"Watson, is the tea ready? My Baker Street Irregulars shall be here soon! It seems you've been in that kitchen for hours!" Sherlock Holmes shouted towards the kitchen.

After sitting for a few moments and hearing nothing, he again called to his comrade, "Watson!"

Again, though, nothing was heard. So getting up out of his chair he strode to the room where his friend had been for so long, his voice having only the slightest air of uncertainty. "Watson? I say, dear chap, where are......?"

However, he wasn't able to finish his sentence, for from behind him a heavy object stunned him to silence and to the floor. Everything in sight went blurry, although he was not yet unconscious. He then felt rough hands hitting him from all sides; he wanted to fight back but was helpless to do anything but wait for unconsciousness to take him into its soothing blackness.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain on the back of his neck, and was out like a light. Then his adversaries quickly lifted him up and carried him out of the house, leaving Watson on the kitchen floor and on their way out, the rest of Holmes' beautiful flat totally out of whack. *******************

Inspector Lestrade of New Scotland Yard had just come home from a hard day's work. All she wanted was some rest and relaxation; however, she soon had a bigger crisis on her hands then anyone could ever have imagined. It all started when a very excited knock was heard at her door.

"Great, just great!" she bitterly stood up and started towards her door, "I sit down to relax, and all I get is unexpected visitors!"

She quickly arrived at the door and opened it. Then suddenly the expression on her face changed from an angry one to a soft and gentle one, for standing before her were Deidre, and Wiggins, and of course Tennyson was hovering in his chair. The Baker Street Irregulars were at her door, all bearing very grim faces.

Lestrade quickly and quietly let them in and inquired as to why they had come.

"What has happened?" Lestrade asked quizzically.

Wiggins was the only one who spoke up. However, he wasn't exactly making sense with what he was saying. "It's Mr. Holmes. We.....he.....and Watson...I....!"

"Calm down, calm down and tell me what happened," the Inspector spoke gently, which was not one of her normal habits when around the three kids.

"Well," the young boy continued, "you see, Deidre, Tennyson, and I -- we all just came from Mr. Holmes' flat -- he had told us to come and help him with his case, you know, street work and stuff, and, well, his home, it was totally wrecked!!"

Lestrade's response to the boy was only a gawk of incredulity.

Deidre continued, "Not only that, but Watson was totally at a malfunction -- he just stuttered and made no sense whatsoever, and...and... the worst part is Mr. Holmes -- well, he was missing, and all we found was this!"

The girl then handed the inspector a folded piece of paper.

"We didn't read it, though; we just came straight here," Deidre finished as she watched Lestrade, as did the others. "Open the note -- what does it say?"

Lestrade, however, only looked at the three of them with large eyes and horror on her face and uttered only a few words, "It has to be Moriarty!"