It's obvious that we're at the scene of the crime when I look outside of the window and see a number of police cars with their emergency lights flashing bright red and blue. I notice that we were at a hotel, the building quite old yet it's beautiful architecture was something that attracted people to it. Police officers are scattered everywhere, discussing their work among other colleagues and talking to various guests to see if they had noticed anything.

Some say there are good cops and bad. But I say that's an oversimplification. They can be honest, courageous, corrupt, devious, malicious, cunning or stupid. And that's just my short list. My dad was a cop, and he was all of those things. Not all at once of course. But the right blend of circumstances could bring out any one of those things in him -- except, he was never corrupt. He only signed up to protect and serve, maybe he was old fashioned, but he believed in public service. He saw the worst of humanity on a daily basis and it tested him. It tested his faith in the goodness of people and his natural optimism.

And now, even though I don't regularly work with Sherlock for cases, I feel like I was getting an true understanding to what my father had to deal with.

I get out of the vehicle, and Sherlock passes the driver some cash before getting out with me. Eventually, we make our way towards the scene, following directions from the dark-haired woman I had met before on the night I bumped into Sherlock again. I didn't take a great liking towards her, hence why I couldn't remember her name. She was irrelevant to me.

On the ground floor of the hotel, there was an inside pool in the middle of the room, the whole area taped off by police tape. The smell that surrounded the room gave off a scent that was almost like badly cooked beef. Stepping closer, I noticed there was a corpse in the water, the skin and clothing melted together, the body charred and disfigured badly by gruesome burns. I cringe a little, but also the mysterious and eerie atmosphere makes me feel a little excite to whats about to come.

"It's a little too cold for a BBQ, don't you think?" Sherlock says nonchalantly, and the woman who was still irrelevant to me gives him a look.

Because John wasn't here, I thought maybe it should be my responsibility to let Sherlock know what was right and wrong to say -- but then again, besides the dead body floating in the pool, where would be my entertainment?

"Yeah... anyway," Lestrade cleared his throat, ignoring Sherlock's comment. "You got here just in time, we were about to pull him out and check for any source of ID."

"It's probably burnt, just like him." I add.

"Uh, yes. Most likely." He nods in agreement, "This case seems a little weird. And you like the weird ones, don't you Sherlock? We could really use your expertise."

"Were there any witnesses?" Sherlock asks, glancing around the room for any evidence.

"Yeah, a couple of woman were relaxing by the pool when it happened. They say he just ran into the room aflame before jumping into the water to get rid of the fire."

"Did the witnesses say his entire body was on fire? It look's that way from how burned the body looks, but I can't see the whole thing to be sure." I speak up curiously, folding my arms against my chest.

"His whole body was on fire, according to them. We'll have to see what the body looks like when we pull him out." Lestrade answered, gesturing to the pool as the medical examiners approach it.

"CCTV?" I inquired.

"Nothing. It shows them running down a hallway and towards the pool, on fire, before jumping in. That's it really."

"Very nice. Me and Eleanor will take a look around the building now." Sherlock announced, turning on his heels and heading towards the door. Lestrade seems to understand and nods, knowing he'll need to have a browse around the hotel in order to deduce what had happened. I, however, follow after Sherlock like a lost puppy.

"Where are you going?" I question, walking after him.

"Well he obviously caught aflame before he entered the room, so there's no point in staying in there." He implored, turning his coat collars up. Show off. "If his room was on any of the above floors then he probably would have collapsed before he even got to the pool, so I'm guessing his room is on the ground floor. This hotel is old and just outside of town, so doesn't get as much business as much as the modern hotels in the city. They have working CCTV, but not in every area. Especially in the hallways of their rooms, where ground floor users are more likely to be handicapped or have pushchairs considering the lifts have been out of order for some time. Anyway, these certain people are less likely to cause offenses, so they wouldn't waste what working CCTV they had on places they didn't need it."

I'm a little taken aback by how he deduced all of that from simply just walking into the place. It seemed like an expensive place, I don't see why they wouldn't be able to afford new cameras. But then again, maybe it's just the vintage looking decor that made it look more pricey and popular than it was. "Okay. And?"

"Lestrade said that there was footage of him running through the hallway that lead to the pool, already on fire. This hallway must lead to the ground floor rooms with no working security cameras, explaining why they didn't see him catch fire. Come on, Eleanor. You should know this. You're not getting old, are you?"

"Maybe, I'm getting nearly as old as you are." I responded back, and Sherlock looks over his shoulder at me with a small simper on his face.

We soon find ourselves to the ground floor rooms, and immediately one door sticks out to us. As we stride briskly down the narrow hallway, there is one white door that had some black marks around the handle. I share a look with Sherlock before he extends his leg out and gently kicks the already open door wider for us to go in.

Immediately, what we notice is that on the other side of the door, there is way more black markings around the handle which I can only think is soot, which is a power-like substance consisting largely of amorphous carbon, produced by the incomplete burning of organic matter.

Not too far from the right of the door, there was a bedside table with a lamp on, however the part of the lamp shade closest to the door had be burnt also. Sherlock's figure covers most of the evidence there as he takes his time to examine it, and knowing that I wouldn't be able to budge in, I look everywhere else around the room.

There is another bedside table to the right of the bed, and on it was a small, velvet black box. Curiously, I open up the box and notice that it was empty. However, there were little clips in there that was supposed to hold something together.

Raising a brow, I place the box down and pick up the folded up piece of paper next to it. When I do open it up, I realise it was a note. "Hey, Sherlock! Come look at this." I call, my eyes wondering over to him. He raised his head to see what I had found, and scrunched up his face with curiosity before walking towards me. "It's a note."

'Here is a gift for supporting me a lot these past few months. It's St Agatha, patron saint. Protector from fire. Sleep well.'

"Creepy." I commented, my eyes gazing back over towards the black, rectangular box on the table. "So, there was a necklace of St Agatha in there."

"Indeed." Sherlock agreed, "You know what this means?"

I smiled, "I'll let you have the satisfaction of telling me."

"If someone wanted them to have this, then they planned their murder. This was no accident, no one accidentally dropped a lighter on their shirt or they didn't fall into the fireplace by mistake. This was a thoughtful, planned murder." Sherlock beamed, a grin forming on his face. "I love it when this happens."

"You mean, when you get an interesting case right?" I furrow my brows at him, a little confused in his choice of words. However, he completely ignores me and walks towards the lamp.

"See how the lamp turns off and on," He began to explain, flicking the switch himself to show me. "So, the light bulb didn't explode in anyway. Meaning, that wasn't where the fire began. However when you look down at the furry rug on the floor, you'll find that it's perfectly fine. No fire hit it, so that suggests that the fire started from up here." Sherlock described, his hands gesturing towards the upper half of his body. "The fire started very closely to here, by the door where the soot had landed. The question is: how did he catch on fire?"

I couldn't help but for a small grin to appear on my expression. It wasn't because someone had lost their life, it was seeing how enthusiastic Sherlock was at explaining his deductions. I couldn't help thinking that maybe he wouldn't fall back into old habits, because Sherlock Holmes still is an addict. But he doesn't get off on drugs, instead he gets high of solving puzzles.

"Just like old times." I say, my broad smile showing my excitement.

"Oh yes!"