Walking into 221b again felt so familiar to John, even after the two years he'd spent... apart. Sherlock still hadn't so much as dusted since he'd been back. A bucket of cleaning supplies in the corner testified to Mrs. Hudson's attempts to tidy up. Other than that, though, the place was mostly as he'd left it, down to the skull on the mantle and the experiments in the sink.
Sherlock was officially back in the flat now, complete with all his former eccentricies. At the moment, he was wearing thick gloves and dangling a vicious-looking leech by the end that was not disgorging blood into a beaker. "Hello, John."
"I..." - did that thing have teeth? - "I've found you a new case, Sherlock."
"Oh?" The detective flicked the squirming leech into the sink, the gloves onto the counter, and began wiping his hands. "Nearby?"
"I'm not sure. Someplace called... The Village of Fowl Devotees. Here, look."
Sherlock set down the beaker to take the paper from him, examining the news article. "Three children. I don't do well with children," he reminded John, flicking his fingers irritably. The newspaper wafted to the ground and Sherlock began to turn away.
John nods. "And these children... Sound like little liars. They keep saying there's this man, following them around, who -"
"Wait. What man?"The detective snatched the paper back up. "Did he happen to have an eye tattoo?"
"Think so. As I said, it's all very suspicious. I've been contacted by, well the person who gave us the case, and she says..."
"Nevermind the woman! Tell me about the man. Goatee, salt and pepper hair?" That same intent glint had returned to his eyes, like a bloodhound fresh on the trail or a tiger leaping into a chase.
"I, well, yes." John replied, glancing over the article. "But as I said, there may not be any such man."
"Oh, don't be an idiot. The children are quite correct. The man is a former associate of mine. And closer than you think."