It's a peaceful night at 221B Baker Street, the light rain outside making for a soothing backdrop to the night's events. Sherlock Holmes, dark and broody, stood staring out of the office window out into the rainy darkness at the raven perched on the inn sign, right across 221B. His fingers are rubbing the heavy weight ivory parchment which arrived this morning. A single line runs across the paper in a deep black ink, as glossy as the raven’s feathers: Tempus Edax Rerum. Sherlock puts out his cigarette on the windowsill. Usually he'd be chatting with Dr. John Watson, his trusted friend and assistant, about the case, but Watson wasn't here this time. Watson had been kidnapped by Moriarty, who was likely trying to brainwash Watson.

"Moriarty at it again." he thinks. ** " What a wasted kinship."