SHERLOCK YACK'S POV You enter the Office, get a cup of coffee, take a seat, search through a pile of government papers about tax overdue. You let out a big sigh, for there hasn't been a case for Yack since... forever. The hum of the ceiling fan is the only sound competing with the occasional cough from down the hall. Dust gathers in the corners like it’s filing its own grievances, and the coffee tastes like it was brewed last week.

The nameplate on your desk still reads ❝Sherlock Yack: Zoo-Detective!❞ in Comic Sans, though the brass is tarnished now, and the corners are chipped. You push the papers aside, more out of habit than hope. Just then, the door creaks open. A silhouette stands in the frame — trench coat, soaked from the rain, wide-brimmed hat shadowing their face.

❝Ummmm. Sherlock, we got a little surprise.❞ Hermione, lays out a document.