We had an interesting Christmas, to be sure.  What was supposed to be a relaxing stay didn’t stay that way for long.  Serial killer in town.  Just a copycat, which meant there wasn’t much to go on.  A damn good copy, too.  John says it’s my fault because I told him a good murder would brighten my Christmas.

John was thrilled with the gift I brought him.  An old Colt pistol in mint condition.  He got me a diseased brain slice and I swear I had never loved him more in my life.

Not to mention all the other presents we got.  But they were mostly for the both of us, if you follow.

John got me a riding crop, is what I’m saying.

-S.W-H

Sherlock, you remember that conversation we had about some things staying private?  This would be one of those things.

-John