There isn't another man in the world like Sherlock Holmes. A cunning, methodical, and deductive man who, though great in intellect, had little understanding of, and even rejected, the softer emotions. Though things such as love and compassion were foreign to his mind he had a great many other skills. He was a master of disguise, seemingly changing his very soul as he changed his appearance, as well as a master scientist able to pull the most profound clues from the smallest soil sample. Yes, his companion Watson wasn't wrong when he stated that the theater lost an actor and the sciences a scientist when Sherlock turned his passions toward solving crimes. Sherlock took his power of deduction and became the most well known detective of his time.
However, on this morning, Sherlock found himself staring listlessly out the window, watching the traffic move up and down the busy London street as his companion, John Watson, read him potential cases from the newspaper. Sherlock broke his silence to utter the word "Boring" after every article. John found himself exasperated, he knew that Sherlock needed to find himself a case soon, if for no other reason than the sake of the Landlady, Mrs. Hudson. The last thing she needed was Sherlock destroying her apartment, again. Sherlock hadn't had a proper case in weeks and John knew it was only a matter of time before Sherlock's frustrations were taken out on the walls.
John finally gave up on his efforts, sinking down into one of the soft armchairs by the fireplace turning his attention to other sections of the newspaper besides the classifieds. He knew good and well that nothing could be done about his friend at the time and any further goading could end in Sherlock throwing a tantrum. An article caught his eye "After two weeks of quiet, the French government believes that the notorious criminal known only as 'Loup-Garou' has left the country, hopefully for good." In an instant Sherlock was behind him looking over his shoulder.
"Werewolf? Now that is interesting." Sherlock said grabbing the paper from his hands.
John took it back. "Yes, well," he huffed "It's a little late for that isn't it? The bloke's already gone." he straightened out the paper to return to reading as Sherlock returned to the window. "Yes, I suppose you're right, John." he said. Just then a police car pulled up to the curb and instantly Sherlock was filled with excitement. "But just our luck something has finally come up!" he grabbed his coat and rushed out the door before John could even process his friend's sudden change in demeanor.
Lestrade himself escorted Sherlock and John to the crime scene, an alleyway already taped and blockaded off. A couple of officers shooed the onlookers who would occasionally stop and crowd up trying to get a glimpse of what was going on. Closer to the body the inspectors and forensics team were trying to pick up as many clues as they could from the crime scene. Lestrade lead them through the barricade and over to the body. The victim was lying on the ground on his back. Immediately one could notice the four large gashes slashed diagonally down the side of the victim's face, exposing some skull bone and even a few teeth. Dried blood from the gashes flowed down to his neck. His shirt was drenched in blood as well, but not from his face wound. His shirt was in tatters exposing a deep abdominal injury. His coat hung open and the contents of his pockets spilled out on the ground next to a trail of blood that lead back away from the body a short ways.
"Lestrade, was the body in this position when it was found?" Sherlock asked, not looking away from the body
"Yes"
"and the pockets were they already turned out?"
"Yes."
Sherlock stooped over the body to get a better look. He turned the head to the side and noticed a couple of puncture marks on the back of the neck. As well as a small cracking sound. Sherlock moved down the body, checking the inner and outer pockets of the coat and finding the victim's wallet, which upon opening was still full of banknotes and credit cards. Sherlock returned the wallet and stood back up to full height catching something that the team seemed to have overlooked, a couple of deep gashes in the brickwork. Upon closer inspection he could see flecks of blood around them. From the same attack he was sure.
"... -think it might be an animal attack." Lestrade was saying to John.
"What about the turned out pockets?" John asked.
"Someone must have come across the body and tried to loot it before we got the call in."
"Why are we here if you think it's an animal attack?"
"When was the last time you saw an animal big enough to take down a man in this manner in London?"
"Maybe an animal escaped the zoo."
"John." Sherlock interrupted. "Come check the body, tell me what you find." John obliged and stooped carefully over the victim, turning the head one way then the other. "Claw marks on the face and stomach... could have died from blood loss" John moved his hands down to the neck and felt carefully. "... a broken neck." John looked "And puncture marks. Consistent with an animal kill I think..." Sherlock didn't even look at him "The puncture marks are a consistent size throughout the wound, no trace of dried saliva in the hair, no ripping of the flesh. Look at the gashes in the wall. They're thin, but deep, not something an animal is capable of. The victim survived the cut to the face and the abdomen and turned to run before being attacked from behind. He most likely died of that broken neck, though with those injuries he wouldn't have made it far anyway. Besides, Inspector, animals aren't known to loot their pray."
"Well how do you know it was the assailant who tried to loot the body?"
"The victim's wallet is full of money, and all his other items of value are on him, or scattered upon the ground as it were. Your culprit must have almost gotten caught and run off. A looter after the fact might have actually taken something. The point of the matter is this is a murder, not an animal attack." Sherlock turned started to make his way to the other end of the alleyway, beckoning John to follow.
"Wait!" Lestrade called "aren't you going to help us?"
"Of course I am! We have research to do!" Sherlock replied cheerfully.
"What are we looking for?!" Lestrade asked as Sherlock got farther and farther away.
"A WEREWOLF!"
"IN LONDON?!" Lestrade closed his eyes tightly trying to force out the headache creeping in. Sherlock must have really lost it this time, but the detective and his companion were already out of sight and his own colleagues swarming around him with snide remarks and questions. "Shut up! Shut up! Just get back to work!" He yelled before returning to his car and heading back to the station. This was going to be a miserable case he could already tell. A werewolf! In London! Of all the insane things.