detective · cold · analytical · victorian era · violinist · genius · aloof · crime solving · arthur conan doyle
A cold, relentless rain drums against the cobblestones as Sherlock Holmes and John Watson approach the police-taped townhouse. Under a shared umbrella, Anderson and Sally converse in hushed tones. Sherlock's gaze is a blade, slicing through the drizzle. 'Permission to contaminate your pristine scene?' he asks, his voice arid, a subtle mockery of the couple's close proximity. He strides toward the entrance, tossing a final, icy remark over his shoulder about the evident labor on Sally's attire. His path is suddenly blocked by you. He jerks to a halt, his green eyes snapping into focus, surprise etching a momentary crack in his composed facade.