The question 'Do you believe in Angels?' is often associated with faith – a question thrown about quite a lot these days. But never has it ever caused such panic when written in a letter as when the world's only consulting detective received a package on his doorstep.
The pavement was coated in a layer of white snow as it was early morning and the pedestrians had not yet woken. Sherlock Holmes had risen at four o'clock, which is very out of character. He was on his way to buy some more nicotine patches when he found a package lying on the step. It was branded with a red wax seal much like a medieval document would have. Printed into said seal was a single letter 'M' with a crown above it and fire around the side. The detective brought it inside after seeing that the postman was nowhere to be seen. Sherlock sat down in his chair and loosened his scarf. The stationery was sophisticated and rather expensive looking. Using a scalpel, Holmes sliced at the top of the package very carefully like an artist or surgeon. Microscopic fibres flew out from the incision and he blew them away under the light. Sherlock emptied the content over the kitchen table. Not that it could be referred to as a table – it was covered in scientific equipment and mouldy coffee mugs. Out flew a handful of white feathers; Sherlock observed that they had belonged to a dove. A slip of parchment was amongst the white. Written in red ink (Sherlock later realised that it was blood) was 'Do You Believe in Angels? I Do. ~M~ xx'. The consulting detective walked down the stairs and out of the door to get a taxi. "St Bartholomew's Hospital, please."
"Moring, Molly, could I maybe use some of your equipment? I broke my microscope…." Sherlock smiled charmingly, he could always get his way.
"Oh, hey Sherlock… How'd that happen?" Sherlock just smiled. (He threw it at the wall as it was not delivering any useful information.) "I'm sorry, I need the lab until twelve today, I wish I could help bu-"Molly Hooper looked sadly at her friend. "That's a shame, oh well."
"I'm really sorry."
"No matter, anyway, how've you been?" He asked.
"Yeah, good, yeah…"
"You, er, you still single?"
"Um, yep, yeah I am."
"Ok, cool. I've got to go find some scientific equipment for hire so can't stay and chat. Bye, Molly." The crafty Holmes made to leave when his plan fell into place.
"Wait, Sherlock. I'm sure we can spare half the lab…" She was twiddling her hair. Sherlock always told John he took sacrifices in his work and evidently, that was true.
"AH! NOTHING! How can there be nothing?" Sherlock Holmes slammed his fist into the table making Molly jump. She had been annoyingly watching him work for some time. He sent a quick text to John and Lestrade: 'ST BARTHOLOMEW'S NOW'; then resumed his checks of the wax seal.
"I got your text, what?" Dr John Watson nodded his greetings to Molly and sat on one of the stools.
"This," Sherlock held up the package. "Was left on our doorstep at around four this morning."
"Ok… And what- what did it have in it?" He asked turning it over in his gloved hands.
"Parchment note and a handful of dove's feathers."
"One second, did you say 'dove's feathers'?" John stared inquisitively at his flat mate.
"Yes, feathers, didn't you hear me?" Sherlock frowned.
"Yeah, but why?" John placed the parcel down on a table.
"God, it really never ceases to amaze me… How slow some people are." Sherlock seemed to be talking to Molly, who laughed nervously.
"Sherlock, just tell me."
"Have you read the note?" John nodded. "Well?"
"Are they supposed to be 'angel' feathers?"
"Well done, Watson." Sherlock's tone dripped with sarcasm. "Where's Graham?"
"You mean Greg?" John corrected him.
"Greg?!"