Greetings. This is my first ever fanfic. I would like it if you would please be honest in your reviews. If you hate it, let me know why. I know where this is going, so if you desire it I will continue. Though I believe it could stand alone as it is. Thank you in advance for any advice or compliments.

When you stand in the room, hands slick and arms weak from your efforts, you allow a slight smile to appear from the depths. You hardly ever smile. Smiles betray joy. And joy is a word, a feeling and a place that has occurred very rarely in your life. So rarely in fact that you almost wonder what it is that you are feeling.

Joy however, has decided to flicker a tiny bit. To move and brighten from what you have done. And what you have done is a testament to what he has done. You are almost proud of him. Almost. You are almost proud of him because without him, you would never be standing here.

The room you are in is tiny. And bare. And cold. It is the type of room you seek out when you actually need a one. Perhaps that is why joy decided to leap up from its degraded pit. Perhaps because, in the end, it really was wonderful. Perfect.

It took such a long time to get here. Weeks in fact. Weeks to prepare. Weeks to watch, listen and become. Weeks to first stand next to the shadows, than weeks to fall in line with them. How many weeks did take to become a shadow? How many?

You haven't much time really. You realize that as you breath. As you move. As you blink. You don't want to leave. Leaving would break that joy. You think that this day. This place is the only time joy will appear.

But you don't mind. Really, for what is to come. You don't mind.

You close your eyes. You breath in. Such a deep breath. A breath to take in this day. A breath to place all the moments in this room upon your memory. You know what will come. You know time is calling you. But oh, oh you have so much more to do. And yes, what will come will taste so extraordinary. But this place? It is your alter.

You don't even need to look to see the blood. How did it taste? Of smoke. Your father once said it tasted sweet. You must disagree. Smoke. It tastes of smoke.

You turn. You finally have to turn. Turn and place the card on the table. The card on the table in the room that is your alter. Your alter to him.

You've left him a gift. Three gifts in fact. A generation. An entire generation. Waiting for him.

But what awaits him? Ah, the card. The card will lead him. It will lead him to his own alter.

For you know that the man that walks with him. Laughs. Smiles. Helps. Helps? Not you. He didn't help you. That man. That man is his alter. His alter of, of what really? You don't know. But you know what it will do to him.

You look at the card one last time.

Sherlock Holmes. You have written it so carefully. What an odd name really. An odd name for an odd man. You let the smile appear again. And you leave. You finally leave.

Sherlock Holmes. You let the name sing in your memories. Sherlock Holmes will find his Watson. You are sure of that. But how? How will he find him? Of that even you don't know. For you just left Watson. And when you left him, he broke the quiet of what used to be your favorite spot. It was as if silence had found its voice. And it was screaming