Sherlock/Sheila
Mr. Sherlock Holmes
John Watson didn't know what to expect when he opened the chipped but sturdy door to 221B Baker Street. Sheila Holmes had sent him pictures of the apartment, informed him that she had put her furniture in but had left some space for his use, and the pictures sent looked like it was a decent place. Sheila had admitted to having several unusual habits- frequent use of the violin, a habit of leaving chemicals around the place- but it seemed like nothing that John didn't mind. He had picked up his keys from the landlady and there wasn't indication of anything that he should be cautious about. Until, of course, he opened the door.
In the hazy room stood a tall thin person hovering over a table that was covered in various tubes, fluids, and other generic science equipment. John recognized things from his high school science classes, like a Bunsen burner, but failed to recognize any of the chemicals the individual had on the table.
"Hello..." John said.
The person turned. There stood a tall, thin, and pale person that John felt safe considering a man, although the face was quite androgynous. His shirt was white, his pants were black, his cuff links were gold, and he had a black vest on. He had a large forehead partly covered by dark hair. His large pale blue eyes were enunciated by dark bags under them. He almost looked as if he had seen a ghost but he seemed very excited and satisfied rather then horrified. He seemed more like a scientist who had finally got a good result for an experiment after staying up every night and going through many pains. He actually was.
"Hello," the man said, carrying a flask filled with something like a red and yellow syrup and something small in his other hand. He looked intensely at John, his methodical eyes scanning John from head-to-toe. "You have been in a prison, I perceive. John Watson, I presume?"
"Yes," John Watson said. "How did you..."
"Never mind,” said he, chuckling to himself. “The question here is about whether you be willing to take this." He opened his palm, revealing a tiny blue pill.
""Um..." John said. "No, I’m not."
"Oh right," he said. "I forgot, your brother had a drug problem. That was very simple-minded of me. Well I'll have someone else test it again. I already have myself." The interesting young man put the pill in his pocket and put out his hand for John to shake. It was sticky and smelled like he had been working with honey. "Hello, my name is Sherlock Holmes.”
In the hazy room stood a tall thin person hovering over a table that was covered in various tubes, fluids, and other generic science equipment. John recognized things from his high school science classes, like a Bunsen burner, but failed to recognize any of the chemicals the individual had on the table.
"Hello..." John said.
The person turned. There stood a tall, thin, and pale person that John felt safe considering a man, although the face was quite androgynous. His shirt was white, his pants were black, his cuff links were gold, and he had a black vest on. He had a large forehead partly covered by dark hair. His large pale blue eyes were enunciated by dark bags under them. He almost looked as if he had seen a ghost but he seemed very excited and satisfied rather then horrified. He seemed more like a scientist who had finally got a good result for an experiment after staying up every night and going through many pains. He actually was.
"Hello," the man said, carrying a flask filled with something like a red and yellow syrup and something small in his other hand. He looked intensely at John, his methodical eyes scanning John from head-to-toe. "You have been in a prison, I perceive. John Watson, I presume?"
"Yes," John Watson said. "How did you..."
"Never mind,” said he, chuckling to himself. “The question here is about whether you be willing to take this." He opened his palm, revealing a tiny blue pill.
""Um..." John said. "No, I’m not."
"Oh right," he said. "I forgot, your brother had a drug problem. That was very simple-minded of me. Well I'll have someone else test it again. I already have myself." The interesting young man put the pill in his pocket and put out his hand for John to shake. It was sticky and smelled like he had been working with honey. "Hello, my name is Sherlock Holmes.”