The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter One

This is the sequel to The Devil's Chord. I hope you enjoy it!  Updated as of 12/31/16
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Sherlock glared out the frost-gilded window. A flurry of snowflakes floated down, blanketing the ground. Only a few cars eased their way along Baker Street, the usual last minute shoppers, Speedy's cafe patrons, and gallivanting children absent. He scowled and resumed pacing.

John added another glittering ornament to their Christmas tree and smiled, humming an off-key rendition of "Good King Wenceslas." He appeared entirely too enamored with the horrid weather, the holiday season, and with himself.

Sherlock kicked at the scattered pine needles on the floor as he made another circuit of the room. He'd argued against getting a tree. The entire ritual was absurd. Why bring a dead plant into their flat? What was the point? John had marched into the kitchen and pointed out the severed arm nestled in the bottom drawer of the fridge. Somehow, the illogical comparison had resulted in them getting a tree.

"You got to see a dead body today. Can't you just relax?" John asked.

"Relax? It wasn't even a murder. The man choked on his Yorkshire pudding."

"But the free-range hamster came as a surprise."

"It was a surprise for you - not me." The pair of cuts that had meandered like a grotesque train track across the dead man's face had obviously been made by a rodent, not a serial killer in the making. Pity. While John and Lestrade's horrified reactions to the golden hamster living inside the man's dresser drawer had been mildly diverting, it had done very little to alleviate Sherlock's boredom. He needed another distraction, and soon.

John set a Santa hat atop the skull on the mantel and gave it a pat. Sherlock snatched it and tossed the offensive decoration across the room. It hit the wall, then disappeared behind the sofa.

A sigh. "It's Christmas Eve, Sherlock. Drink some mulled wine or something. Take the edge off. That's what all the murderers are doing right now. I'm sure they'll get back to killing people after the New Year."

Sherlock's lip curled. "Not if this abysmal weather continues. The colder it gets, the fewer the crimes. Everyone is inside behaving."

"Yeah, what a shame," John muttered as he picked up a ghastly cotton ball snowman. The rubbish ornament had been cobbled together by one of John's bumbling patients. Sherlock's gaze flicked to the fireplace. He knew the perfect place to put it.

A chime sounded, and Sherlock whipped out his mobile. Maybe it was Lestrade with a case.

It wasn't. Instead, it was a photograph from a blocked number.

"What is it?" John asked.

"Come see for yourself."

John set his box of ornaments down and moved to Sherlock's side. Most of the picture was taken up by a black cab. The falling snow made it impossible to read the license plate or see into the car. A building loomed behind it, and a shop window was partially visible near the cab's bonnet. Soft orange lights reflected in the glass, revealing a shadowy stack of round objects.

"Maybe it's a wrong number," John said.

Sherlock's phone chimed again.

5:30pm

Twenty minutes from now. "It appears we've been issued an invitation."

"If so, it's a ruddy vague one."

Sherlock's lips curved. "Not at all. This is proper intrigue. A test." His evening was finally looking up. He studied his phone. "Whoever sent this is a skilled photographer."