They came home one day to find the house broken into. It was amazing how the thief had managed to force their way in. Sherlock had secured all the windows and made them safe in a way that he believed no thief would be able to break.

Twelve year old Sherlock scratched his head and tried to work out how the thief had gained entry. His mother was shrieking loudly as hysteria gripped her; his father was trying to calm her down. He blocked it out. The window appeared not to have been forced at all. In fact it seemed to have been unlocked from the inside. But how?

The young boy's eyes scoured over the window. Searching….. Then he found it, a small hole, just big enough to slide a long piece of wire through. The wire, he guessed, would have been just thick enough to pick the lock, long enough to be able to reach the lock easily and strong and flexible enough for it to be twisted yet not broken.

He was about to open his mouth to inform his parents of his discovery, when a sudden panic gripped him. What about his room? The boy straightened up in alarm. He turned and ran up the stairs. Sherlock Holmes' room was filled with things that no ordinary twelve year old would fill his room with. He had already started some fact files on criminals, petty ones, pick pockets and so on. But there were his samples as well, they mustn't be touched.

He skidded to a halt in front of his bedroom door. He always left it closed. It was slightly ajar. The young detective took a deep breath. Then he heard a noise inside his room. He froze. The thief was still there! IN HIS ROOM! He began to panic, his heart pounded in his chest. He snuck back downstairs, his mother was still panicking. Very quietly, he extracted a strong walking stick from the fallen umbrella stand by the front door. He then snuck back to his room. His parents noticed nothing.

He reached his door again and listened hard. He could still hear movement inside. He reached out for his door and then very slowly, so that it wouldn't creak, he opened it. He slowly crept into the room, holding the walking stick like a bat, ready to hit the thief. But what he saw made his mouth fall open in surprise.

He had expected a fully grown man. But then he hadn't checked for foot prints around the window to see if his assumption was right. He mentally cursed himself for that.

Instead of a fully grown man, there was a girl. Sherlock couldn't help but notice that she was extremely pretty, with dark curly hair and blue eyes. She had turned when he came in, and was now looking at him with a faintly amused expression on her face.

"Are you going to hit me?" she asked. She had an American accent.

Sherlock tried to reply, but his voice seemed to be stuck in his throat. Then he noticed that there was a small grey bag by her feet. He glared at it. She followed his gaze to see what he was looking at. Then she smiled.

"Oh, I didn't take anything sentimental. Just jewels."

Sherlock found his voice at last.

"Sometimes jewels can be sentimental too. Family heirlooms, for example." He replied crossly.

She smiled again and shrugged. His grip on the walking stick tightened. His eyebrows had knitted together in a frown. A question was forming on his tongue. He had to ask it.

"Why did you mess up the house if you were only looking for jewels?" he asked.

"Why does it matter?"

"Because a lady generally keeps her jewels in her bedroom, you could have easily stolen them without making a mess."

She sighed. "I thought if I messed the house up I could make it look like a normal burglary."

"Yes, but those who you have stolen from would soon realise that nothing but their jewels were missing from their property. It seems a bit pointless really." He laughed.

"Then I shan't make the same mistake again, shall I?" She gave him a radiant smile. He blushed.

This annoyed him. She's only a girl man! Pull yourself together! That may have been so. But the thing was, she was a girl after all, and she was in his room. He didn't know how to deal with her. He felt awkward. She seemed to realise this.

She was still smiling at him. She turned to his samples. She was looking at them with interest. She moved to touch one of them, but Sherlock shot forward, dropping the walking stick to the floor, and seized hold of her wrist.

"You must not touch them! You'll contaminate them!" he snapped urgently.

"What are they?"


"Why do-"

"Because I like to test them. I want to make sure I know every chemical. I think it would be useful. Chemicals, it seems, can always be used to solve a crime." He gripped her wrist a little harder. She smiled again.

"I've got you now." He said calmly, "I'm going to call for my father and he shall get the police."

"I'm not sure I want to be caught by the police." She said tersely, her smile fading.

"You don't have much of a choice." He said triumphantly.

"I think I do."

"Really?" he replied incredulously. She grinned. There was suddenly a mischievous glint in her eye. It put him on edge. He tightened his grip yet again. Then he decided to laugh the veiled threat off.

"What are you going to do? Distract me? I see nothing here that could possibly distract me long enough to let-" Sherlock was suddenly interrupted, because she had leant forward and planted a kiss on his lips.

It lasted for only a second perhaps. But to him it seemed longer. Without realising it, he had let go of her wrist. She drew back with a grin. Then she turned around, opened his window and climbed out, using the ivy outside the window to go down.

The young boy did not attempt to stop her. He was in shock. The girl had stolen his first kiss! 'Not that he cared about things like that!', he thought furiously.

Note: I've taken off the bit that was on the end, because I didn't like it and I'm probably going to write another, yeah.