Today's Prompt (from zanganito): Snow Angels.
A piece of something light brown pierced the surface of the snow. It could have been the very end of the jagged tip of a broken stick, but upon closer inspection, the edge was too smooth to have occurred without the careful crafting of a human hand. Holmes stooped over and carefully pulled it out from the snow by what made itself known to be the tip of a wing.
"Halloa!" Holmes exclaimed to his companion upon that fine winter's day, holding up the treasure he had rescued from the snow. "Watson, what do you make of this?"
Cradled in his gloved hand was a small wooden figure dressed in a simple gown, its wings outstretched.
"An angel," Watson said. "Someone must have dropped it."
"Excellent, my dear Watson! We will make a detective of you yet!"
Watson expressed some reproach at Holmes's teasing, but he could not hold back a smile. "What do you make of it then?"
Holmes tutted. "It does not do to come to conclusions before one has sufficient data."
"You mean to say that you don't know either?"
"I can say nothing aside from that it is a charming little figurine, plainly purchased at the village shop for gentleman of the name Jaques, which, given the recent snowfall, must have been dropped before this morning, but no earlier than yesterday."
"Holmes!" Watson exclaimed in disbelief that Holmes never ceased to draw such remarkable conclusions apparently from nothing.
He handed the figurine to Watson and motioned for him to examine it for himself.
Watson turned the figurine this way and that. "I do not see-" abruptly, he broke off. Engraved on the bottom was the very name Holmes had indicated. "That is hardly a fair trick."
Holmes shook his head. "It is just as I have always said; you need but observe."
Watson gave Holmes a stern look as he handed back the figurine and looped his arm through Holmes's once more. "Where to now?" he asked. "I presume you mean to return it to its rightful owner."
"Certainly."
"How?"
"As pleasant it would be to spend the remainder of the day knocking on every door in the village in search of M. Jaques, I believe that in this instance it would be a more efficient approach to begin where our little figure originated and retrace its steps, so to speak."
"To ask at the village shop?" Watson clarified.
"Precisely."
They continued on their leisurely stroll into the heart of town, with perhaps a little more purpose to their stride. All was quiet, as it usually was; they passed a man on their way and a few women talked softly among themselves as they went by. In such a small village, it was no surprise that every pair of eyes followed them, curious about the strange visitors in the depths of winter, even though it had been ten days already since they had arrived.
As they approached the shop, they saw the girl who had been arranging candles in the window, now lying in the snow just outside, waving her arms across the ground to make a snow angel. She sat up and called to them, "M. Detective, who is your angel for? Will you be taking it down to the castle? This one is for mama," she added, motioning to the snow angel behind her.
"To the castle?" Watson asked.
The girl gave a serious nod. "That is where all the angels go."
Holmes had some further question on the tip of his tongue when he was interrupted.
"Come in out of the cold," the shopkeeper, M. Voland, called to the girl from the doorway of his shop.
"Must I?" the girl asked.
He held firm.
"Perhaps you can help us," Holmes said, as the girl slowly got to her feet. "On our walk we found this little angel buried in the snow. It says that it is for a M. Jaques."
"I can return it to its rightful owner," M. Voland said gruffly.
Holmes handed him the figurine. "Thank you. I would not wish for him to lose a thing of such importance."
The girl appeared ready to say more, but before she had the chance M. Voland ushered her inside with a shake of his head.