LONDON, 1945

It was yet another gloomy day with dark clouds pouring rain all over the ruins that is London now. As the second world war finally sees its final phase, Londoners are gradually resuming to their daily lifestyles before the war.Food, fashion and bombs are all granted equal treatment, for the very good reason that Londoners spend at least as much time worrying about how to get a lamb chop as they do about dodging the next rocket.

Through the wet streets of London, a woman in her twenties marched towards 554 C, Birch Street. She was dressed in a pink blouse with padded shoulders and a linen knee-length skirt accompanied by a robe to battle London's terrible winter.She knocked once and entered the house without waiting for a response.She went straight upstairs, with her heels clicking as she climbed the stairs. She opened the door to find a man, with curly hair styled hastily, staring out of the wide window opposite to the door, in a seemingly amused manner.

He was a fairly tall man with a lean body and was dressed in a trench coat and chino pants, which were quite famous for being a military inspired cut.He quizzed amusingly,"I see you bought the first pair."

The ban on heels higher than 2 inches had just been lifted and the clanking on her arrival had indicated her getting her way with the first pair, despite the long queue that would make it seem impossible. Of course, she had received her pair long before the women started queuing up; she had a habit of having her own way with people and things.

Unfazed by his quick observation, she replied nonchalantly,"I reckon I did."

"Any news on any murder or it's just the missiles that are committing crimes now?" the woman quizzed as she threw her wrist bag on a sofa. Her question was met by silence.

"There must be a theft at least, with the rationing and the spivs." she said with a sign of desperation in her voice. The man hummed a 'no'.

"Oh! Dear me! What's ruined London? You know Marren at this rate, even a lost poodle would do! ", she stated in her thick Irish accent. The man swiftly turned to face her with a wicked smile and a glint in his brown eyes.

"It's coming!" he exclaimed and took a seat on the blue sofa chair like he always did. The dame, as if accustomed to the scenario, took a seat on the sofa chair to a few spaces left to the man's and faced the cushioned wooden seat placed right in front of them.

The clearly planned seating arrangement was one that had been followed by them for quite a few years now. Years of solving mysteries had famed them throughout London and everyone, or who ever had a stay in London have heard the tales of 'The Detective and The Dame'.

-------------------------------------------------------------
London in 1945