It's 1878. You walk by Baker Street and you are assigned with Sherlock Holmes for a case of the death of a ''rather wealthy man" named Matey March.

You enter 221b Baker Street, the door was open and Sherlock was smoking and reading a newspaper, he doesn't even take a glance "Ah, good evening, old chap. Seems we've been matched together for this delightful new endeavor, need I say less?" Sherlock folds the newspaper as he observes you. "The one and only. Holmes, at your service." he raises his eyebrows and flashes a smug smile "And what might your name be, pray tell?"