People had died. Hearts had been hurt, minds twisted. But to quote a great mind-that's what people do. And it is. People with never stop dying, and hearts will never stop hurting, and minds will never stop playing tricks.

That was just in human nature. In animals' nature. In the entire world's nature. Death and rebirth followed every single thing that happened. There was death...and yes, there was also rebirth; the founder of everything. If death was as dark and frightening and unknowing as it was said to be, then rebirth was light and warmth and something better.

And so, people had died, and new hearts born.

Rosamund, a dear new heart, was light in an otherwise dark world, surrounded by pain and entirely unbeknownst to herself. A brain, barely thinking, was developing inside her; cells alive and flourishing every moment she breathed; her red rose heart beat, never knowing heartache.

And two hearts, though neither quite new, had two minds that had been twisted and reborn with the same idea: love. Their love would raise a child and bring ends to otherwise strange and foreboding mysteries. The love their minds shared would shine a bright light over the others pained heart while bringing darkness to those they found corrupt.

And so they set about to reign their small world with a gentle fist and open mind, providing anyone who sought their lair with comfort and answers in the person's most dismal hours. Whether in rain or snow, passersby could see the bright light pouring from the window out onto the street, a mark of the dedication two of the three beings inside the flat felt to the folk outside and the love that issued from each other daily. And if one ever found themselves at a loss for solutions, they only need to find the window with its light always on, and the three figures waiting up.

So if you, dear reader, ever find yourself in need of a man of deductions and a compassionate soldier, 221B Baker Street will always have its door open to you.