'Sup.

So, the plan is to update as much as possible during these two weeks before school starts. After that, it'll just be on weekends.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. Or anything other fandom for that matter.

"So, now what?" John asked as they walked down the street.

"We need to find out more."

"More?"

"Yes, more. You go to his house. Look through his things; find out what kind of life he had, what his hobbies were, things like that. I'll follow up on the stove; see what's exactly wrong with it. Meet at St. Bart's around. . ." Sherlock checked the time on his watch. "Eighteen hundred hours."

"I assume lunch is on our own?"

"If you care about such things." Sherlock turned and walked away.

After grabbing a bite to eat, and getting O'Connor's address from Lestrade, John started to head in the direction of the chef's house. It turned out that it wasn't that far, and since he didn't have that much money anyway, he decided to walk.

The weather man had said that there was about two inches of snow expected today. Not that it would matter. It would get patted, scraped, pushed, squashed, basically disintegrate under the feet and tire treads of London. It would become forgotten.

He tolerated snow. He had enjoyed it growing up, but as he got older it lost its magic. When he was in Afghanistan, he had wished for it of course, and was happy to see it when he first got back, but now it was becoming a regular occurrence. He would still stick out his tongue to catch snowflakes though.

Collin's house turned out to be a large, ornate row house. The porch was at least ten yards across and was covered in urns that sprouted curls of ivy. There were four, stout pillars that held up the roof. And a door.

John realized that the door was probably locked, and he didn't want to break into the house. So he started to look for a spare key. After checking in and around the urns, he decided to check under the doormat. As he bent down, he heard a cough behind him.

He turned around. A man in a black suit stood on the walkway leading up to the house. He was carrying a plastic bag full of cleaning supplies. "What are you doing?"

"I was, uh, I was looking for a key. Do you work here?" John added as an afterthought.

"Yes." The man smiled and continued toward the house. "I'm Collin's butler, Samuel. I'm here to clean for the funeral viewing."

John's eyebrows shot up. "They're having the viewing here?"

"Yes."

"When?"

Samuel took a ring of keys out of his pocket. "Sometime later this week. I was just notified to tidy up the place." He unlocked the door. "Are you with the police?"

"Well, not . . . exactly."

Samuel studied him for a few seconds. "Come on in."

The foyer was colored in different shades of white and beige. The walls were eggshell and the side tables and vases on top of them were beige. Even the flowers had a milky or creamy whiteness to them. The light bulbs produced enough light to see the correct shade of everything, but were low enough to produce light shadows from everything.

Their footsteps echoed through the empty house. "What are you here to do, exactly?" Samuel asked.

"I need information about Collin's personal life," said John as he looked around at the décor.

Samuel pressed his lips together and nodded. "I can help you with that."

John found himself a few minutes later in the dining room polishing some silver. Samuel said he talked better if his hands were busy, and besides, he did need the help.

"I came to work for Collin about four years ago. He said I would be doing just housework, and for the first months I did."

"Was he just starting out?" John interrupted.

"Yes, you could say that. Unfortunately, I started to do more than housework. As time went by, I found myself cooking as well."

"Cooking?" John exclaimed.

Samuel gave a sad, but amused nod. "Yes, cooking."

"But he's a chef!"

The smile disappeared. "What do you mean?"

John opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The butler had no clue what Collin did for a living.

"Perhaps," Samuel said. "I should explain further."

John nodded dumbly.

"Mr. O'Connor never told me what he did for a living. All I knew is that he went out every morning at nine and came back at sixteen hundred hours. He somehow found money to pay the bills. It was very routine.

"That was the first year. Once the second year started, he changed. It started in February I think. He asked if I could start making his meals for him. I asked why and he said 'Never you mind. Just do as you're told.' So I started making his meals."

"Did he ever criticize you? About the meals?"

"No. But he did start to stay out later."

"How much later?"

Samuel shrugged. "It depended. Sometimes he'd be back an hour after his regular time, other times it would be well into the next morning. He would usually be drunk. I used to keep his dinner warm for him, but I stopped after a while."

"Did he always come home drunk?" John asked, jotting something down in his miniature notebook.

"Most of the tome. He came with friends several times."

"Anyone you could identify?"

Samuel smiled and shook his head. "No, probably not."

"Anything else?"

"No, I don't think so." He paused. "Sir, the reason why I don't know much about him is that I don't pry. I've been in positions like this before, and I've found that it's best to not know anything about your employer's personal life."

"I can respect that," said John. "Can I, uh, see his room?"

"Sure." Samuel set down his silver and led John back to the foyer and up the stairs. Collin's room was the third room on the right.

"I'll be in the dining room if you need anything sir." Samuel left.

Collin's room was carpeted, and had a canopy above the bed. Everything was neat.

John wasn't sure where to start. Looking the room over, he didn't see any pictures or any personal objects. He decided to start with the desk.

The desk was made of walnut and had a white desk calendar on it. The current month was blank. He flipped through the rest of it. It was clean.

The top center droor held nothing of interest. Just some writing utensils, some paper clips, some empty pads of paper. The droor on the the top left just had some GQ magazines. The one below that had blank printing paper. John opened the third and final droor.

What he found shocked him.

Whew! That was a long one. Surely there must be something you liked/didn't like. Review it and tell me!