Prompt: a broken china teacup (mrspencil)
The front door of the manor already stood ajar.
Holmes and I exchanged a silent glance, but his features were smoothed away by the darkness; all I could make out was the faint silver gleam of his keen eyes. However, what he saw must have provided assurance enough, for he turned from me in a swift, decisive movement and the door yawned open, revealing pitch blackness beyond.
Holmes's grip tightened upon my wrist and together we stepped over the threshold. It was no warmer inside than out, though I wrestled the door closed behind us. Meanwhile, Holmes struck a match and soon the small vestibule was illuminated by a lantern. The oil inside smoked and sputtered with the flame and produced a sour odour, but it was better than stumbling blindly through the dark.
"Hello!" Holmes called out. "Is anyone there?"
However, the only reply was the hollow echo of his own words thrown back at him.
Our surroundings had perhaps once been quite fine, but it was difficult to tell with the peeling paper and rotting wood, which seemed to give way entirely in the hazy, flickering light. The only effects, besides the lamp which Holmes now raised, were a moth-eaten coat hung haphazardly from the rack and, upon the narrow side table, a single china teacup, cracked and broken.