A/N: I haven't written in forever, and I feel terrible for that. School has been rough and I needed to pay attention to that, but I digress. This chapter is not much, but it moves the plot along. Enjoy!
The sun shone through the window. Although December was approaching it was warm compared to the bleak winter months that England had to offer. Their normal routine continued throughout the normal day – Watson visited some of his patients while Holmes snooped through some of his clues that tried to lead him to the killer. The routine almost seemed like they were back at Baker street, however the New York City skyline was a constant reminder that they were on their new continent.
Watson knocked on the door of his first patient of the day. Mr. Cands was an older gentleman with a bad back. He couldn't move around much, but every few weeks he needed some treatment to ease the pain so he could do his daily chores. Watson was there to help him for the hour and give him his medication that needed to be refilled. The hour went by quickly, a huge relief to Watson. Mr. Cands was his only patient thankfully.
"Unfortunately, Mr. Cands my time is up here." Watson said as he placed his supplies back in his bag.
"Are you getting ready for Thanksgiving, Doctor?"
"I'm sorry?" Watson was confused. He's heard of the tradition, however never celebrated due to the fact that, well, he's not from the country.
"Thanksgiving! The grand ol' tradition of getting together with the people you trust and love. The day where you celebrate what you have and the privilege for having those things you're thankful for with the people you're surrounded with. It's about a week away.."
"Sounds like a grand old time." Watson smiled. "Any of your family coming over to your house for this tradition?" he changed the subject slightly.
"My daughter. We have a stuffed pheasant ever since her mother died…which was about ten years ago when she was eleven."
The room went silent as Watson stood up. "Would you like to join my daughter and me next week? Maybe bring your wife?"
"My wife is back in England with the rest of my supplies, however my good friend and I would love to join you for some stuffed pheasant, Mr. Cands." Watson put on his hat and jacket, and waved goodbye to his patient. The sun got a bit brighter from the last time he saw it.
Holmes managed to sneak back into the first victim's house. Instead of inspecting the primary floor once again, he headed to the upstairs bedroom in order to see if there were any clues of some sort. There was a small sized bedroom, a bath, and a small room, which looked like only one person could live in the flat. Holmes started in the bedroom. Everything looked normal as far as he observed. It was a few minutes before he started to depart however something looked amiss. The dresser right near the bed was open. This didn't coincide with the rest of the room – the neatly made bed and everything in the room wasn't out of place – so the open drawers on the dressers seemed off. Holmes moved closer to the drawers and searched through. Holmes found a booklet.
He looked through the booklet he found in the victim's drawer. There were scribbles, doodles and just some standard checks between dates. Holmes saw a pattern. It was every other Friday there was a small check between the date, time and address. He smiled because of the progress, even though it was insignificant, that was made.
It was an hour before Holmes had to be at the address to see what the victim had tucked up her sleeve. When Watson arrived back from his daily duties, he would bring him to the place with him, as a safety precaution. He was the bronze after all.
"Holmes, Why are we here?" Watson pulled out one of the stools to the bar.
"We are here because our dear departed friend," Holmes waved the planner, "Might have a companion that may have some leads on our new case."
"..and here I thought we were just going out for a drink." Watson said under his breath. Holmes and Watson ordered their drinks. The detective tried to find another indicator about their guest, in the planner he held. In the back section of the planner, he found some more scribbles on the back cover.
Grey clothing, brown hair. Will sit fifth stool from center of bar.
Twenty minutes later, a woman of petite nature with a light grey dress, and brown hair sat down five seats down from the center of the bar.
A/N: Reviews are most gladly welcome. The next chapter is going to be posted…well I'm not sure, but I'm not giving up on this story!