John spent much of his time asking around. All the same, no one knew when the tall man came to Sherwood or why. The ravens were his, since they didn't show up until he did. No one knew anyone who had a flock of domesticated ravens or knew anyone who bought any. With a town like Sherwood, the answers were becoming repetitive. John was casting his doubts early on. He glanced up to the raven that perched itself on a statue of Virgo. But as he neared it, he met with a sight he never thought to see. This particular raven, with its characterized amber eyes, had gold streaks on its wings. Its beak was bronze colored and it wore a gold circlet around its forehead. Attached to the circlet behind its head were two long thin and small spade shaped flowing braids. John blinked, he thought he gone mad from wandering around Sherwood, but when the raven cawed at him. It cemented in his mind that this was real.

Walking up to it, he stared at the raven who stared back. John chewed the bottom of his lips, questioning whether he should or should not. In the end he did anyway, after all he knew Sherlock would do the same. "So," he talked to it. It tilted its head, looking as if it understood what he was saying. John watched its eyes center themselves on his as he asked, "Who do you belong to?"

The raven cawed at him. The way it cawed, it sounded odd. John didn't think much of it; the automobiles near the area were causing it. But he swore he heard mechanic noises, in the raven's caw. John shrugged it off. It had been a long and winded morning and it didn't help he hadn't had the proper time to eat. The only thing that sustained John this long was a quick cup of coffee and a muffin from Café Lovelace. But, John bit down on his lips; he had to satiate Sherlock's desire to overthink things. If not, then Sherlock wouldn't leave him alone when they returned to London, if they ever did. And if there's one thing all can say about Sherlock, a bored Sherlock solves murders. But deny Sherlock his ungodly right to overthink and overdo whatever he thinks about. God rest their soul the one who tries to calm him.

John sighed; he stopped when he noticed the raven sympathized. It sympathized. That alone made John question. The raven stared at him, as if beckoning him. John tried many times to think of what it wanted his mind was blank. He decided to try under the assumption that these ravens are pets. John held his arm outreached. He thought to himself, the raven wouldn't bother. He presumed the raven would think of him as just another bloody idiot. No, none of that was the case. To John's amazement, the raven flew off the Virgo statue and landed on him. John stared at the raven as it stared back. Around its neck was a gold band with a name etched in a way many wouldn't be able to see: Hippolyta.

It crossed John's mind. Hippolyta in the myths was the ruler of the Amazonians. She created the Amazonians by crafting them from clay and breathing life into them. Hippolyta looked at him and he looked at it and it tilted its head when he did the same. John chewed on his lip; he raised his free hand. When it did, he petted it, touching the circlet. John weighed the raven as it head butted his finger, in affection. It was three times heavy than the ravens he's seen in London. More so, it was quite heavy that he had trouble keeping his arm upright. Hippolyta must've noticed his discomfort as it moved sideways. It took a spot on his shoulder. John stared at it, it staring at his eyes. For John, this was much a first for him. Indeed at times he had run-ins with animals, wild and domesticated. The beak was cold, as it rubbed against his cheek, John mused that the temperament was that of a dog. "Hippolyta," John called to it, curious. It raised its head and looked at him. He continued, "Where's your master?"

It cawed in response, though it was quiet, as if for John's benefit as it was right next to his ear. John blinked, "Do you think you can take me to him… or her?"

He swore, nay he saw, the raven shaking its head, as if saying no. John was sure at this point he was mad and this raven proved it. A raven shaking its head at John was something he never thought would happen to him. It came to John; he had been having problems writing his next novel. Something like this would help eke out a few paragraphs, might even be a chapter. And what else but an event like this to help draw inspiration from.

Telling Sherlock this was an idea, but John decided it was time for schoolboy payback. Sherlock has always been doing things and never bothering to tell John when it mattered. John decided he was going to keep this event between him and Hippolyta. At least the raven sympathized with him. And as far as he could see, the raven wasn't going to lead him into a trap. Even into other situations that Sherlock always got him in.

His mind snapped back to the raven as it looked into his eyes, as if wandering was going on. John smiled, rather childishly, "I don't suppose you can keep secrets, yeah?"

The raven raised its head, John swearing he saw it smile. John kept his smile regardless, "Don't tell Sherlock this happened. Keep it between us, won't you? It'll drive him mad. And don't worry; it's only payback for all those other times he's never told me things."

Hippolyta agreed, it cawed in response and John couldn't help but pet it again. "Why is it the only one to agree with me is a raven?" John questioned. Hippolyta tilted its head. John chuckled at it, "Oh, you have no idea what it's like to have to eke it out as a detective slash writer. Actually, I don't suppose you'd mind if I write about you in my blog?"

Hippolyta blinked and cawed, curious. John made a face, "I have a dreadful case of writer's block. I can't think of anything to write and with Sherlock having me on speed dial it'll never let up."

Hippolyta agreed, it head butted against his cheek. John chuckled, "I promise your portrayal will be exact."

Hippolyta turned its head when it heard other ravens cawing. It tilted its head, it cawed in response and the ravens in the distant replied. It turned to John and pecked at his lips, as if giving him a kiss, before flying off. John rubbed his lips. He watched as Hippolyta disappeared over the church, leaving him alone. John had a stupid smile on his face. This was an experience that he knew will never happen again, guarantied. The fact that Sherlock wouldn't know was icing on the cake.

John rubbed his face; he decided to settle on a stroll through a park. Evening was upon him. It wouldn't surprise him the least if Sherlock would ask him to stalk the night for the tall man. He already had it etched out and was waiting for the appropriate time to conveniently text John. For now, John just wanted to have some time alone before that happens.

He strolled through Mulberry Park and found a small cart had set up near the picnic tables. It served small things such as coffee and pastries and John was a man who wouldn't pass up on such things. He stood in front of the man named Wally as he ordered a cup of coffee and asked for a bagel with sesame seeds. With his cup of coffee in hand, John sipped as he handed Wally a fiver as he in turn handed John a bagel. John thanked Wally and strolled to a bench near a rubbish can where he sat and munched on the bagel. It wasn't Mary's minced pies or the like, but it did the job and John was just really happy to get something to munch on. As he held the half-eaten bagel in his mouth, he used his free hand to flip through his notepad. He managed to list suspects and their motives. Some he had to guess on, but others were more concrete. Otherwise, he had to make do with what he had. With his free hand, John sketched out Hippolyta under the evidence section he had in his notepad. He included some excerpts he was thinking of using in his blog post. When he finished his bagel, he took a gulp of his coffee left to cool. As he flipped through the notepad, he came across the pages he wrote about the London Crow song. He read through his notes and as he did, he heard Wally converse with a woman. He heard footsteps walking toward him. "Excuse me," he heard her. He glimpsed to a woman, average height, hair tied back, standing there. "Is this seat taken?"

She points to an empty spot beside John. John shook his head, "No."

She took her spot and nibbled on a croissant, taking sips of her coffee. John sighed as he closed the notepad. The woman asked him, "Are you from around here?"

"Oh, no I'm just visiting here," John cracked a small smile at her. The woman glanced down at the notepad his hand was resting upon, "Are you a writer?"

"Sort of," John gestured. He stopped; he hadn't seen someone like her either. He cleared his throat as he asked, "Um, may I ask you some questions?"

"Sure," the woman smiled. She introduced herself as Clara. "Um, have you heard about a song called, "London Crow"?" John asked her. Clara nodded. John continued, "I was wondering if you knew anything about its significance?"

"The song was a worker's ballad. Workers coming down from the Highland used to sing it to lift their spirits," Clara summed. John raised his coffee, "What village did it originate from?"

"From Galahad, close to the border," Clara replied, taking a quick bite out of her croissant. John nods, "Why is it called "London Crow"?"

Clara answered, "London was one of the major destinations the workers would head for. Crow came from shifting coals and the like for quick money in Galahad. And at the end of the day their voices would be hoarse from shoveling coals, their faces blackened."

"I heard there were different versions of the song, this true?" John watched as she shifted in her spot. Clara nods, "There's at least four that I know of. The original one, in Gaelic, the second one was a mixed translation of Gaelic and English. The third translated further, and the fourth is more or less the one most people heard of but never thought of."

"Interesting," John blinks. Clara nodded. "Yeah, go figure. Most don't know because it's usually played on the radio stations that play old songs," she said. John nodded in return. He pondered, "I don't suppose you'd know anything about the tall man who's been causing a bit of stir do you?"

"The one that walks around in the middle of the night, feeds the poor?" Clare gestured. John nods. Clara continued, "With the ravens?"

"That's the one," John gestured with his coffee cup. Clare shrugged, "Beats me."

"Ah well, thanks anyway," John sighed. Clara stared, "Why are you asking, if you don't mind?"

"Well, I'm working on a case and I'm trying to narrow the suspects, it hasn't been a good day," John rubbed his brow. Clara finished her tea before chugging the cup into the rubbish can. She stopped, "Your name is John Watson, correct?"

"Yeah," John nods. Clara turned to him, "You work with Sherlock Holmes, right?"

"Yeah," she heard him say. She had a look on her face, as if she recognized him and he didn't realize it. John was about to say something when an older man appeared before them. His brow furrowed at the sight of John. Clara looked at the older man, "Any luck?"

"No," the man said, disgruntled. John watched him as he moved around. The man stopped and stared at John, John staring back. Clara smiled at the man, "Doctor, we still have time."

"Time," the Doctor scoffed. He shook his head, "Unlikely."

"I'm sure you'll get lucky tonight," Clara assured him. He scoffed again. John was hapless, this was another first for him. Quite honestly he didn't know what to say other than stare at the scene as it unfolded. The Doctor spun around as he heard the sounds of the ravens cawing, he gritted his teeth. He turned to John, "Who are you?"

"Me?" John pointed at himself. The Doctor grunted, "No, the rubbish bin."

"Doctor," Clara hissed at him. John cleared his throat, "My name is John Watson."

"Watson," the Doctor's eyes lit up. He looked over at Clara, "You were talking with him?"

"I was having a polite conversation, yes," Clare nodded. The Doctor shook his head. "Clara, this isn't the time to talk to John Watson."

"You know who I am?" John looked at him. The Doctor groaned, "Of course! I know who you are, I know who Sherlock is. I didn't come from under a rock."

"I'm sorry, but he's been in a bad mood as of late," Clara explained. The Doctor chortled. "I, having a bad mood?" the Doctor pointed. John cleared his throat before saying, "Am I missing something?"

"Nothing that concerns you," the Doctor leered at him. Clara hissed at him for being impolite but the Doctor didn't care. He said for Clara to come back to the usual place when she's done before he stormed off. John's face screamed of confusion and it showed. Clara sighed, "I'm sorry about him, he gets cranky when he doesn't solve things."

"Trust me, I know what you mean," John nodded. Clara chewed on her lips, "I'm sorry for his poor reaction. He's usually good about things, I swear."

"It seems something's been giving him some problems," John mentioned. Clara nodded. "Yeah, he's been looking into some things and can't figure them out. So he's been busy running around hoping for some answers," she explained. John stopped, "What is he looking for, if you don't mind?"

"Where do I begin?" Clara exhaled. She gave a weary smile. "I'm sorry, but I should go after him, it'd be poor taste if I leave him alone," she said. John nodded. Clara bowed her head and ran off after the Doctor, leaving John with a bemused look. He reached for his phone and texted Sherlock; he was straight to the point. Sherlock replied and said that Clara and the man to the mystery of the tall man, somehow. John sighed and asked how he would know that and Sherlock didn't respond. John rubbed his eyes and exhaled, "Blimey I'm tired."

Sherlock arrived to the park with a look on his face. John slept on the bench, with an arm under his chin. Sherlock never understood why John was sleeping on the job, other than it was wasting time. He stepped in front of John and stared. He grabbed the arm's cuff and pulled the arm away and allowing John to wake up with his eyes fluttering open. He sputtered as he blinked several times and only stopped when he saw who was in front of him. Sherlock stared at him, with a look. John groaned, "What now?"

"Where are Clara and the man?" Sherlock asked him. John shrugged, "Bloody hell, I'm not stalking them because of your convictions."

"They're suspects, John," Sherlock insisted. John groaned, "Good god Sherlock, I'm supposed to be the level headed one in all this madness. Even I'm considering switching sides."

"Where did they go?" Sherlock demanded. John pointed toward the opposite entrance, "I don't know where they went after."

Sherlock looked appalled, "You didn't follow them?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't aware stalking was in the job description," John crossed his arms. Sherlock shook his head, "They're suspects."

"And if they are, they'll stick around, won't they?" John eyed him. Sherlock exhaled and stomped around the bench. He stopped when he had an idea. He pointed at John, "It's almost night, go find the tall man."

"Wait, you're asking me to look, in the middle of the night, for the tall man?" John tried to understand. Sherlock nodded, "It's almost dark."

"I'm not going to stalk about the night for him, Sherlock," John shook his head. Sherlock stared. "I can't do it," he insisted. John stared at him, "Why not?"

"I'm going to look for them," Sherlock declared. John sighed and rubbed his eyes. He wished he hadn't gotten out of bed this morning.