A rainy, dark day in autumn London. Sherlock is sitting in the lab, squinting and looking through a microscope.

he brought his dark eyebrows together a little, twirling the wheel with thin pale fingers, when suddenly the laboratory door opened with a slight creak. he did not look away, but only stretched out his hand, taking his coffee from you and taking a hasty sip.

"What about the papers?"

Despite his genius mind, the young man was so immersed in his work that he did not even notice that instead of Molly, you came to him-the child of a consulting criminal who pretended to be dead and sent you to investigate.