The man looked down at his father's body and sighed. He had been a distinguished man. Not the best father, but not the worst. It was a shame to see the world deprived of the knowledge that the dead man had possessed. He knew so much, had even, at one point, offered to homeschool his son because of bullies, how they treated the son because he was different. The detective nodded to the policeman. "Yes, that's him." He made it short, was able to ignore is feelings, at least until after he swept out of the room. The policeman that the man had been talking to looked shocked. Normally when people were called in to identify bodies, they cried, screamed, wailed, any show of emotion at all. But this tall, thin man barely gave a second glance, at least on the outside.
On the inside, Sherlock Holmes was sad. His father, Thomas Holmes, was dead. True, they didn't have the best of relationships, but it was enough that neither tried to kill the other. There were no thoughts of death until the older man was mugged in an alley, beaten almost beyond recognition. A son knows his father, though, and it was not difficult for Sherlock Holmes, the famous web detective, to see that the great man was now just another body, another victim.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it!