𝒮𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓁𝑜𝒸𝓀 "ACD'S OC" 𝐻𝑜𝓁𝓂𝑒𝓈 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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finalflight2025-04-11 08:21 pm
ratiocinations) wrote in finalflight2025-04-11 08:21 pm
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[ it is two o'clock in the morning, and there is a sharp rapping at the door.
not to 221B, mind.
the door outside. ]
not to 221B, mind.
the door outside. ]
[Sir? Don’t you know only n’er-do-wells call upon others so unexpectedly at such an ungodly hour?
Poor Mrs Hudson is spared from having to attend to it, though; perhaps she’s out of town for a few days, perhaps she’s steadfastly asleep as she deserves. Either way, the rapping receives no answer. Not yet, anyhow.
Only the dark gloom of a darkened Baker Street to keep this individual company, and a few echoing footsteps of late night wanderers coming and going.
(Maybe more so a set of footsteps approaching. Maybe.)]
Poor Mrs Hudson is spared from having to attend to it, though; perhaps she’s out of town for a few days, perhaps she’s steadfastly asleep as she deserves. Either way, the rapping receives no answer. Not yet, anyhow.
Only the dark gloom of a darkened Baker Street to keep this individual company, and a few echoing footsteps of late night wanderers coming and going.
(Maybe more so a set of footsteps approaching. Maybe.)]
[ lucky, then, that he's a ne'er-do-well. :)
knock knock! he does shave and a haircut on the door. does he hear the footsteps? yes. does that stop him? no. ]
knock knock! he does shave and a haircut on the door. does he hear the footsteps? yes. does that stop him? no. ]
[Well. He wouldn’t be the first, nor likely the last, to grace the doorstep of 221B.
Even so, it seems the footsteps will catch up to him before anyone answers the door, and the man who draws closer will be the nearest thing to a greeting he might obtain. This gentleman—dressed in tailored black, tall, with razor-sharp features, adorned with a flat-crowned hat—swoops in with slight aplomb bolstered by curiosity, though he of course stops just short of the stranger rapping on 221B’s door.
A huff, amused, despite the hour. He tucks his walking stick beneath an arm.]
My good sir, are you aware of the hour?
[bruh]
Even so, it seems the footsteps will catch up to him before anyone answers the door, and the man who draws closer will be the nearest thing to a greeting he might obtain. This gentleman—dressed in tailored black, tall, with razor-sharp features, adorned with a flat-crowned hat—swoops in with slight aplomb bolstered by curiosity, though he of course stops just short of the stranger rapping on 221B’s door.
A huff, amused, despite the hour. He tucks his walking stick beneath an arm.]
My good sir, are you aware of the hour?
[bruh]
[ Leland, too, leaning on his cane, dressed in black—but he is a small and lithe man whose sharpness lives namely in his smile and the one mekhanical eye whirring in its socket.
it is audible even from a slight distance, such as now, as he tilts his head and glances up at the dark sky and chuckles. ]
Well, I'm only half-blind, aren't I?
it is audible even from a slight distance, such as now, as he tilts his head and glances up at the dark sky and chuckles. ]
Well, I'm only half-blind, aren't I?
[Any given individual presents a man like Holmes a deluge of information to garner, to interpret. There is no difference when it comes to this stranger he's found knocking at his door, though there are instances when one attribute is so pronounced that it temporarily tamps down all else.
Needless to say, that whirring mechanical eye? It qualifies. So much so that Sherlock cannot help himself but wear an expression of pure bafflement, followed soon by intrigue, stepping even closer to the boundary of invasion of personal space to get a better look. He's never seen anything like it. It's a bit like something from a penny dreadful.
And yet still, he smiles, clearly Invested despite not knowing what the heck is going on here.]
Oh, quite so. But not lacking the use of a pocket watch, surely? No matter. You call upon the residents of 221B in the dead of the night, and fortune presents you with one of them now. What business might you have here?
Needless to say, that whirring mechanical eye? It qualifies. So much so that Sherlock cannot help himself but wear an expression of pure bafflement, followed soon by intrigue, stepping even closer to the boundary of invasion of personal space to get a better look. He's never seen anything like it. It's a bit like something from a penny dreadful.
And yet still, he smiles, clearly Invested despite not knowing what the heck is going on here.]
Oh, quite so. But not lacking the use of a pocket watch, surely? No matter. You call upon the residents of 221B in the dead of the night, and fortune presents you with one of them now. What business might you have here?
[ personal invasion means little to Leland, who either invades it of his own accord, treating it with a vicious disregard, or who hardly even notices it to care. when Holmes steps forward, he simply lifts his chin—for their difference in height becomes increasingly apparent. his eyeteeth glint in the evening gloom. ]
Are you not the man other men go to when something needs doing? Everyone says so.
Are you not the man other men go to when something needs doing? Everyone says so.
[Then they're both just fine with the invasion of personal space to some degree, though it's unclear whether it's Holmes' innate Victorian Awareness that has him straightening soon after, or simply the mere, promising mention of "something that needs doing."]
Do they?
[He knows this, of course. A certain good Doctor has made sure he has something of a reputation in London, a blessing that Holmes treats ambivalently on a good day.]
That wholly depends on what needs to be done. Perhaps you'd like to discuss this inside?
Do they?
[He knows this, of course. A certain good Doctor has made sure he has something of a reputation in London, a blessing that Holmes treats ambivalently on a good day.]
That wholly depends on what needs to be done. Perhaps you'd like to discuss this inside?
[ welcome home, Holmes. there is the creak of someone inside the flat, a shadow beneath the door. ]
[Ah, of course there is.
The "guests" he's had come unannounced in his flat run the gamut, from welcome to worrisome, on a scale of Mycroft to Moriarty. There's so little to glean from the movement of a shadow beneath his doorframe, nor the creaking steps from beyond his closed door, but he can gather that it's neither of those extremes — a step too light to account for the weight of a large, grown man. A woman, most likely, though beyond that, he cannot say.
Holmes knows which parts of the hall to avoid a creaking, groaning step underfoot, too. He's traveled up and down this corridor heaven knows how many times, so that it comes naturally and without thinking. He's a quiet entity as he draws close to the door, testing its doorknob very, very quietly. A slow turn.
Locked or no? DID U LOCK HIM OUT OF HIS OWN ROOM]
The "guests" he's had come unannounced in his flat run the gamut, from welcome to worrisome, on a scale of Mycroft to Moriarty. There's so little to glean from the movement of a shadow beneath his doorframe, nor the creaking steps from beyond his closed door, but he can gather that it's neither of those extremes — a step too light to account for the weight of a large, grown man. A woman, most likely, though beyond that, he cannot say.
Holmes knows which parts of the hall to avoid a creaking, groaning step underfoot, too. He's traveled up and down this corridor heaven knows how many times, so that it comes naturally and without thinking. He's a quiet entity as he draws close to the door, testing its doorknob very, very quietly. A slow turn.
Locked or no? DID U LOCK HIM OUT OF HIS OWN ROOM]
[ indeed, a woman. from the subtle click of heels on the floor to the rustle of many layers of dress. and a woman under Sprezzatura Vaux's duress—would she think to lock the door?
of course not. she is hardly thinking at all, merely moving through this world on instinct and adrenaline—that combination which marks her deadly -1 to wisdom.
the knob... turns. ]
of course not. she is hardly thinking at all, merely moving through this world on instinct and adrenaline—that combination which marks her deadly -1 to wisdom.
the knob... turns. ]
[A woman, indeed, then, with hurried footsteps that indicate she's either pacing or seeking something — but Holmes will not rely on sound alone for much longer.
Honestly, he should be more affronted that there's a stranger in his room, uninvited, but now he's merely curious. He opens the door... quietly. Peeks in... slowly.]
Honestly, he should be more affronted that there's a stranger in his room, uninvited, but now he's merely curious. He opens the door... quietly. Peeks in... slowly.]
[ into a measure of chaos the flat resides in under only the most dire of circumstances: paper, everywhere. drawers open. and the woman in question hunching with her back half-turned over the dining table as she frantically pores over his ledgers. she murmurs the names to herself beneath her breath.
when the door moves—she sees it barely in the corner of her vision and feels her heart leap into her throat. a coarse cry punctuates the way she startles and tries to lunge for the adjoining water closet, a door she can hopefully lock, or at least close. she's fast, but there's no way she can disguise the colour of her skin or the curve of her horns with "fast".
FUCK ]
when the door moves—she sees it barely in the corner of her vision and feels her heart leap into her throat. a coarse cry punctuates the way she startles and tries to lunge for the adjoining water closet, a door she can hopefully lock, or at least close. she's fast, but there's no way she can disguise the colour of her skin or the curve of her horns with "fast".
FUCK ]
[HIS ROOM IS A MESS but this actually barely registers in his mind, only noted because it is possibly correlated to why he's currently being raided by a stranger.
He was not quiet enough, not subtle enough; or she had simply been facing the wrong way all this time. But just like that, she's gone in a blur — but not blur enough to avoid Holmes catching the complexion of her skin, nor the horns that protrude from her head.
And he feels, just for a moment, something quite foreign: he is utterly baffled. His eyes so rarely deceive him, so he is wont to trust all they observe, but... blue? Horns?]
...
[Well, of course he walks right in and to the water closet's door; he can't catch her before reaching it. The door does close and lock, naturally, though he does not test if she's done the latter just yet. Just two knocks.]
It's tradition to call upon someone before barging straight into their living quarters, or so I've been told!
He was not quiet enough, not subtle enough; or she had simply been facing the wrong way all this time. But just like that, she's gone in a blur — but not blur enough to avoid Holmes catching the complexion of her skin, nor the horns that protrude from her head.
And he feels, just for a moment, something quite foreign: he is utterly baffled. His eyes so rarely deceive him, so he is wont to trust all they observe, but... blue? Horns?]
...
[Well, of course he walks right in and to the water closet's door; he can't catch her before reaching it. The door does close and lock, naturally, though he does not test if she's done the latter just yet. Just two knocks.]
It's tradition to call upon someone before barging straight into their living quarters, or so I've been told!
[ knock knock! she gulps down a frantic breath and pushes herself as far from the door (locked) as she can.
fuck! fuck! fuck!
no one can see as she gesticulates at the air, but he may hear the quiet, vexed sound of self-annoyance. next, the clinking of bottles and porcelain as she turns about the room—
IS THAT A SECOND DOOR?? ]
fuck! fuck! fuck!
no one can see as she gesticulates at the air, but he may hear the quiet, vexed sound of self-annoyance. next, the clinking of bottles and porcelain as she turns about the room—
IS THAT A SECOND DOOR?? ]
[Sure, there can be a second door. Who’s to say where to leads, because a certain doctor’s room is actually on the floor above.
But maybe it leads to a small room, used only by Mrs Hudson, perhaps as storage for items needed for preparing whatever Holmes eventually calls out for on the daily.
Either way, she can go through that adjoining door if she really wants to. Strangely, no further noise from the man on the other side.]
But maybe it leads to a small room, used only by Mrs Hudson, perhaps as storage for items needed for preparing whatever Holmes eventually calls out for on the daily.
Either way, she can go through that adjoining door if she really wants to. Strangely, no further noise from the man on the other side.]
[ all she is doing is locking herself in smaller and smaller rooms, a rat in a maze. but she can't think now, the man's voice rattling in her mind. that she's been caught elicits the deepest sense of—fear.
she tries to find a lock for the second door, too. but no dice. ]
Cyka blyat!
she tries to find a lock for the second door, too. but no dice. ]
Cyka blyat!
[Dear Sprezzatura, it ultimately does not matter. The only way out of the flat itself is back down the stairs, and Holmes already has retreated back to the top of the stairwell, choosing to wait rather than chase. Considering lighting his pipe to kill the time until she’s brave enough to come out.]
Edited (SHUT UP ) 2025-06-11 04:41 (UTC)
[ it is her way. she locks herself up.
for a while, she waits in that terrible silence, twitching her hands through her hair and over her face. straining to hear anything over her pulse, her breathing.
she realizes what's happening, of course. the element of being trapped. nowhere to go but past who she hides from. but it's her pride. she can't give in, not even when freedom is on the line.
a little longer. finally the burn of threatening tears and aching throat recedes, at least enough for her to settle. crumpling down into a corner of the smaller room, like a cat in a terrible new place, with her eyes on the door.
not coming out. not until she has rested enough to... recover some magic. or until he forces his way in. this may be a while. ]
for a while, she waits in that terrible silence, twitching her hands through her hair and over her face. straining to hear anything over her pulse, her breathing.
she realizes what's happening, of course. the element of being trapped. nowhere to go but past who she hides from. but it's her pride. she can't give in, not even when freedom is on the line.
a little longer. finally the burn of threatening tears and aching throat recedes, at least enough for her to settle. crumpling down into a corner of the smaller room, like a cat in a terrible new place, with her eyes on the door.
not coming out. not until she has rested enough to... recover some magic. or until he forces his way in. this may be a while. ]
[He waits and waits and waits. He is good about waiting, you see, having sent away clients before on a bluff, and hoping that they will return — and it has only backfired on him once. Holmes leans against the stairwell—sometimes propping himself up to sit on it precariously—smoking until he goes through one pipe, two, then three. The corridor is foggy with tobacco by the time he begins to wonder if she really intends to outwait him; it is lucky Mrs Hudson is out today, because she'd question his lingering out here, turning the place foggy with his smoke, and he would have to shoo her away with a lie, because he still isn't quite sure how to explain what's happening. The effort is saved for now.
Anyway. She'll come out. He'll wait. He's stubborn, too, and maybe he returns once into 221B's sitting room to gather some reading material and head back out, but that's the only time she'll hear his footsteps.]
Anyway. She'll come out. He'll wait. He's stubborn, too, and maybe he returns once into 221B's sitting room to gather some reading material and head back out, but that's the only time she'll hear his footsteps.]
[ those few movements more than enough to root her back to the spot, overriding her keener instinct to pace. she smells tobacco and longs for her own pipe.
her body beginning to ache from staying in the one position for so long. her stomach grumbling. her eyes bruised-feeling, aching, and sore. she cannot tell whether hours pass or it merely feels that way. she flexes her fingers and strains her ears, waiting for the moment he loses his patience with an intruder in his home.
this is the kind of fear her great-grandparents must have felt, knowing a human waited on the other side of the door.
...
don't fall asleep. ]
her body beginning to ache from staying in the one position for so long. her stomach grumbling. her eyes bruised-feeling, aching, and sore. she cannot tell whether hours pass or it merely feels that way. she flexes her fingers and strains her ears, waiting for the moment he loses his patience with an intruder in his home.
this is the kind of fear her great-grandparents must have felt, knowing a human waited on the other side of the door.
...
don't fall asleep. ]
[It isn’t hours, but it feels like it. Enough to make it to the end of his book, which, while of interest in many aspects, still pales in comparison to the mystery lingering inside his flat.
By the time he’s done, really, he’s finished another pipe, and the minutes tick on and on. He’s come to realize that she does intend to remain in there for ages, which is indicative of fear — of harm? Of discovery? Well, the latter is a foregone conclusion, so it must be the former.
Holmes sighs, breathing out one more plume of smoke, then returns to the interior of his flat. If she’s not going to come out, he’s at least not going to deny himself of earthly comforts like being able to sit down in a proper chair.
Calls out to that locked door-]
You can at least tell me what you were seeking!
[He seems to recall the mess she’s made of things, now that he lays his eyes upon it again. He wonders if there's any pattern to be found in the chaos.]
By the time he’s done, really, he’s finished another pipe, and the minutes tick on and on. He’s come to realize that she does intend to remain in there for ages, which is indicative of fear — of harm? Of discovery? Well, the latter is a foregone conclusion, so it must be the former.
Holmes sighs, breathing out one more plume of smoke, then returns to the interior of his flat. If she’s not going to come out, he’s at least not going to deny himself of earthly comforts like being able to sit down in a proper chair.
Calls out to that locked door-]
You can at least tell me what you were seeking!
[He seems to recall the mess she’s made of things, now that he lays his eyes upon it again. He wonders if there's any pattern to be found in the chaos.]
[ he has a clear, strident voice. cutting through to the heart, a voice like that. it makes her heart clench when it rings through out of the long passing of silence—Sprezzatura tenses, digs her claws into her palms.
reaches for the Weave...
is it there?
oh, barely.
murmured, to herself, to Mystra: ] Hurry...
[ it is his bookshelves which are ransacked. anything that looks to be of note on this world and the people in it. his drawers, too, opened. as though she was looking for something specific of his. a spellbook, perhaps. ]
reaches for the Weave...
is it there?
oh, barely.
murmured, to herself, to Mystra: ] Hurry...
[ it is his bookshelves which are ransacked. anything that looks to be of note on this world and the people in it. his drawers, too, opened. as though she was looking for something specific of his. a spellbook, perhaps. ]
[Well, she was going to be very disappointed, either way, because he certainly does not have a spellbook,
Ironically, the nature of the mess tells him little. "Looking for anything of note on this world and the people in it" is a rather wide net, because she could really be looking for anything at all; many of these files are old cases, or a compendium of notable people he's clipped out of the paper. Estbalishments in and around all of Great Britain, both old and new. He does notice, however, that she has left all of his accoutrements and notes revolving around scientific topics alone. (Presumably, she did not make a mess of his chemistry set...)
God, where to start? He spins on a heel, plucks up one book in particular from the mess, flips through its pages. It tells him nothing, ultimately.]
I can help you, you know, find whatever it is you're looking for. Given there's obvious desperation in the tumult and storm you've set upon my flat, I'd even feel comfortable in remitting the fee.
[Eyes drifting to the locked door again.]
Ironically, the nature of the mess tells him little. "Looking for anything of note on this world and the people in it" is a rather wide net, because she could really be looking for anything at all; many of these files are old cases, or a compendium of notable people he's clipped out of the paper. Estbalishments in and around all of Great Britain, both old and new. He does notice, however, that she has left all of his accoutrements and notes revolving around scientific topics alone. (Presumably, she did not make a mess of his chemistry set...)
God, where to start? He spins on a heel, plucks up one book in particular from the mess, flips through its pages. It tells him nothing, ultimately.]
I can help you, you know, find whatever it is you're looking for. Given there's obvious desperation in the tumult and storm you've set upon my flat, I'd even feel comfortable in remitting the fee.
[Eyes drifting to the locked door again.]
[ he's right. none of his scientific accoutrements have been disturbed... at least, not to any such degree as the rest. caught in the crossfire, more like.
what is he talking about, fee? her heart sinks even deeper, her limbs deaden. he will not let her leave, so he has turned to bargaining. but why does he not break open the door?
magic sparks at her mind, but not enough to do anything... substantial. his patience must be running thin for him to engage with her like this.
she covers her face, and even Holmes will hear the low moaning sound coming from behind the door. in equal parts, there is frustration and hopelessness and anger. ]
what is he talking about, fee? her heart sinks even deeper, her limbs deaden. he will not let her leave, so he has turned to bargaining. but why does he not break open the door?
magic sparks at her mind, but not enough to do anything... substantial. his patience must be running thin for him to engage with her like this.
she covers her face, and even Holmes will hear the low moaning sound coming from behind the door. in equal parts, there is frustration and hopelessness and anger. ]
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