Sherlock spent most of the afternoon diagramming why his family was pure evil.
"They've all been mad with power. The whole lot of them. They distort your mind into believing their intentions are good, they gather allies, turning everyone against you, and then they slaughter everyone like sheep when they're done with them," he told me.
"Couldn't he just be in search of family? Perhaps he didn't have much of one growing up."
"He's been getting inside my head, toying with my emotions. Drawing me near so he can break me! I won't allow it!"
"Then sever your ties and be done with it. You can choose your family."
"What do you mean? I can't choose my own bloodline."
"No, but it doesn't mean you have to associate with any of them. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, me, we're like family to you. We'll keep you safe."
"I'm in over my head," he admitted, solemnly. "I can't face Gregson alone."
"And you don't have to. I'll be there to support you, every step of the way. And if he's a madman, hell bent on destroying you, we'll take him on together."
"The damage is already done…" he sighed. "I'm not the man I once was."
"That's not true, you're still as sharp as a whip. You just need a good case to take your mind off things."
There'd been another double homicide in the area. They were becoming all too common. The crime rate had more than tripled that year due to all of the multiple killings. It was an odd pattern; seemingly unrelated, but murders would keep popping up in pairs. It was too strange to be a coincidence. The town blamed it all on drugs but I wasn't certain that was all there was at hand. It had felt orchestrated.
But who could their maestro be?