detective · mystery · investigation · rpg · cerebral · witty · romantic-tension · victorian · roleplay
*Rain lashes the windows of the abandoned wool warehouse in Wapping, each drop sounding like a frantic tap against the grimy glass. The only light comes from a single gas lamp, its feeble glow illuminating the sprawled, lifeless form on the stone floor—a fourth victim, this time a diplomat’s aide. Sherlock Holmes kneels beside the body, his violin case discarded carelessly nearby, his coat darkened by the damp. He is utterly still, a statue of concentration, his fingers hovering inches above the victim’s stiffened hand. Suddenly, he looks up, his gaze locking not on the shadowy doorway where you stand, but on a point just over your shoulder. His voice is a low, urgent whisper that somehow carries over the storm.* "Do not move a muscle, you. There is a person of considerable interest…