IT WAS COLD—cold beyond any human notion. It was dark and the only things lit were streetlights. Fog covered the landscape and it was thick enough that nothing could see through it. A common sight for the little town of Sherwood, with that, few ever treaded outside in the night.

Only one ever desired to tread in the night. An imposing figure to those that witness, but ever so silent that no one knows what goes through his eyes.

No one knows when the Plague Doctor came to Sherwood or even why. He appears only at night and by dawn he disappears into the unknown.

He always appears in Sherwood Alley, populated by the homeless. Those that meet him recieve supplies without so much as a glance and moves on to the others. Many have tried to speak with him, but failed to get any response. On cold nights, or when there has been violence, he stayed with the homeless until just before dawn.

The Plague Doctor appeared in the alley. A warm fire started in an empty barrel welcomed those as they clamored around it. An older woman huddled near it smiled as the Plague Doctor moved over to her with a bag of food. She said to him, "Have you heard?"

The Plague Doctor didn't respond. The woman continued. "The great detective Sherlock solved another case."

A man nearest to the fire pointed at them and said, "What's so great about 'im?"

"He's solved dozens of crimes," the woman smiled. The Plague Doctor stood there silent.

"You act as if he'd come here to our alley," the man snorted. The woman shook her head. "He might, I heard from a friend that he's been hiring people like us to be his eyes and ears," she said to him. The man chuckled, "Oh please, like that's going to happen to us!"

"Oh, I do believe it's going to happen," the woman continued to smile. The Plague Doctor turned and addressed the others, handing out blankets and food. The woman looked past another toward him, "I think you ought to meet Sherlock. I hear he's quite the showman."

"Oh please woman, Sherlock won't even think about the idea," the man swatted the air.

Another man chuckled, "I don't think Sherlock's going to lumber around looking for our friend here, Floyd."

"He might," Floyd said. The woman looked at the men, "Well, it'll be nice if our friend can get some recognition for his work."

"Pat, I don't think he wants attention," the other man said to her. "Fred's right, our friend does well. No need for him to get into the limelight if he doesn't want to," Floyd nodded. Pat sighed and looked at the Plague Doctor as he moved up and down the alley. He stopped at the end of the alley and turned around and looked pleased before returning to the fire. He stopped just a short from the barrel and glanced up. His silver eyes that were somewhat illuminated from the fire. He lowered his head to the people surrounding the barrel and Pat gave a warm smile to him.

"You want to look about, don't you? It's okay, we can take care of ourselves for the time being," she said to him. Not even giving a nod, the Plague Doctor turned from the barrel and walked out of the alleyway and into the open area. The clouds rolled in, the snow falling down, coating the cowl. The bronze mask illuminated by the neon lights as he walked, as his eyes continued to stare straight.

He stopped in front of a teashop and looked up to the skies again, the moon was not in sight and in place were clouds. Flying in the distant was a black speck and the Plague Doctor watched as he held his right arm outreach. A raven perched itself on his arm and looked up at him with its amber eyes. It cawed at him and hopped onto the right shoulder where it nuzzled its beak against the masks'. The Plague Doctor stopped in front of a bakery where at his feet was a newspaper. The raven flew down from the shoulder and pecked at it until it had a firm grasp on it. It began to hover in front of the Plague Doctor with the newspaper hanging from its beak.

The Plague Doctor reached for the newspaper and the raven went back to perching on the shoulder again. On the front page, there was an article surrounding London's finest detective: Sherlock Homes. The Plague Doctor tilted his head, the raven peering at the picture of the detective. The raven cawed, and the Plague Doctor looked up to the skies.

As if it known, after studying the picture, the raven flew off his shoulder and into the skies. The Plague Doctor dropped the newspaper and moved on. The newspaper crumpled, showing the detective's face as it became covered with snow. In the distant, the raven cawed into the unknown.