I will be randomly updating this when I have time, but it will be posted as complete. You're welcome to follow.
I own nothing.
Enjoy.
Sherlock Holmes, world's greatest consulting detective, was walking home, his step brisk and satisfied after a rewarding day checking out the corpse of a man who'd been murdered by his wife after she drove herself to insanity. She had somehow managed to dispatch him with nothing but a silver spoon, making it a most fascinating case.
Sherlock glanced down to avoid a puddle at the curb, and narrowly sidestepped a tiny tabby kitten. It looked barely more than a day old, and would surely die if left out. Sherlock bent and picked it up.
He really didn't want a cat. Oh well, perhaps John would know what to do with it.
The murder is a reference to the Eagles', "and she drove herself to madness with a silver spoon."