember? The first time we met her, her phone broke. Moriarty obviously hasn't noticed that she has been using her brother's phone to text since then."

Thinking back, John realized Sherlock was right, as usual. "I'll let Lestrade know."

"You'll have to do it on the way," Sherlock said, snatching up both of their jackets. He tossed John's over and shrugged into his quickly. "There's no time to lose. Kendra has left a trail for us and we have to follow it before it gets too cold."

Having to tell the cabbie each turn slowed the pair down considerably, and made Sherlock even more impatient. It seemed that Kendra's directions, coming every few moments, were taking them all over London. But then, Sherlock made a sudden order to turn in the opposite direction Kendra's text was sending them.

Halfway down the block, Sherlock ordered, "Stop here."

The ca had barely slowed down when Sherlock jumped out. Used to this, John paid the cabbie and scrambled out. "Sherlock, where are we going?" he demanded.

"I know where they're taking Kendra, or have taken Kendra already," Sherlock said, already running down the street. "Amelia Nelson was decorating a house in this neighborhood."

"That would be bold of them," John commented, sprinting to keep up.

"No, Amelia Nelson knew she wouldn't get caught there."

That made John stumble slightly as he caught the implications. "Why would she have her children kidnapped?"

"Because, Amelia Nelson is not Kendra's mother, and in all likelihood, not Hadley's either."

Surprised, John tried to comprehend that new piece of information. "Ok," he finally said. "So? It isn't a crime that she was adopted."

"How straightforward your mind is, John," Sherlock marveled, coming to a stop just before an alley. "That may be one of the keys to this entire case."

"The minute we have Kendra and her brother safe, I expect you to explain this whole thing."

"Don't I usually?" Sherlock questioned. Without waiting for an answer, he gestured to the house that bordered the alley. "See where all the windows are closed? We have to get up there. That's where Hadley and Kendra will be."

John nodded, frowning in thought. "Its not going to be easy."

Sherlock was already going down the alley to the back of the tall townhouse. John ran into the consulting detective, who'd come to another abrupt stop. "There's one guard at the back door," Sherlock said, risking a quick look down the alley. "It shouldn't be too hard to get past him." He glanced over at John. "Headless nun?"

Groaning, John shook his head. He knew all too well what that code word signaled. "You haven't told me that story," he reminded his flatmate, grabbing Sherlock's coat collar. He raised his voice as he walked towards the back door. "Stupid drunk! Think you can just hang around here and cause trouble?"

His voice rose with every word until he was shouting at the stumbling Sherlock. They were at the open gate of the townhouse and he'd gotten the attention of the man standing guard there. "Get out of here," the man snapped, his hand going to his pocket.

"Sorry, I'm from next door," John said, trying to think quickly. He shook Sherlock again, figuring he may as well have fun with it. "I found this one hanging about. Probably trying to beg for money. You know him?"

He shoved Sherlock towards the man. Startled, the man instinctively reached out to catch him. Instead, Sherlock's fist slammed into the man's face and he dropped to the ground. "There," Sherlock said, getting his balance and straightening himself out. He glanced over at John with narrowed eyes. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

As they went in through the back door, another door towards the front slammed closed. "Someone has left," Sherlock whispered.

Tthere was a gunshot from the floor above them. Remembering Soo Lin Yao, John got a twisted feeling in his gut. Sherlock grabbed his arm before he could take a step. "Don't," the detective hissed. "I don't think they would kill her like that. Not after taking all the trouble of getting her here."

John noticed he didn't sound as certain as he usually did. "I hope your right about that," John responded, keeping his voice low.

Sherlock took the lead, moving through the empty kitchen to the back staircase. There were no sounds coming from the first floor. Above them, footsteps sounded and the floor creaked. Sherlock found the stairs and started up. They reached the halfway mark, making not a sound, each step careful and slow.

Coming to a halt suddenly, Sherlock tilted his head. Frowning, John listened intently and after a moment, he heard what had caught Sherlock's attention: faint tapping. And not just random tapping, Morse code. '-o not let them win. Do not give in. Please. SOS. Please help.'

"Stop that! Tell your brother if he doesn't give us the code now, he gets to watch you and Melas here die."

At the angry, annoyed shout, the tapping cut off. "Did you let Lestrade know where we are?" Sherlock asked.

John frowned. Sherlock never waited for Lestrade, and seldom cared if the DI knew where they were. "Yeah," he answered. "Why?"

"We are going to be needing an ambulance here, I'm sure."

With that cryptic remark, Sherlock hurried up the last few steps. There was a shout from a man standing guard in front of a closed door. Before he could bring his gun up, Sherlock was grabbing him and jerking him around. John was ready for the man that came stumbling towards him. A well placed blow to the face sent the man sinking to the floor.

John right behind him, Sherlock jerked the door open. A split second was all John had to take in the scene. Melas was on the floor, in front of a teenage boy -Hadley- sitting at a desk. A man all in black held a struggling Kendra. A second man lunged towards them, a length of pipe in his hand.

"Let her go!" John shouted, dodging around as Sherlock handled the second man. The former soldier slammed his fist into the attacker's face. Kendra hit the ground.

Snarling, the man recovered swiftly from John's attack and brought his right hand up. A knife, already stained with blood, flashed in the dim light of the room. John almost smirked, his whole focus on disarming the man. He dodged the man's first stabbing attempt

"Look out!"

At Kendra's exclamation, John looked past his opponent and saw a third, before unnoticed, man aiming a gun in his direction. John instinctively flinched back as a gunshot sounded, noticing in interest that the man holding the gun did the same. "Now, this is a mess, isn't it?" a woman said. "You two, up against the wall."

A small blonde haired woman stood in the doorway, a gun held casually in her hand. Moving slowly, Sherlock released his man and took a step backwards towards the right wall John did the same, glancing down at Kendra. Still on the floor, the girl was staring at the woman in open betrayal.

"Mother?"

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, I presume," Amelia Nelson said, her attention on the two men. Hadley was looking from one person to the other, a frown on his face. "I was warned that if I wasn't quick you would be on the case. I didn't realize, though, that Kendra would turn to you the very hour I get to work."

"Moriarty should have known not to underestimate the relative of a clever person," Sherlock remarked. His eyes narrowed. "There might be some hidden cleverness in them."

Amelia shrugged. "Kendra?" she asked. "You must be joking. She failed every test years ago." She sent a fond look at Hadley. "Hadley is where every investment was put."

Resting his hands on the table, Hadley stared back. His right thumb began to tap, so soft no sound could be heard. Having heard the Morse code being tapped out earlier, though, John recognized it in the rhythm. 'Kendra has always been clever. You are an idiot for not seeing it.' A ghost of a smile flicked over Sherlock's face, the only indication that he was seeing the message.

"The police will be here in less than a minute," Sherlock informed them all. "You don't think I would come right into the lion's den, so to speak, and not have a way out?"

The woman shrugged a shoulder. "A minute will be enough time to erase you and to disappear with Hadley," she said. "Good bye, Mr. Holmes. Its been...an interesting experience. I think I will enjoy the memory of being the one who beat you."

"That's it? You're just going to shoot us all?" Sherlock asked, derisively.

"Certainly," Amelia Nelson answered. "I can't have you running from the bomb. Professor."

"Why is it always a bomb?" John asked, with a groan. "Its always a bomb with Moriarty."

A side door opened, and a small, older man came in. Sherlock eyed the man with some suspicion. In the man's hands was a mass of wires and tubes. Without looking at anyone, he set it on the table and began to fiddle with it. "Hadley, come here," Amelia invited, holding her hand out to the boy.

"No," the black haired boy said out loud, his voice high pitched.

"What did you just say?" Amelia demanded, her gaze becoming furious. She crooked one finger. "Come here now."

"No."

The boy's tone was firm, and he stared at the woman with steely gray eyes. In that moment, John could have sworn he was looking at a much younger version of Sherlock. Before he could think any more about it, he noticed that Sherlock was no longer by him, but moving towards Amelia Nelson.

He tensed for the moment when Sherlock twisted the gun free of the woman's grasp.

But it didn't come.

"Don't try it," one of the thugs warned.

Amelia Nelson swung her attention towards Sherlock and John again. "I'm afraid I will just have to continue this Mother/Son discussion in private," she said. She pulled the trigger.

The force of Kendra throwing herself against the woman's arm caused the bullet to completely miss the intended target. Amelia stumbled, trying to get her balance back. "You stupid girl!" she hissed, swinging the gun around. She struck the side of Kendra's head and the girl went down.

Sherlock and John had taken advantage of the distraction Kendra had provided. When Amelia moved to take aim again, long fingers wrapped around her wrist. "I don't think Moriarty is going to be happy to hear you've failed him," Sherlock remarked, twisting. With his left hand, he caught the gun as it fell from the woman's hand.

"Then, I'll just make sure I'm not around to have to deal with him," Amelia snapped. "Professor! Now!"

Everyone, even Amelia Nelson's hired thugs, looked across the room. The old man hesitated and then pressed something on his bomb. Surging up from his seat, Hadley grabbed it off the table. He jerked several tubes and hurled it through the doorway the old man had come through minutes before.

An explosion rocked the house and everything went black.

Coughing, John came to. Someone was shaking his arm. His ears were ringing as he forced his eyes open. He couldn't tell if he'd been unconscious for long, but found it miraculous that he was even still alive. Smoke was in the air. "Fire," John said, out loud. He looked up and found that Sherlock was bending over him.

The detective's lips were moving, but John couldn't hear him over the ringing. There was a look of urgency in Sherlock's face and the man was trying to pull him up. Taking a deep breath, and immediately regretting it when he coughed violently, John managed to get up. Sherlock stumbled away, nowhere near as graceful as usual.

Several people lay on the floor. Through watery eyes, John saw Sherlock lift Kendra from the floor. Torn, John finally spotted Hadley lying closest. Lifting the slim boy onto his shoulder, John put his head down and darted out of the room. In the hallway, he followed Sherlock's back down the front stairs.

Reaching the fresh air, John was astonished to have Hadley taken from his grasp. People were rushing around. "More...save..." John tried to convey that more needed rescuing. He thought he saw Srgt. Donovan running towards the house.

An oxygen mask was put over his face, even though he tried to wave the paramedic away. "How are they?" John asked, his voice raspy from the smoke. Firefighters were trying to contain the blaze that was quickly spreading. He saw Hadley being loaded into an ambulance, and Kendra getting lifted into a different one. "Sherlock?"

It took a few minutes of searching the scene before he saw Sherlock, gesturing wildly, trying to communicate with a harassed looking Lestrade. Taking off the oxygen mask, John made his way over. "Sherlock."

"I'm fine," Sherlock said. Or John assumed that was what he said, since he still couldn't hear much over the ringing in his ears.

Pulling a notebook out of his pocket, Lestrade wrote quickly: 'Both of you get to a hospital now. We'll handle things from here.'

Sherlock looked mulish. Grabbing the detective's arm, John pulled him towards a paramedic.

At the hospital, John allowed himself to be checked. By the time the doctor was done, the ringing had subsided and John could finally hear. Sherlock, of course, had insulted the nurse and had been left alone. Finally, John made his way to the waiting room. He was surprised to find that Sherlock wasn't alone and that it Mycroft Holmes who stood in the middle of the room.

"Ah, hello John," Mycroft greeted. "You are quite the hero of the hour, I've been told. Carrying an innocent person from the flames of an explosion."

"Well, I wasn't alone," John answered. He hesitated to go any closer. It never was good to get between the Holmes' spats. And each time the Holmes' were near each other, there was an argument close to a world war being waged.

"It took you long enough to get here, Mycroft," Sherlock commented, his voice loud. "Was your spy not specific enough about the situation?"

Mycroft regarded his brother seriously. "The situation has gotten a bit complicated."

"'Gotten a bit complicated?" John repeated. "When wasn't it complicated?"

"Amelia Nelson was a very talented agent, John, and had a great deal of access to various levels of the government," Mycroft informed him. "It just came to light that she took quite a bit of information with her when she vanished."

"She's been caught, so haven't you gotten it back?"

"Its been encrypted," Sherlock told him, looking more than a little gleeful. "And none of Mycroft's spies have been able to figure it out. I suppose they've all learned nothing since the last time."

It was the first time Sherlock had ever, even slightly, made a reference to the case involving Irene Adler, and it startled John. It surprised Mycroft as well since the man made no response. "We were unable to find any clue as to the key to unlock the encryption," Mrcroft said. "Ms. Nelson has been unavailable since she arrived here."

Sherlock froze, his eyes widening. "Of course," he breathed. "That's why she had to kidnap Hadley. He figured out what she had and what she was doing, and encrypted it so she couldn't get at it! Brilliant!"

Mycroft's lips tightened. "And of course there is the matter of who Kendra and Hadley really are," he added.

"Didn't you take care of that yourself? There's a reason I left it to you, Mycroft, instead of handling it myself."

"You know how I detest leg-work."

"Multi-tasking would have slowed me down, and I might not have reached Hadley in time," Sherlock snapped back, clearly disgusted with his brother. "I had to hand the least important aspect of this case off to someone who wouldn't completely bungle it. You, Mycroft, should have at least made a little time in your schedule for discovering Kendra's true identity."

Half wishing his hearing was marred by ringing just so he wouldn't have to listen to the pair squabble further, John frowned as he considered what had happened in such a short period of time, in particular Mycroft's shock at seeing Kendra. "You have no idea where she came from, then?" he guessed. "Amelia Nelson didn't adopt them legally?"

Mycroft heaved a large sigh. "While that fact is fairly obvious, I was unable to find any records of any kind that were not forged," he informed them. "There is simply no telling where these two interesting young people come from."

"Other than the obvious solution of a blood test," Sherlock pointed out. "That should give a rather definite answer for us."

Gravely, Mycroft fixed his gaze on his younger brother. "Do we really want that kind of answer, Sherlock? Think of the implications."

Someone cleared their throat. A nurse stood in the doorway, looking very uncomfortable. "Miss Nelson is waking up. She's asking for you, Mr. Holmes."

"Now, I've waited hours to talk to Kendra about what happened last night," Sherlock remarked, heading for the door. "And while proving I do indeed have patience, lets not keep Kendra waiting. She's bound to have questions."

Pale, Kendra was sitting up in her bed. John suspected Mycroft had had a hand in the arrangements because Hadley was in the second bed in the room. "Hello, Dr. Watson," the girl said softly. Her right hand, bandaged, was resting on her lap, and her fingers were tapping. "I'm glad to see you weren't harmed by the bomb."

"I've faced my share of bombs and haven't been slowed down in the least," John told her lightly. He pulled up a chair by her bedside, fighting the urge to check her chart. Some habits died hard.

Sherlock, though, had no such inhibition and plucked the chart up. "There really wasn't a chance of us being harmed by that bomb, though, was there?" the detective asked, his eyes scanning the pages. "Hadley knew exactly what he was doing with it. He left enough force to knock us all down. I suspect the resulting fire was a surprise even to him."

"I guess," Kendra answered with a shrug.

"No, don't do that," Sherlock told her sharply, looking up. "Never, ever guess."

Flinching, Kendra nodded. Her eyes flicked over to the doorway. "Mr. Holmes?"

John glanced over his shoulder to see Mycroft entering. He hadn't known the government man had followed them. "My sympathies for your unfortunate accident, Miss Kendra," Mycroft said formally. "You have my sincere wishes for a speedy recovery."

"Thank you."

Nodding once, Mycroft turned and left the room just as quickly as he had entered. "You have questions, Sherlock stated, tossing the chart onto the foot of the bed. Unable to resist any longer, John picked it up.

Kendra frowned as though she had just remembered something. "His math professor."

"What about your brother's mathematics professor?" Sherlock demanded, looking very interested.

"I was just surprised to see him with Mother," Kendra said slowly. "Months ago, he was always giving Hadley puzzles to figure out. He said a colleague of his had given them to him. But they were more than simple puzzles and exercises. There was always something odd about them. I pointed it out to Hadley, right before Hadley took his final exam. He never saw the professor again."

Visibly, Sherlock looked disappointed. "No Moriarty then."

"Moriarty? You said that name earlier. Who is it?"

"No one with any interest in your case," Sherlock answered, looking even more put out. "Once your brother un-encrypts the lists, you and he will go back to your lives."

Solemnly, Kendra nodded. "Mother is going to go to prison, isn't she."

"I'm sure my brother will ensure it," Sherlock told her. His grey eyes went from her tapping fingers to where her brother was. "Inform your brother I noticed some very interesting experiments in his room and I would like to know the final results."

Kendra's fingers stilled. "You just did yourself. Hadley can read lips."

"And the morse code?"

Smiling quickly, Kendra shrugged. "Force of habit," she answered as her brother raised his bed so that he was sitting up. Her hands came up and she signed swiftly. "What will happen to us now?"

For a moment, Sherlock was silent. "My brother will have that well in hand," he said vaguely.

There was a knock on the door. "Detective Lestrade would like to speak to them now," the nurse said apologetically. Her eyes narrowed and she stalked in. She snatched the chart from John and put it back in its place.

Getting to his feet, John offered an apologetic smile. He gestured at Kendra's injured right hand. "You never said. How did that happen?"

Looking down, Kendra cleared her throat. "I-I grabbed the knife," she answered. "I didn't appreciate it being at my throat."

"One more thing," Sherlock said. "While I know its not easy being the brightest in the entire school, what ever possessed you to hide it to be accepted by your peers?"

Almost alarmed, Kendra looked at him. "Who said I was the brightest in the school?" she demanded.

"Your brother."

Hadley chose to look up at the ceiling when his older sister sent a look of betrayal at him. The girl sighed after a minute. "I knew I was different from the other kids when I first went to school," she said. "Soon after, Mother handed me a test. I knew she wanted to see just how clever I was, and I didn't want to be alone anymore than I was. To have a friend had to be better than proving I was smart. So, I failed it."

"Hadley didn't feel the same," Sherlock prompted, his tone almost gentle.

"He didn't care," Kendra said, a slight note of jealousy in her voice. "He aced that test and from then on, he had everything. Challenges, new things to learn, people to encourage him in his cleverness."

A pillow came flying through the air and smacked the side of her head. "Not my fault! You made your choice!" Hadley shouted at her.

"At least she didn't try to use me!" Kendra shouted back, facing her brother full on. She flung the pillow back, her aim off from her injured hand.

Alarmed, the nurse hurried to calm them both down. John saw his grinning flatmate slipping out and hurried to catch up. "What have you two done?" Lestrade demanded, standing in the hallway. "Those are my witnesses!"

"A sibling squabble," Sherlock responded, not slowing down.

"You did that on purpose," John accused. "Do you like to provoke a fight everywhere you go?"

"Better for them to be fighting each other than mourning the fact that their adopted mother is about to be in prison," Sherlock answered, heading for the elevator. "Let's not keep Mrs. Hudson up waiting for us."

Shaking his head, John felt compelled to point out, "She's our landlady, not our housekeeper. What reason does she have to wait up for us?"

"She always does. Otherwise, she worries."

The Nelson siblings were kept a couple days in the hospital for observation. During that time, John made it a point to go visit them every day. With Hadley, he had an interesting conversation about the effects a bomb normally would have on the human body and an explanation of why a fire had resulted: leftover paint from the painters was the culprit. Kendra spoke enthusiastically about her harp and music.

Knowing Sherlock's disdain for mundane things, John didn't even ask if his flatmate wanted to accompany him. In any event, Sherlock was glued to his microscope and laptop. Again, whatever he was looking for, he did not say whether or not he had found it.

Then, three days after the bomb, when John went to see the siblings after his shift at the office, he found them gone. And no one had any idea of where they had gone or who had custody of them. Worried, John returned to the flat to find Sherlock staring out the window.

"Hadley and Kendra are gone," John announced. "No one knows where they went."

"Mycroft was never one to slack in his responsibilities," Sherlock mused. "I suppose this is the final proof to show that he knew all along that they are more important than he claimed." He spun around. "Amelia Nelson is dead."

Startled, John stared at him. "Dead?"

Sherlock nodded. "And that little professor man. Killed in their cells. Moriarty was always just on the fringes of this one. That's why Amelia didn't bat an eye when I mentioned his name. She was trying to get something good enough to be on Moriarty's side. He doesn't accept any kind of failure; even from prospective employees."

"Why the professor?"

Sherlock shrugged a shoulder. "I think that maybe he was someone who knew Moriarty when he was younger, perhaps even an old professor," he answered. "Now come on John. We're going out."

"Where to?"

"A play."

The location of the event was just as curious as Sherlock actually attending the play. The out of the way theater had amateur posters advertising the school play, Les Miserables.Families were the primary members of the crowd. Sherlock somehow had managed to get tickets for the front row of the balcony. John was even more amazed to see Mycroft Holmes sitting in the next seat over with Hadley Nelson beside him.

"I wouldn't have thought you would leave the office for an amateur production," John commented.

"These are unusual circumstances," Mycroft said, shortly. "And I couldn't deny Hadley the opportunity of seeing his sister perform."

It was a rather flimsy excuse given that the teenage boy was studying the screen of his new phone. "I thought you might interested in seeing this," Sherlock stated, handing over a small sheaf of papers to his brother.

Raising an eyebrow, Mycroft accepted the papers and glanced through them. "Is this for one of your cases?" he asked disdainfully. He folded the papers and held them back out. "There is a close connection between the people in question. Without more evidence, its impossible to be any more exact."

"My conclusions exactly."

"Tonight, Kendra and Hadley will be returning to New York City," Mycroft announced, changing the subject. "While Moriarty might not be interested in them at the moment, it would not be good for any of us if he were to notice their intelligence. The young lady objected to not having the chance to perform her role at least once, and here we are."

"Logical," Sherlock said as the house lights began to dim. He tucked the papers away.

"What's that about?" John asked as the first notes of the opening music began to play. "You haven't told me about any new case."

Leaning over, Sherlock said in a low tone, "I'll explain later." He visibly flinched at the school orchestra. "Now hush," he said. "I need to pay attention to have a good comparison for Kendra."

No connoisseur of music, John had to admit that the teenagers were doing a rather good job of the play. Sherlock continued to flinch of the orchestra hit a sour note. Halfway through the play, Kendra made her first appearance as the character Eponine. At first sight, John remembered the costume she'd been wearing the first time they'd run into the girl.

Hadley looked up and watched the performance then. Sherlock leaned forward to hear ever note, and even Mycroft seemed to pay more attention. Once Kendra's part was over, all three fell back into boredom, and John could see the similarities between the three as they wore bored looks.

It was the same for each time Kendra was on stage. And the teen sang with a pure, sweet voice. John surreptitiously rubbed at his eyes during her death scene. Most of the audience was openly in tears as well.

When the performers came out for their final bow, Hadley was on his feet, clapping for his sister. The director brought flowers out for the leading performers, and two large bouquets for Kendra. The girl accepted with a grin, her eyes going to the balcony.

Out in the lobby, John said good bye to both teens. He was surprised by the hug Kendra gave him and the promise that she would keep in touch. "Even if it's only through the blog," she'd added, glancing over at Mycroft.

Sherlock got the same hug from the girl. And whatever he whispered in the girl's ear made her grin with excitement. And then Mycroft was ushering the siblings away. Feeling the let down of a case solved, John returned to the flat with Sherlock. The consulting detective went straight to his computer.

"So you said you were going to explain," John said. "What was that you showed Mycroft?

Keeping his eyes on the screen, Sherlock answered, "One of the blood samples I used came from Kendra. Do you want to know whose blood I compared it to?"

"A close connection, Mycroft said," John said, shrugging. "Her brother's?"

"Mine."

Shocked, John stared at him. "Your blood?"

"I know you saw Mycroft's face when he first saw her," Sherlock continued. "He really should be better at masking surprise. Kendra Nelson looks like our mother, John."

"Oh," was all John could think to say. "So, Kendra and Hadley are related to you somehow? Cousins?"

"As Mycroft said there is far too little evidence to be sure," Sherlock answered.

Frowning, John tried to imagine what the world would be like with more Holmes'. It was a staggering thought. "So, Mycroft is just sending them off to America to get them out of the way?"

"No. Its exactly as he said. Moriarty would have a field day if he found out about them," Sherlock answered. He stood up abruptly. "John, I need a harpoon."

"A harpoon?" John repeated. He filed the information away for future reference. There was precious little he knew about Sherlock's family. "Whatever do you need a harpoon for?"