There's a black door, labelled with golden metal lettering: 221-B.

Virgil stands on the doorstep, pressing his hand firmly onto his walking cane, and rings the doorbell. He's a little surprised that he's actually here, to look at buying a house with a complete stranger.

"Hello." A voice comes from behind him.

Virgil turns around, to see Logan Holmes climbing out of a cab. He shuts the door, and turns his collar up against the wind. He looked much less dishevelled than he did in their first meeting, with his hair neat and his collar crisp. Logan rounds to the window of the taxi, and hands a couple of notes to the cabbie. After paying, Logan steps up beside Virgil.

"Mr. Holmes." Virgil says, working towards a tone of enthusiasm. He holds out his hand for the other to shake.

"Logan, please." He says, taking Virgil's hand for only a moment. Then, he himself rings the doorbell.

"This is a prime spot." Virgil says, trying to make conversation. "It's got to be expensive."

"Ah, yes, well. Mr. Hudson, the landlord, he's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour."

"What for?" Virgil asks, letting his hands drop into his pockets.

"A few years ago, his husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

Virgil gives him a skeptical look. Who is this guy?

"You stopped his husband from being executed?"

Logan clicks his tongue. "Oh no, I ensured it."

Just then, the door opens to reveal a young man in his early thirties. Mr. Hudson, presumably. He wears a pastel blue shirt, and a grey cardigan over brown khakis, and his chestnut brown hair falls in light curls over pale ears. "Logan!" He immediately throws his arms around Logan, capturing him into a suffocating hug. "I'm glad you made it! And you must be Virgil?" He waves at him, and puts a self-referring hand to his chest. "Patton Hudson. Come in, both of you! Here, I'll take your coats."

Virgil steps onto the mat after Logan, and wipes his shoes off on the fabric. Patton is taking Virgil's jacket from his hands, and Virgil knows that his gun is in that pocket. He's about to ask for it, but then realizes that maybe telling your possible landlord to hand you back your gun isn't the best way to make a first impression. So, he bites his tongue.

"Right up this way!" Patton says, starting up a set of wooden stairs, toward a second door, presumably leading into the flat. To the right of the staircase, is a door that leads into what must be where Patton himself stays.

The door is opened, and Virgil steps into the room, with Logan behind him. The main room is fairly large and pleasant; and a dreadful mess. There are stacks of newspapers by the door, several computers on various surfaces, a tumble of box files along the shelves, books everywhere, a terrifying collection of what looks like weapons hanging above the fireplace, and a skull on the mantelpiece.

There's an adjoining kitchen, the table crammed with test tubes, jars, and bunsen burners. A hall to the right leads down to what Virgil assumes must be the bed and bathrooms.

But overall, the flat has the potential to be cozy. The amount of books around is comforting, and there are two armchairs, one red and one grey, that face opposite each other before the fireplace. Along the back wall is a sofa, that given the size of the room, doesn't end up being that far from the armchairs at all. There's enough natural light that Virgil can see just fine without the lights on. Besides the mess, the place is well kept.

"Well, I think that this could be very nice." Virgil says, stepping forward to peer around the corner and into the kitchen.

"Yes, my thoughts exactly." Logan says.

"Once we get all of this trash cleared out, I think that--"

"So I went ahead and moved in."

Virgil stops. Oh. "This... Sorry, this stuff is--?"

"Obviously, I can straighten things up a bit." Logan says, coolly.

Virgil bites his lip. "That's a skull." He says, looking to the mantle, avoiding Logan's gaze.

"Yes, that's a... friend of mine." Logan says, slowly. He walks all the way into the flat, and starts picking up books from the floor, and returning them to their shelves a little more aggressively than is necessary.

Mr. Patton Hudson comes bustling in, with the boys' coats still clasped in his hands. "So, what do you think, Dr. Watson?" He asks the man beside him, as he sets the jackets down on a small hat table by the door. Patton turns back around, and he pauses once seeing the embarrassed look on Virgil's face. Patton coughs a little. "Oh, also there is another bedroom upstairs... that is, if you'll be needing two bedrooms." He says, a little too casually.

Virgil looks at him, affronted. "I... Of course we'll need two. Why wouldn't we?"

Patton doesn't acknowledge him, as he's instead now looking around the devastated flat. "Oh dear, Logan look at the mess you've made."

Patton walks over to the kitchen area, putting things on shelves as he goes. Logan has begun busying himself at an old wooden desk by the window, which stands perpendicular to the wall opposite the front door, and just beyond the armchairs. Virgil eyes him thoughtfully. After a moment, he says: "I looked you up on the internet last night."

"Anything interesting?" Logan asks, without looking up, not at all alarmed.

"Well, I found your website. The Science of Deduction." Virgil says, moving to sit in the red armchair, which turns out to be unexpectedly comfortable.

"What did you think?"

Virgil pauses. "You said that you could identify a software designer by his tie, and an airline pilot by his left thumb?"

"Yes." Logan says, flippantly. "And I could read your military career in your face and your leg, and the drinking habits of your brother from your mobile phone."

"How?"

"What about these suicides then, Logan?" Patton asks, picking up a newspaper from the floor. "Isn't that right up your alley? Three of them, exactly the same. That's a little weird, isn't it?"

Suddenly, Logan looks up from the papers on the desk that he'd been intently reading, staring at nothing in particular. Like he's sensing something in the air. "Four. There's been a fourth. But there's something different this time."

"A fourth?" Patton asks, dropping the paper onto the accumulating stack by the front door. "How d'you know that?"

Logan simply points out the window. Virgil and Patton both crane their necks to look. They see blue and red flashing, like there's a police car parked down below. Suddenly, there's feet thumping on the stairs, and DI Remy Lestrade stands in the doorway. Virgil recognizes him from the news.

"Where?" Logan asks, fingers knitting together under his chin.

"Brixton. Lauriston Gardens." Remy says, not bothering to ask how Logan knows why he is here.

"What's different about this one? You wouldn't have come here if there wasn't something new."

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yes?"

"Well, this one did. Will you come?"

Logan leans forward, elbows just resting on the desk, tempted now, interested.

"Well that depends. Who's on forensics?"

"Anderson." Remy says.

Logan's face contorts in distaste. "No. Anderson won't work with me."

"Well, he won't be your assistant."

"I need an assistant, Lestrade."

"Come on, Logan. Please, will you come?"

Logan ponders this for a moment. "Not in a police car. You go, I'll be right behind you."

Remy relaxes. "Thank you!" He calls out, as he whirls around and runs back down the stairs, tossing a cursory nod in Patton and Virgil's direction on his way out.

Logan is up out of his seat now, pulling on his coat as soon as it had come off, and buttoning it up lazily. Once the DI is out of sight, Logan's eyes light up excitedly. "Brilliant!"

Then, Logan leaps right over the sofa, which almost makes Virgil vocalize his surprise. Holmes grabs his kit off of the kitchen table, and starts stuffing various things into his pockets. "And I thought it was going to be a boring evening. Serial suicides, and now a note? It's Christmas!" He dashes over to the door. "Patton, I'll be late, might need some food."

"I'm your landlord, Lo, not your housekeeper." Patton protests quietly.

But Logan is already gone, bounding out the door with more energy than all of Virgil's interactions with him combined. Virgil looks after him, bemused. He walks over to the door, and picks up the newspaper that Patton had been talking about.

Patton looks at Virgil sympathetically. "Look at him, running off to who knows where? You know, my husband was just the same." He shakes his head, and Virgil crosses past him to sit down. He's looking at the paper, and under the headline "THIRD 'SUICIDE' FOUND" , there's a photograph. A snatched picture of the man who just left, accompanied by text: "Detective Inspector Remy Lestrade, in charge of the investigation."

"But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell." Patton says, thoughtfully. "I'll tell you what, I'll make you a cup, and you rest your leg, hm? What do you drink, tea, coffee?"

"A cup of coffee would be great, actually, thank you." Virgil says, eyes scanning over the article.

"Just this once, kiddo, because you're new. Remember, I'm not your housekeeper." Patton says, as he makes his way into the kitchen.

"'Couple of biscuits too, if you've got any."

"Not your housekeeper!" The tone is cheery, but warns that it might not be if Virgil pushes it.

Virgil is left sitting there, frowning as he sets down the paper. Logan Holmes, who the hell is he? Even on his website, the actual information about him is sparse. Other than that, he has no internet presence.

Virgil reaches for his sweater, which he'd taken off some time ago, and pulls his phone out of its pocket. He turns it over in his hand. How had he done it?

The door hits the wall with a bang as it's opened. "You're a doctor."

Virgil looks over his shoulder, startled, to see Logan Holmes back in the doorway, leaning in, and eyeing Virgil thoughtfully.

"In fact, you're an army doctor."

"...Yeah?"

Logan takes a step into the room, looking hard at Virgil, speculating.

"Any good?"

Virgil frowns. "I like to think so." He finds himself standing up, though he doesn't really know why, like there's something momentous happening. It's almost like he's standing at attention.

"You've seen a lot of injuries, then?"

"Well, yeah."

"Violent deaths?"

"Enough for a lifetime. Far too many."

The two stand facing each other for a moment. Logan, considering. Virgil, not quite knowing what he is waiting for, but it's coming.

"Want to see some more?" Logan asks.

"Oh, God, yes." Virgil blurts out.

Logan nods. "Get your coat, then."

And Logan's dashing out for a second time. Virgil hesitates for a second, and then for the first time, goes dashing after him, almost tripping over his cane on his way. And he doesn't, in the thick of the moment, grab his coat.

They hurry past Patton, who's coming out of his own flat with a cup of coffee. Virgil looks to him. "Sorry, Mr. Hudson, thank you for making it, but I'll have to skip it. Off out."

Patton looks between Virgil and Logan. "Both of you?"

"Impossible suicides, Patton, four of them. There's no point in sitting at home when finally something fun is happening!" Logan says, grabbing Patton's hand.

"Look at you, all happy. That's just wrong, Logan."

"Who cares about "wrong"? The game, Mr. Hudson, is on!"