Beauty and the High-Functioning Sociopath {#PFCC2k16}

Hansal and Grettal

The five of them got into a car and went to the boarding school. There was an older woman sitting on the front of a police car with a shock blanket wrapped around her. Lestrade was walking with Alex and Sherlock towards her.

"That's Miss McKenzie, the house mistress." He said. "Go easy."

"Miss McKenzie, you're in charge of house wellfare?" Alex asked gently.

"Yet you left this place wide open last night?" Sherlock asked, not as gently. Actually, scratch that. Not gently at all. "What are you, an idiot, a drunk, or a criminal? Now, quickly, tell me!" Sherlock ripped her shock blanket off.

"Oh, boy..." Alex said.

"All the doors and windows were probably bolted. No one, not even me, went into their room last night!" Miss McKenzie said. "You have to believe me!"

"I do, I just wanted you to speak quickly." Sherlock said. "Miss McKenzie will need to breathe into a bag now."

They went into the young girls room. Sherlock looked around and Alex sat down on the bed. Sherlock looked in the cabinent.

"Six grand a term, you'd expect them to keep the kids safe, wouldn't you?" John said. "You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?"

"They were the only two sleeping on this floor." Lestrade said.

"There's absolutely no sign of a break-in." John said.

"The intruder must have been hidden inside some place." Alex said.

Sherlock opened a toy chest. There was an envelope, the same one Alex had gotten at the flat. There was a book inside of it. It was Grimm's Fairy-Tales. Sherlock flipped the book in his hand. He flipped through the pages. Nothing.

"Show me where the brother slept." Sherlock said. They walked into the boy's room. Sherlock pointed to a bed. "The boy sleeps here every night, gazing at the only light source outside the corridor. He'd reconize every shape, every outline. The silhouette of everyone who came to the door."

"Okay, so..." Lestrade said.

"So someone approaches the door, someone who he doesn't reconize. An intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of the weapon. What'd he do? In the precious few seconds before they came into the room, how would he use them if not to cry out, this little boy, this particular little boy, who reads all of those spy books, what would he do?" Sherlock asked.

"He'd leave a sign." Alex said.

Sherlock started sniffing and checking around the room. He found a bottle behind the nightstand. He sniffed it and his eyes widened.

"Get Anderson!" He said.

When Anderson got there, he'd brought a glowstick-thing. The windows were drawn and the lights were turned off. Sherlock drew the instrument over the wall behind the nightstand. The words that had fromed read, "Help us."

"Linseed oil. Not much use." Anderson said. "Doesn't lead us to the kidnapper."

"Brilliant, Anderson." Sherlock said.

"Really?" Anderson said.

"Yes, brilliant impression of an idiot." Sherlock said. "Floor."

"He made a trail for us." Alex said.

"Boy was made to walk in front of them." Sherlock said.

"Um, on tiptoe?" John said.

"Indicates anxiety, gun held to his head. The girl is pulled beside him, dragged sideways." Sherlock said, leading them out into the hall. "He had his left arm cradled about her neck."