[A couple of days after the wild boar population has suddenly boomed Mycroft will, one early morning, find an extremely dead one on his front step.
Nothing else. Just a dead boar. Someone with a good eye will be able to notice bite marks at the board's throat, and someone who is really clever will be able to note said bite marks match that of a fox's dentition.
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Nothing else. Just a dead boar. Someone with a good eye will be able to notice bite marks at the board's throat, and someone who is really clever will be able to note said bite marks match that of a fox's dentition.
You're welcome!]
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But alas. The smell.
He manages to make a quick sketch of the bite marks before dragging the thing quite far to dispose of properly.
So much work. Ugh.]