[spoiler] Merry Christmas to my dear friends, Sherlock and Watson! I hope you find it comparable, if only slightly, to the Holmes books. [/spoiler] 221B Baker Street. "Ah, now that is [i]interesting[/i]" Said my friend as he looked over a vial of greenish liquid. His thin frame was bent full over the object of his curiosity. " I say, what is that you are doing? " I said as I laid my daily paper down. I stood up regretfully and made my way to his side. "My dear colleague, I have found a most intriguing phenomenon!" Reaching into his lounge clothes deep pockets, my friend withdrew a small granule of a whitish orb. "Observe, Watson. " He dropped the small one into the liquid and in an instant the whole mass began a violent exposition of bubbling. I leaned forward to see the contents of the erstwhile filled vial. It was empty. All agents had vanished. "Why, there is nothing left!" I exclaimed, much absorbed. As my friend Sherlock was about to explain himself a resounding knock fell upon our ears. The sound proceeded to grow in volume till we quite had had our full of it. I took steps to the door and grasped my hand on the knob. Outside the doorway stood a woman. She seemed to me to be well to do with her hair up in a bunch and a self righteous air. Around her neck was a fur muffler of considerable worth. All in all she struck me as quite the heiress. "Good evening, madam." I said tipping my hat. " How may I be of service to you? " She looked past me and into the study obviously in an attempt to see if anyone else were there. "This is the residence of Mr. Sherlock Holmes is it not?" "It is, " I said inviting her inside. "I am a friend and colleague of his. If you'll follow me I shall take you to him, he is in his study." I led the woman into the study where Sherlock had planted himself in his armchair, a pipe and tobacco were near at hand next to a volume of Aristotle. "How is business this time of year, ma'am?" Sherlock said with utmost politeness. " I hope the guardians up in the tower aren't fretting over the outcome of their engrams again? " The woman started, then she pointed an accusing finger at Sherlock. "How do you know that? You don't know me and sure as the light I don't know you." "Rather," I remarked . "How do you tell she is a cryptarch?" Sherlock pressed his forefingers together and brought them together under his hawk like nose. "Oh, it's simplicity itself, really. Under your coat I see the ends of robe. Traditional cryptarch garb but not conclusive. At the ends of your scarf, however, are signs of ink, betraying you do much writing or cataloging. Further, despite your confident look, you bear an undeniable look of stress and annoyance, very common for your line of work I should think." The lady seemed to relax at such a response. "But of course, silly me! I should have known it was so simple!" Holmes looked languidly at me with a weary look. He had often expressed regret to me that, "In explaining my process to my clients it appears to rob them of a sort of awe and mythos surrounding me. It leaves them with the air of a child who realized that a magician is not truly a magical figure but a charlatan. I am but a man, Watson, but they seem to think less of me for making this known to them..." In such words would he often relay to me about these encounters. "What was it you needed our help with, ma'am? If I may inquire?" I said to tear away the analytical introduction. "I was sent on behalf of a guardian named Ringer-7." She walked across the room to Sherlock and passed him a slip of paper. " It is an intercepted communicae from a fallen Ketch." Sherlock took the paper in his hands and weighed it carefully. He took a moment to sniff the parchment and then brought it up to eye level. "What is it you wish to know of it? As a cryptarch I would assume you would have access to a lexicon of Eliksni words, so it's more than a translator you seek." "Correct again. Ringer has heard of your skill in finding that which others do not in matters such as these. He had hoped you could tell where the article had come from. He needs to know so he can hunt them." " Ah, that is easily done! Watson, take a look at this would you? " I stepped forward to inspect the paper. It was worn and in bad condition, that much was apparent from the mere sighting of it. "It was badly handled." I said. "And there's a tear at the corner of it. There is a small blotch of some sticky substance. Besides these, anything else alludes me." I concluded. " Good, good, Watson. " Holmes replied. "But you miss the key points. See here," he indicated the torn corner . "It is warped a bit on the edges, likely by water since there is not a stain. This explains the tear as well. So we know that it was exposed to water of some sort. Further," he continued. "You noticed the goo on the paper but failed, I'm afraid to notice the granules in it. Upon deeper investigation one can clearly see that it is a salt, a pinkish salt which I deduce is Himalayan. If you smell the paper you can detect a faint but present smell of smoke which indicates a fire of sorts. So what do we have?" I looked at the paper with new eyes and saw that what he said was true. I said, "Well I would say they were somewhere in the Tibetan mountains. Fire for the cold. Dampness for the frost. And salt for the potential commodity they found there." I stepped back and looked to see the woman's eyes widen in astonishment . "What! Already?" She cried. " that is all there was to it? Salt and smoke? I am a blamed fool for not noticing! " She took the paper back and began studying it. "It was simple really," my friend replied. "You merely needed the right approach. Will this be sufficient for your needs?" She shook her heaf emphatically. "Yes, very much so! I shall tell Ringer the breakthrough." She handed me a check for a fair amount of glimmer for our services . "I may call again if me and the guardian need any further help. Good day." After the lady had left the house I returned to my chair and took out my pipe and powder. "Well, that was certainly an interesting happening, if a bit short." " Yes... " Holmes said as he reached for his book. "If only there were more to it. I should have liked to have had a proper mystery..." " She said she may return if this Ringer chap needs more help, " I offered. Sherlock gave vent to a drawn out sigh as he leaned back and opened the leaves of the volume. "Oh I suppose so. It's so dreadfully dull in the meanwhile." As we each occupied ourselves with our interests, the snow fell softly on our roof on 221B Baker Street. [spoiler]This is part of a set of Christmas stories for my friends. If you enjoyed it, please check out this link to my story/Masterpost for my Christmas Anthology: https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/250187755?sort=0&page=0 [/spoiler] /Dive Into The Trenches?/ https://www.bungie.net/en/Groups/Post?groupId=3422633&postId=249426639&sort=0&page=0