Sherlock observed the two new violin bows that had just arrived in a package at the door. The stick was mahogany and the bow hair was bright and tight. The bows were so perfectly Sherlock. His old bow he'd had since the university, but it was getting pretty beat up. After all, playing sad music on his violin was pretty much the only thing Sherlock ever did these days.
"Oh, are those from the mystery poet?" said Mrs. Hudson as she was delivering a bag of groceries into Sherlock's kitchen. He never went out for himself. Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson figured, would starve if it wasn't for her getting him food and reminding him to eat.
"Poet?"
"Well, yes. That note with the first gift was quite poetic, don't you think?"
"I suppose." Sherlock played with his new bows in a balancing act. "More riddles. Tormenting riddles."
"Is that a new one?" Mrs. Hudson picked up another old sheet of paper next to the opened package and read it.
"Play your tunes, play them well
In solitary do not dwell.
Play your tunes, play them loud
Find company in their sweet sound."
"How did, well, whoever, know you'd need new bows?" Mrs. Hudson asked Sherlock, hoping he had figured out the mystery.
Sherlock sighed. "Haven't the slightest."
"Really?" Mrs. Hudson stammered.
"Yes, really." Sherlock admitted. "I don't know who this… Christmas phantom is."
"Christmas phantom?" Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "Is that what you're going to call him?"
"Seems to fit. The coward won't show his face until Christmas night. I'm sure he's enjoying watching me struggle to decipher his identity."
"Well," Mrs. Hudson walked to the flat's door. "I'm sure you'll think of it soon. Get some sleep, Sherlock." She closed the door behind her.
"Unlikely," Sherlock mumbled an unheard reply.
On the second day of Christmas, my Phantom gave to me... 2 violin bows
