Prompt: Something more from Holmes' chest of old, pre-Watson cases.

From: I'm Nova

...

A chipped magnifying lens was placed back in a brown woollen pocket, followed by the sounds of quiet murmurings of thought.

"Well, Mr. Holmes?" Lestrade asked irritably. "Wha can you make of it?"

"Patience, Lestrade," The consulting detective tutted, his eyes glinting mischievously as he sprung to his feet- not entirely appropriate considering he had just finished examining the body of a young woman on the floor.

"All we know, Mr. Holmes, are the bruises round her neck and her missing foot!" the inspector snapped, feeling very tempted to strike the smug look off the other man's face. Partially because the case needed to be solved quickly (this was just the third murder, after all) and partially because that look meant- always meant- that the consulting detective would display another talent of his.

"And I, my dear Lestrade, know that she was a 30-year-old governess, had a secret smoking habit, owned a Mastiff, and had her foot cut off with a glass knife before she was strangled." Holmes said. "Do keep up, Inspector- even the unfortunate lady's Mastiff is one step ahead of you and your men!"

Lestrade growled at Holmes' acidic remark. "We are trying our best, Mr. Holmes," He said, through gritted teeth.

Holmes turned back to the body- more specifically, the leg with the missing foot- and resumed examining for clues.

"I say, how did your meeting with Hogg go?" Lestrade asked casually.

"Shouldn't you be working on trying to do an attainable job, Inspector?"

"I would, but you're constantly trying to upstage me, Mr. Holmes." Lestrade replied, folding his arms.

"If you must know, Lestrade- which you most assuredly don't- Mr. Hogg and I are yet to come to an agreement on rent payments- and whether bacon is superior to sausages in the mornings."

"I get it- you don't like him." Lestrade finished, blinking a bit at the bizarre argument he had mentioned. Why did Holmes always end up in comical situations? Was the universe thinking Holmes had lost his sense of humour.

Now that sounded barmy.

Holmes merely grunted, breath accidentally condensing on his lens, provoking some incoherent curses in French. "I just wish, Lestrade, there was a decent chap to lodge with! I have yet to find one who is so accepting of my... unusual habits." He said, quietly.

Lestrade couldn't help but feel sympathy for his strange friend. He liked Holmes to a degree, and the insults they exchanged regularly, although acidic, no longer hurt. It had just become a sign they were on some new level of understanding than before.

Still, a companion who had the patience of a saint and the kindness of a Retriever -not to mention one who knew when to stand his ground- would make a perfect lodger, maybe even a friend, for the ever- maddening crime solving genius.

"Well, Lestrade, has it hit you yet?" Holmes asked abruptly, startling Lestrade out of his thoughts.

"Pardon, Mr. Homes?" The Inspector asked, his rat like face furrowing into a mask of confusion.

"My remark about the Mastiff?" Homes questioned, steely grey eyes pegging the Inspector much like a hawk who has found a mouse in the undergrowth. "Have you worked out the significance behind my earlier comment?"

Lestrade's eyes widened. "I thought that was just one of your attempts at putting my men and I down as being incapable of our job, Holmes."

"It was, but it was also a key part to the mystery! The Mastiff is part of the case, Lestrade!"

"How so, Holmes?" He asked wearily, eyeing the dead woman's entangled black hair- looking like lifeless, knotted veins on the muddy cobblestones. Her slender white hand, marred with mud, looked oddly like a dog's pawprint, now that he looked at it more closely.

"The poor, unknowing beast was used to bury the dead woman's foot somewhere! If we find the foot, we will have found out who is responsible for this crime!"

"But we still don't know what we're looking for, Mr. Holmes." Lestrade said. "Why are we seeking the foot?"

"Inspector, all will be revealed in due course. Unless you decide to use your brain for a change." Holmes answered dryly, stuffing his hands in his pockets to seek some matches and a pipe. "Now, we need to catch a cab to Pinchin Lane! I will enquire for Toby's services for this next part of the case."

Lestrade nodded, his lips quirked into a small smile at his friend's usual sardonic wit and relentless energy to solving crimes.

Whomever Holmes' new lodger would be, may God preserve him.