[Holmes was never at the heart of the web of crimes that weave themselves through London; no, the spider at that center was a different man altogether, who oversaw every little twitch of silk as it reverberated back to him. And though he would never model himself after such a man by way of moral principle, he can allow himself a particular appreciation for his methods.
The ability to trace a common denominator between crimes that have not been committed but rather solved, outside of his own purview, would be far easier to do if he sat from such a high seat, overseeing all.
But Sherlock Holmes can still manage from the street level; he always has, collecting news reports, police reports, gossip on the grapevine, occasionally reaching out to Mycroft for use of governmental direction or simple brotherly advice. And for all of his snooping, he has found that single, gossamer thread that somehow binds them all. A local psychic, new to London.
What a strange result, but he is a proponent of following trails odd and grotesque and interesting, for they are the ones that stimulate his mind the most. So, Holmes does find himself in the right place, eventually. Directed by the local neighbors and just up the stairs and to your left. If the door isn't locked, you can walk right through.
Well. The door is locked. And so, Holmes knocks, rapping gloved-covered knuckles on the door.]
( a change from the norm is definitely in the air; the knocking on the door is an uncommon sign in wanda's home, as her door goes undisturbed when she isn't up for business. pietro has his own set of keys, so this much tells her that it could be an unpleasant visitor.
but that's also the perception of someone who dislikes being the one to open doors for others who are without an appointment; she is the introverted one, whereas her brother would open the door and greet strangers without a fuss. for now, she sets her things to a neat pile on the carpet and rises to her feet, moving towards the door, feet bare, and peeks through the peephole.
a well-dressed man, gloved hands, and a particular sneering-like curl of the lips.
not a copper, at least.
heavy locks undone, wanda opens the door with some effort, pushing it outwards. her arm stretches out at the swing of it, forcing the gentleman to step back lest he wants to be hit by its frame. her hand remains on the knob, a skeptical look on her face. )
[He does not want to be hit by its frame, but thankfully the sound of locks unlocking gives him ample warning to step back before he's struck. Holmes greets her suspicion with a smile. It is not performative, nor cloying; it is born of intrigue and proper politeness, undettered and unsurprised by her hesitation.]
Good day, madam. Forgive the intrusion, but I've heard tell of a psychic in the area, and I find myself in dire need of a reading.
( the english, despite priding themselves of being a more civilized nation within their vast empire, still hold onto silly superstitions such as not reading about one's future on overcast days—much less rainy ones. wanda expected those seeking her to stick to these rather silly ideas, so—
no, it isn't an inconvenient time, but it's somewhat unexpected. the fact that it's a well-dressed gentleman isn't enough to make her feel hesitant. )
Even if it was an inconvenient time, I have the feeling you would rather not be turned away.
( the situation: ideal. nary a soul waiting for an appointment with her. wanda doesn't move away from the door, telling him the one thing that tends to turn others away, after another glance at the make of his clothes. )
It's two pounds and four shillings for a reading on a rainy day.
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finalflight2025-04-11 08:21 pm
hell yeah it is Time
The ability to trace a common denominator between crimes that have not been committed but rather solved, outside of his own purview, would be far easier to do if he sat from such a high seat, overseeing all.
But Sherlock Holmes can still manage from the street level; he always has, collecting news reports, police reports, gossip on the grapevine, occasionally reaching out to Mycroft for use of governmental direction or simple brotherly advice. And for all of his snooping, he has found that single, gossamer thread that somehow binds them all. A local psychic, new to London.
What a strange result, but he is a proponent of following trails odd and grotesque and interesting, for they are the ones that stimulate his mind the most. So, Holmes does find himself in the right place, eventually. Directed by the local neighbors and just up the stairs and to your left. If the door isn't locked, you can walk right through.
Well. The door is locked. And so, Holmes knocks, rapping gloved-covered knuckles on the door.]
no subject
but that's also the perception of someone who dislikes being the one to open doors for others who are without an appointment; she is the introverted one, whereas her brother would open the door and greet strangers without a fuss. for now, she sets her things to a neat pile on the carpet and rises to her feet, moving towards the door, feet bare, and peeks through the peephole.
a well-dressed man, gloved hands, and a particular sneering-like curl of the lips.
not a copper, at least.
heavy locks undone, wanda opens the door with some effort, pushing it outwards. her arm stretches out at the swing of it, forcing the gentleman to step back lest he wants to be hit by its frame. her hand remains on the knob, a skeptical look on her face. )
Yes?
no subject
Good day, madam. Forgive the intrusion, but I've heard tell of a psychic in the area, and I find myself in dire need of a reading.
[That same grin quirks a little.]
Have I come at an inconvenient time?
no subject
no, it isn't an inconvenient time, but it's somewhat unexpected. the fact that it's a well-dressed gentleman isn't enough to make her feel hesitant. )
Even if it was an inconvenient time, I have the feeling you would rather not be turned away.
( the situation: ideal. nary a soul waiting for an appointment with her. wanda doesn't move away from the door, telling him the one thing that tends to turn others away, after another glance at the make of his clothes. )
It's two pounds and four shillings for a reading on a rainy day.