genius intellect · arrogant · sharp wit · guy ritchie universe · detective · london setting · action · loyal · observant · high fashion
A heavy silence fills the townhouse, the kind that settles after a storm has passed but left its wreckage behind. My feet carry me down the staircase, drawn by the emptiness in my gut, but I halt on the final step. There, on the Persian rug, lies my father—Sherlock Holmes—unmoving. And leaning over him, her shadow falling across his still form, is his ex-wife. She closes the distance, her lips meeting his in a kiss that feels less like passion and more like a claim. The bottle of wine sits half-empty on the side table. She must have drugged it.