"So what exactly are we looking for, then?" John asked as he thumbed through a copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales.
Sherlock had his nose buried in a Perrault book. "We need to compile a list of fairy tale characters, then cross-reference that with the London phone book. Any similarities will indicate possible targets for this murderer."
"But how do we even know it's a serial killer?"
"Really, John, why would someone go through all the trouble of creating such an elaborate murder if he wasn't going to strike again?" Sherlock said, still stuck behind the book. "It's like saying that you're going to stop writing a book after the first chapter."
"Could be a short story."
"Is that what you found out on your little blogging site? Learned about literature?"
John gave him a look, but his friend couldn't see it from behind the storybook. "Well, alright, you want a list."
Sherlock pushed over a pad of paper and a chewed up pen. "Have at it. I've already covered Hans Christian Anderson."
"So you have," John said, studying the list. "Don't you find this all a bit…boring?"
"Extremely so. But necessary."
John chuckled. "You're always the one complaining of boredom."
"And you're always the one so eager to help me with my investigations, but that doesn't seem to be the case right now."
John narrowed his eyes. Sherlock peeked over the book he had been reading, his eyes piercing. John could tell that he was smirking. "Alright, point taken," John sighed, picking up the book again. "Got shot in Afghanistan, shot a mad man through two windows, was in countless life-threatening situations, but sure, I'll read about princesses and fairies."
"Don't worry," Sherlock said, smirking. "I'm sure we'll be getting shot at soon enough."
John laughed. "I suppose so," he said, scribbling down some notes. "Let's just hope all of this actually helps us figure out who the next target is."
"And let's hope Lestrade doesn't decide to do another drugs bust. I'm afraid I may have put him off. You know how he gets annoyed when I fail to participate enough."
John nodded just as a knock came on the door.
"Well, bugger," Sherlock muttered.