Watson was mildly surprised when he came downstairs to find Holmes already at the breakfast table, that morning's Times in front of him.
NIGHTMARE ON FLEET STREET AT AN END, the headlines proclaimed.
SLASHER BARBER FOUND BY POLICE, MURDERED IN BAKEHOUSE CELLAR WITH VICTIMS
TWO LAW OFFICIALS ADDED TO DEATH TOLL
BAKEHOUSE PROPRIETRESS MISSING, WANTED FOR QUESTIONING
"So it was the barber," Watson murmured, rescuing one corner of the paper from the marmalade. "Your suspicions about Todd were correct, then, Holmes," he said aloud.
The detective smiled grimly as he poured his coffee. "That amazes you?"
Watson sat down himself, folding the Times back up and gesturing pointedly at Holmes's empty plate. "No, although I am somewhat surprised that Lestrade didn't consult you on the matter at all."
Holmes waved a dismissive hand. "Scotland Yard is occasionally capable of seeing what is right under their noses. To own the truth, Watson..." and the doctor frowned in concern as the detective tried and failed to suppress a shudder, "from what Lestrade let slip on his way home last night, I find myself immensely thankful that neither of us were present during that raid."
Watson nodded gravely, turning his attention back to the spread before them. Any gruesome details from the case could wait until he'd had a chance to digest his breakfast.