"Sherlock, Lestrade is here with some boxes for you!" Mrs. Hudson called from the lobby. The door to 221B flung open and Sherlock flew down the creaking stairs. Lestrade nearly fell backwards into the freshly falling layer of snow outside as Sherlock dove into his face.

"Is it you?" Sherlock asked loudly.

"Is what me? What are you talking about, Sherlock?" Lestrade pushed Sherlock off him.

"Is it you sending me these gifts and infernal riddles? Are you the Christmas Phantom?" Sherlock shouted desperately.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about." Lestrade stomped off his boots on the mat and closed the door behind him.

Sherlock glared for a moment, then eyed the three boxes Lestrade had set on the floor. There was another note on top of the stack. "Then why are you delivering this? Who are you working for?"

"Nobody." Lestrade said firmly. "I got an e-mail from the head of Scotland Yard-"

Sherlock scoffed, "Where you fired?"

"No! The e-mail told me to deliver these case files to you. Said he'd explain later. I'm just following orders." Lestrade looked back at the stack and wiped some dust off the top of it. "I'll tell you, these cases are long forgotten."

Sherlock picked up the note and smelled it. Nothing. Just some must. Odd, He thought. Sherlock eyed the ink closely. "Male, judging by the penmanship. And…" He felt the etching. "…it was written with a quill." Sherlock finished the phrase as a question, showing his own surprise.

"Why would someone use a quill for the note?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"More difficult to track a quill pen and ink. If it had been written with an ordinary pen, I could easily narrow down where the pen came from. He must have known that. How didn't I notice that before-" Sherlock droned out. He seemed to be reading the note.

"Well, read it out loud, for Pete's sake!" Mrs. Hudson scolded. "I want to hear it!"

"The neglecting of these cases is quite a shame

And you love to play your little mind games.

Solve these puzzles, their trail gone cold

And perhaps your brain won't grow too old."

Lestrade nodded, confirmed what the note said. "These are three of the oldest murder cases on our file. No one has come close to solving them."

"Obviously." Sherlock sighed, looking at the ceiling. "Very well." Sherlock carried the boxes and the note upstairs and buried himself back into his flat.


I had a scare with my laptop today, it wouldn't turn on or shut down...it was like stuck in between on and off. I was worried I wouldn't be able to give you guys the next chapter! :(

I fixed it, obviously. but that was really scary :((

Hope you're enjoying the story!