A/N: Hey, everyone! Sorry for being gone so long! I've had a rough week or so, to say the least. Now that I've gotten through the worst of it, I'm going to push through with the last of this challenge.

Prompt: Market

From: Kitschgeist

Warning: contains slaughter of fictional giraffes.

…..

During the near decade I had been with my friend and esteemed companion, the great Sherlock Holmes, I had encountered a great deal more depravity and cruelty on the streets of London than in the Afghan fields where I had served in the war.

One of the most shocking and cruel acts of humanity I had the misfortune to learn about, however, was amongst the markets of Edinburgh, where Holmes and I were investigating a most unique and yet horrifying case.

…

Disguising ourselves as a pair of inconspicuous Scottish cobblers, Holmes and I walked along Fleshmarket Close to solve the case.

"Do you have any leads, Holmes?" I asked him quietly.

"I have formed at least five theories, but I cannot act on them without more data." He answered in a low voice. I nodded as I tightened my ragged scarf round my neck to stifle heat. Scotland was oft recognized as having miserable weather and low temperatures.

To avoid keeping you in suspense, dear readers, the case Holmes and I are currently on concerns the illegal smuggling and slaughter of giraffes, brought in from India and Africa by the shipload before being drugged to the nines and meeting their brutal ends by knives. But the worst part of this was that their flesh was then sold on to unsuspecting Scotch women merely looking to purchase affordable meat for their families' evening meals.

It is a most despicable business- one Holmes and I are determined to end this evening.

"Are you alright there, my friend?" Holmes asked me casually, catching me off guard.

"Yes- why wouldn't I be?"

"You lie deplorably, my dear Watson," Holmes replied, so softly I could have sworn a spirit was in my presence, had he not been standing right next to me.

I let out an Afghan curse under my breath. Despite my attempts to do it quietly, Holmes allowed a stray, thin hand to thump against my arm- hard.

"What the blazes was that for, Holmes?!" I asked him, in self justified indignation.

"One slip of truth as to our identities, and we will face a far worse brutality than the giraffes we are attempting to save!" Holmes hissed back, his voice still almost as quiet as a spirit. "As far as these unknowing Scots are concerned, you have never been abroad in your life! So, cease talking at once, unless the need arises."

I let out a hurt huff in reply, but obeyed, as was my wont when I was solving cases with my friend.

I was surprised when I felt my hand in his own- but was touched beyond words when he briefly but gently squeezed my hand in apology before letting go.

I silently forgave Holmes, and we allowed ourselves to melt into the Edinburgh markets, determined to end the giraffe smuggling once and for all….