It was another morning at 221B Baker Street, with the skies darkening with clouds. To the inhabitant, it was a boring morning. Scratching his head of hair while holding his cup in another, Sherlock contemplated. He contemplated a lot; it was his obsession, well, one of them. He hated it, absolutely, hated this morning. No new cases and there wasn't anything interesting from the police for him to involve in. So, it was a boring morning. He shuffled up and down the flat, sometimes stopped for a minute to glance at the time. He stopped when the clock struck seven and checked his phone. There was nothing for him. Sherlock thought about his brother, how he could bug him for something to do. Yet, Mycroft was out of town, gone to the States, Sherlock didn't bother listening. There wasn't anything happening, because if there was then he'd get a text or a call. John went to Dublin, so there went his other plan. Oh, and the landlady Hudson wasn't around either. So, it was just Sherlock and he hated it.

He combed his website, for cases for him to solve, but that didn't help him either. Nothing intrigued him and nothing new posted. Sherlock went about the room afterwards, playing his violin. He continued until he swore he heard his phone going off. Like a child on Christmas morn, he dove for his phone. What waited him was Mycroft having a bit of fun: "Bored, brother?"

Sherlock scorned the screen, as the text stared at him. It was normal for Mycroft to do this, and it didn't help the fact that he also knew what Sherlock knew. Sherlock fired a response and sat his phone down. His response was: "No, but I suppose you are?"

Sherlock continued to play the violin. He stopped after the clock struck ten, then his phone went off again. He glanced, and it was from Lestrade. A murder occurred and he asked if Sherlock could come to the scene in Sherwood, a small town north of London. Elated, Sherlock spun around the room exclaiming, "Oh thank god… I was getting bored."

He readied fast and made haste to the outside where he hailed a cab. Upon arrival to the Bones Alley, he met with Anderson and the rest who eyed him from afar. They were surrounding the evidence strewn on the street that lead into the alley where the body was. Sherlock met with Lestrade who gave a look. Sherlock noticed and shrugged, "I'm bored."

"Of course you were," Lestrade said and led Sherlock to the crime scene. A man was facing down with pools of blood under him. He wore a grey suit, expensive, and suede shoes scuffled. Shot, with the gunshot wound in the chest cavity and it appeared the bullet didn't exit. The man wasn't from Sherwood, he came from London. He was a businessman for the local stocks, Sherlock finding his business cards. He was also married, with his ring found in his breast pocket. It looked nothing more than a robbery gone wrong; yet none of the money or belongings was missing . Murder in cold blood was another option. Sherlock smiled like a child as he looked at the body, information appearing out of nowhere. It continued until Sherlock had enough and said, "Send him off, won't you?"

"Yeah, yeah," he heard them say.

With that, Sherlock departed from the scene and as he did, he stopped under a sign for a coffeehouse. Glancing up there was a raven looking down. Its neck stretched out for Sherlock to see its eyes, amber in color but looked brown from afar. It cawed at him and Sherlock tilted his head, confused. The raven tilted its head in return. Done staring, the raven took off, cawing as it took flight. Sherlock blinked and muttered under his breath, "Interesting."

Sherlock looked inside the coffeehouse through the storefront, small and family owned. He concluded the man who had died came into it before his death. Entering, he went up to the counter to meet with the youngest of the generation. He asked, "Did a businessman come here late last night?"

"Could you be more specific, sir?" the woman stared at him. Sherlock gritted his teeth, "Did a man in a gray suit, suede shoes, and gelled hair come in late last night?"

"Oh," the woman blinked before nodding. "Yeah him, he was so angry. He stormed in here with the biggest attitude and was screaming on the phone."

"What about..?" Sherlock eyed her. She shrugged and responded, "He was auguring about stocks, that's about it."

"Did you see anyone suspicious afterward?" the woman shifted in her spot, her flowing locks of burgundy hair flowed to her right shoulder. "No, no one came in or left after he came," the woman shook her head. She stopped and remembered something, "Although, there was someone."

"Who," Sherlock looked at her. The woman shrugged, "It was dark and I couldn't see. Someone was walking past the storefront; he was tall, walking in the same direction."

"Anything else, anything more than height..?" Sherlock looked at her. She shrugged again before remembering again. "I swear he had a… a beaked nose. A long beaked nose," the woman watched as Sherlock mumbled under his breath. Content, Sherlock bowed his head and walked out of the coffeehouse. He went through his phone. He texted John the details before walking in the same direction. He glanced around as he did what would a businessman go to after having coffee?

He stopped and looked up to see a bakery. Entering inside, he found the cashier dolling out change. His mole eyes moved to meet Sherlock's, and the man smiled. "How may I help you, sir?" said the man. Sherlock asked, "Did a businessman come in late last night?"

"Gray suit, nasty attitude?" the man gestured. Sherlock nodded. The man groaned, rubbing his thinning hair. "That man was impossible!" he bemoaned. Sherlock watched as the man went to the case and grabbed for a pastry to give to a customer. "He came in with, yelling into his phone. "I told you, stocks go up not down!" was what he said. And it didn't help he was a poor customer. Bloke couldn't wait a damn minute for me to grab a pastry for him."

"Did you see another man… a tall man—taller than me, come around?" Sherlock asked. The man was almost surprised. "He didn't kill him," the man said. Sherlock blinked before asking, "Who didn't kill him?"

"He's a saint amongst those less fortunate. He wouldn't hurt a fly," the man responded.

"Pardon my da, he's a bit of a superstitious man," a woman appeared from the kitchen with a tray of baked pastries. Sherlock looked at her and asked her,"Who is he talking about and did he come around here?"

"The businessman went to the office on the corner of Oak Street," the woman stated. "He yelled that into the phone."

"So, there was no tall man coming around after the businessman came here?" Sherlock eyed her. It was obvious she was lying and Sherlock was pressing for answers. She shook her head, "Nope."

Disappointed, Sherlock left the bakery and followed the signs toward Oak Street. He found an accountant's office. His beady eyes looked up at Sherlock's as he typed on the computer as Sherlock stood at the desk. "Here for consulting?" asked the man. "No, answers for a murder case," Sherlock said. The man winced and nodded, "Right, right, the oaf of a man found dead."

"I take it you two weren't friendly?" Sherlock asked him. The man sighed and rubbed his eyes, exhaling before he finally replied. "Yeah, Jim wasn't exactly a saint. He's a businessman for some high-end business in London. He came here to sear me some more over some "accounting errors". Oi, he was a pain. It didn't help he came in all angry like. The stocks for his business was flat lining and he was pressing his assistant to find a way to bring them back up."

"What accounting errors?" Sherlock looked as the man typed on the keyboard. He pointed at the screen, following the lines until he stopped. "Somehow, thousands misplaced. I swear, I had no part in that sort. His assistant was a weasel though—I liken him to Greed itself."

Sherlock remembered. "Did a tall man—taller than me—come this way?" he asked. The man shrugged, "Oh yeah, him. Yeah, he comes this way time to time. I saw him go through Kinsman Alley outside my office."

"Was he present around the time Jim was here?" Sherlock watched the man stretch out his arms. "You might find that the townsfolk liken him to a spirit," the man replied as he rolled his eyes. He sighed and added, "Jim went to the local watering hole just down a block from here. The tall man just went through the alley."

"Is there anything in the alley?" Sherlock asked. The man blinked, "Nothing that I know, then again it's all interconnected, the alleys. He could've gone elsewhere for all I know."

Sherlock bid farewell and left for the local pub. He met with the bartender who introduced himself as Norman. "Yeah, he came here. He was a pain in the bloody arse! One wrong thing and he went off. It didn't help that he was low on cigarettes. He was worse when he had only two left," Norman cleaned a glass as he talked to Sherlock. Sherlock nods and asks, "Was there a man-a tall man, taller than me-who came around?"

Norman shook his head. "No, no one like that. Look, the bloke went to get more cigarettes from the convenience store."

Sherlock sighed as he departed from the pub and checked his messages. John had just came back from his meeting and was asking about the case. Sherlock requested him to come immediately. John responded with an ETA of his arrival. Sherlock stopped again and looked up to see what looked like the same raven from before. It looked down from the hanging sign for a pharmacy; Sherlock raised a brow to the sight. Its amber eyes was looking into his, leaving Sherlock to wonder if the bird was looking at him. He mused to himself that perhaps it couldn't have been the same raven as before—this one was smaller. The raven flew off and Sherlock continued toward the convenience store. Sherlock bowed his head and looked at Ruby, the cashier. She smiled and asked him, "May I help you sir?"

"Yes, did a man in a gray suit come in last night?" Sherlock replied. Ruby frowned and nodded, "Yeah that bastard."

"What was he doing?" Sherlock continued. Ruby shifted in her spot before sighing. "He came in with a big attitude. His stocks were going south and he was yelling at I guess someone from his office to take care of it. He comes in, yells at me to get some packs of cigarettes," she said. Sherlock blinked, "Was there a tall man—taller than me—that might've come this way?"

Ruby blinked and crossed her arms. "Yeah, he was a pretty tall. He comes in here a lot with the homeless to buy supplies. He was here last night. He had to put up with the bastard, the poor man," she sighed. Sherlock nods, "Did anything happen?"

"Well, the tall man came in to buy usual supplies—he had two people with him, homeless people. They were grabbing for things and the man just grabbed for the blankets we had on sale. They get up to the cash register when Big Nasty came in and cut in line. The tall man didn't make a big deal of it, but the two people with him did. The Big Nasty turned around and was about to say something but he shut his trap when the tall man looked down at him. He paid for cigarettes and buggered off. The tall man paid for the lot's groceries and left with the two people," Ruby explained. Sherlock nodded. "What did this tall man look like?" Sherlock asked. Ruby shifted in her spot again and chewed on her bottom lip. "Well, I don't know how to even describe him," she admits.

Sherlock shook his head and asked again, "What did he look like?"

"Well, sir, to be honest with you, he wore a costume, I think it was a costume," Ruby pondered. Sherlock eyed her as she continued to describe the tall man. "He… he wore one of those costumes—the one with the beak mask," she tried to describe. Sherlock already pieced together what she was saying. A plague doctor costume, an oddity, and it made Sherlock curious. "Was there anything about him?" Sherlock continued. Ruby nodded. "His eyes are odd, they looked pure silver," said Ruby as she fixed her apron. Sherlock nodded. Before he could leave, Ruby said something peculiar. "Have you seen the ravens in this town? Something about them… they're different than any that I have ever seen before."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked her. Ruby blinked, "The ones that follow people around. The ones that have amber eyes, and they've been stalking about for a good while."

"They're just being animals," Sherlock shrugged. Ruby shook her head, "They say around here that these ravens belong to the tall man. Now that I mention it, these ravens didn't show up until he did."

"Pets," Sherlock reasoned. Ruby shook her head again, "I have seen ravens, sir. These aren't any ravens that I ever encountered, pets or not."

Sherlock exited and stared at John who looked rather displeased with him. "I was asking where you were," John said, disgruntled. Sherlock shrugged, "Where would I be, John?"

"On the moon," John uttered under his breath and cleared his throat. Sherlock smirked at him, an igneous idea came to mind that would be perfect. John noticed and frowned. "There's been a talk about a tall man—taller than me—roaming about. He's known to wear the plague doctor uniform. But, I am too keen on solving the businessman's murder. Perhaps you can go about and see what that entails," Sherlock said as he passed John. John stopped and eyed him, "You want me to look for a plague doctor?"

"Yes, John. And ask around about the ravens, the ones with amber eyes. Make sure you check the records of any ravens bought or the like," Sherlock looked at him. John blinked, "And why would I be looking into a man who dresses like a plague doctor and a flock of ravens?"

"He could be a suspect," John heard Sherlock said as he disappeared behind a building. John sighed and shook his head. He stopped and looked up to see a raven look down at him from a post, its amber eyes staring into his. The raven cawed into the distant and flew off, disappearing over a business. John winced; he glanced to see an empty sidewalk, before glancing back at the post. He chewed on his lips, "Bloody hell."

With that, John tried to find answers about a tall man who fancied wearing the plague doctor outfit. Oh, and the ravens, too.