Sherlock Holmes
The Case of the Christmas Murder
A dark, thick, and unyielding fog had fallen over London within the twilight. Within the streets of cobblestone, dew was starting to set in. Even within the city square, a passing carriage was scarce. The light snow, left over from passed weeks, was still lying in the sidewalks. Any respectable souls were within their lodging, bundled up near a fireplace. This was not the case, however, within the lodgings of a Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and his colleague, a John Watson M.D.
The former of the two, Sherlock Holmes, was an interesting man. He not only was a chemist, philosopher, and amateur violinist, but also a private detective. Private, though, was not always the case, as he would often lend his skills to Scotland Yard, if the situation was right. He would never ask for money, and often refuse it after a case, being a very modest man, humbling his detecting skills.
The latter of the two, Dr. John Watson, on the other hand, was astonished by Holmes' skills, and often wrote of them in his diary. These stories rarely needed exaggeration, however, some of which were minutely revised and published within "Beaton's Christmas Annual." Being a former soldier and medic for Her Majesties government, Watson was ready for almost anything, never refusing to obey to Holmes' demands… no matter how bizarre, or contrary they seemed.
The two could be found in apartment b of the 221 complex, their lodgings. However, Watson would often be out on house calls, and Holmes would be reviewing evidence at a crime scene. In times like these, however, they would rarely leave their rooms, sitting in front of the fireplace. At least this was John Watson's routine, as Sherlock Holmes, was more unpredictable. He would sometimes sit at his desk, having John read him the daily paper. On the other hand, Holmes would lie upon the leather sofa, sulking in past memories. Perhaps he was even staring out the wind, his personal favourite, smoking as he watched the passers by.
This was the occasion on the night of the 15th, Watson, sitting in front of the fireplace, was reading "the Times" aloud, as Holmes stood at the window, listening intently…