IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE! Three quick, classic cases.

ON THE EDGE OF DEATH, PART ONE

Alderton couldn't remember the last time he had attended a wedding, or if he even had participated in one his whole life. He couldn't remember much of anything except for all that concerned his work as a detective, his various studies in the natural sciences, botany, and so forth. It never bothered him too much: it just meant that his life outside of the profession wasn't quite memorable enough, there was no reason to care about something not worth keeping. It wasn't even a question of not being capable of retaining information, he could recite the entirety of Hamlet word for word, because one day his boredom was acutely aching during a long thunderstorm, and he didn't even like Shakespeare that much.

He wouldn't have been too interested in attending this one celebration either, if not for one specific attendee. His intentions lost strength the moment she pronounced the words: "I'll see you tomorrow morning, then?"

There was no "Actually..." to be said. "Of course, Miss Camden" was the proper response – the sole that managed to pour out of his lips.

Fortunately, he had a good suit for special occasions stored away in the back of the closet, long left unused. For a moment, John almost didn't choose it, he almost grabbed another, one of the first suits he'd bought with his own money, which didn't fit him that well anymore, not to speak of the cheap material, or the quality of the seams. But see, the good suit, it was haunted by a ghost of the past, which his brain did its best to remove, by pretending not to recall the last time he'd worn it, even though the signs were still there - the scratches on the wall and the torn wallpaper, the books with faded words scattered all over the floor and the broken windows.

So be it. He took it for a good wash, as it carried a stench foul enough to be a murder weapon, all the while reminding himself to buy a new one that was in style, eventually. Then, it was time for one last chance to earn the graces of his sweet as a grape assistant, the only one he cared enough about to try to impress.

There he was, at last, in front of the church where the ceremony was to be held. As he peered at the people lingering outside, chatting, laughing, he was reminded how little he enjoyed social gatherings of the sort. What kind of spell had compelled him to accept to participate bearing such eagerness? Had he lost his mind? Was his will buried so deep underground?

While pondering over these questions, along with some excuses he could use to get back home – work was his strongest soldier, no one ever dared to question it – someone got off a carriage not far from where he was standing: it was an older gentleman holding his hand out for a young woman, who came out second. He observed the two, unnoticed, for a few moments, as she began to scan the grounds; he took a couple of steps toward them, making his presence known. Her expression turned from inquisitive to surprised and, though he knew how much of a self-indulgent thought that was, it appeared to him that a slight blush had taken over her cheeks looking at his shaven visage and neat haircut. Being there wasn't too bad, after all.

"Detective Alderton," she greeted him, with a bow as well. "This is my father accompanying me."

"Miss Camden," he reciprocated, with a movement of his head. "Mr Camden, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"It is of a much greater pleasure to meet you, sir. My wife and I have been meaning to thank you in person for your diligence in our son's... situation."

In that moment, John realized an obvious truth he hadn't given much thought to: burying a young son for a parent must be the most devastating thing to do in their lifetime, it hadn't been long since then either. Yet, the man held himself with such composed dignity, that his daughter's own was not surprising in the least. "It is in no way needed, I merely did my job, same as any other employed man. I can't conjure up miracles, I give bad people the bad time they deserve. It's not as impressive as it looks, to be honest, most of the time." His being humble like so was almost too much of an oxymoron, anyone who knew him well wouldn't have been able to keep listening to all the absurdities being spewed.