Sherlock Holmes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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asgardmeridiem2013-10-09 05:26 pm
could_be_dangerous) wrote in asgardmeridiem2013-10-09 05:26 pm
Entry tags:
well you sure didn't look like you were having any fun [closed]
Who: Sherlock Holmes, Ellie
What: This must be revenge for that breaking and entering business.
When: Backdated, day 335 or so?
Where: Baldr District, House 102
House 102, Baldr District, doesn't, as a rule, receive visitors. It isn't anything to do with the house itself; it's perfectly serviceable, cozy if a bit cluttered, obviously lived-in. It isn't anything to do with its more sociable resident either. Doctor John Watson is hardly ill-liked, and certainly well-known enough amongst the local populace that by rights more feet ought to cross the threshold of House 102 than have done since its current occupants have taken up residence.
The problem, of course, if not with the house itself or with Doctor Watson must lie with the other occupant, the odd, misanthropic if not precisely reclusive housemate. Some might argue that Mr. Sherlock Holmes darkens every room he enters. Even John might, Sherlock suspects, from time to time, when they are one or the other or both of them feeling particularly uncharitable towards one another, a state which never lasts, much to the bafflement of the outside world. Their home is a microcosm, a self-contained world, safe from intruders courtesy Sherlock's odd and unfriendly demeanor -- or something to that effect; even he isn't entirely certain. The fact remains that their house may as well be haunted: the aura of him hangs over it, and neither friends nor strangers darken their doorstep. As a rule.
Rules were made to bear exceptions, Sherlock knows that very well, but even he has to admit that the violation of this particular one is surprising. If any were set in stone, carved into bloody bedrock...
And yet: a knock upon the door. A knock upon the door during clinic hours, when John is out. Most peculiar.
The mystery does resolve itself somewhat once Sherlock peers out onto the street at their -- his? -- caller, head inclined, a ridiculous eyesore, the human personification of toothache, or something similarly irksome but generally easily gotten rid of. The girl. Why the girl? People don't, they really just don't, it's probably not decent.
"What do you want?" Straight to business.
What: This must be revenge for that breaking and entering business.
When: Backdated, day 335 or so?
Where: Baldr District, House 102
House 102, Baldr District, doesn't, as a rule, receive visitors. It isn't anything to do with the house itself; it's perfectly serviceable, cozy if a bit cluttered, obviously lived-in. It isn't anything to do with its more sociable resident either. Doctor John Watson is hardly ill-liked, and certainly well-known enough amongst the local populace that by rights more feet ought to cross the threshold of House 102 than have done since its current occupants have taken up residence.
The problem, of course, if not with the house itself or with Doctor Watson must lie with the other occupant, the odd, misanthropic if not precisely reclusive housemate. Some might argue that Mr. Sherlock Holmes darkens every room he enters. Even John might, Sherlock suspects, from time to time, when they are one or the other or both of them feeling particularly uncharitable towards one another, a state which never lasts, much to the bafflement of the outside world. Their home is a microcosm, a self-contained world, safe from intruders courtesy Sherlock's odd and unfriendly demeanor -- or something to that effect; even he isn't entirely certain. The fact remains that their house may as well be haunted: the aura of him hangs over it, and neither friends nor strangers darken their doorstep. As a rule.
Rules were made to bear exceptions, Sherlock knows that very well, but even he has to admit that the violation of this particular one is surprising. If any were set in stone, carved into bloody bedrock...
And yet: a knock upon the door. A knock upon the door during clinic hours, when John is out. Most peculiar.
The mystery does resolve itself somewhat once Sherlock peers out onto the street at their -- his? -- caller, head inclined, a ridiculous eyesore, the human personification of toothache, or something similarly irksome but generally easily gotten rid of. The girl. Why the girl? People don't, they really just don't, it's probably not decent.
"What do you want?" Straight to business.