[No, he has no idea. But it's pretty bad up there.
And interestingly enough, she treads up the stairs without even a wonder if 221B is located there in the first place — she's correct, of course, but she moves in a way that implies less curiosity and more... assumption? How odd.
When they do reach the top, he takes the lead, unlocking the door to 221B. It swings open and, out of habit, he waits for her to enter first.]
Here we are.
[It's like ten times messier than the 221B she knows. It's the epitome of bachelor pad, and very obviously, too: only one man lives here, no proof of a young girl making half of the sitting room her own. Not even the whiff of any kind of partner or roommate that he shares this flat with.
Papers everywhere. Books piled up. Violin in the corner. Pieces of a tea set scattered, leaving rings on the flooring. Curtains drawn, blocking out the already dreary London morning sun. Smells like tobacco; nothing new. Smells even faintly of... something else. A little bit new.]
no subject
[No, he has no idea. But it's pretty bad up there.
And interestingly enough, she treads up the stairs without even a wonder if 221B is located there in the first place — she's correct, of course, but she moves in a way that implies less curiosity and more... assumption? How odd.
When they do reach the top, he takes the lead, unlocking the door to 221B. It swings open and, out of habit, he waits for her to enter first.]
Here we are.
[It's like ten times messier than the 221B she knows. It's the epitome of bachelor pad, and very obviously, too: only one man lives here, no proof of a young girl making half of the sitting room her own. Not even the whiff of any kind of partner or roommate that he shares this flat with.
Papers everywhere. Books piled up. Violin in the corner. Pieces of a tea set scattered, leaving rings on the flooring. Curtains drawn, blocking out the already dreary London morning sun. Smells like tobacco; nothing new. Smells even faintly of... something else. A little bit new.]
I'll make you that tea.