One week before Mycroft is due to leave he knocks on Sherlock's door with an idea for the perfect goodbye. Sherlock lets him in and Mycroft tells him to grab his coat, because they will be observing a crime scene. "Is this legal?" Sherlock asks. Mycroft shakes his head and laughs and replies. "Not really but the police know me we won't get in trouble just don't touch anything." Sherlock nods his head eagerly causing a few stray curls to bounce into his eyes. Mycroft brushes them away and grabs his hand. "Can John and Redbeard come?" Sherlock asks his voice full of hope. "They are members of our team so of course the can come," Mycroft replies but he speaks the words through gritted teeth as if realizing how perilous the situation will be. To him nothing could be worse than tarnishing his perfect reputation. None the less I leap up and wag my tail excited for the promise of a new adventure. We stop by John's house and he greets us with anticipation shimmering in his wide blue eyes. The case is in London which a far distance to walk, but I can't complain for the sights and the smells along the path invigorate me. I can smell the life and the death of the earth continuing on in an endless cycle. It smells like flowers blooming, with a sweet and sticky aroma. It smells like dust and decay, an odor so pungent it makes my nose burn. Most importantly the earth smells of sweet promises, the earth itself smells of hope and despair and everything in between. People are infinitely more connected to nature then they would like to think. Today it smells wonderful, but something dark brews in the wind twisting through the glorious scents of fall and covering them with something bitter.
