hiatus.

i may be on hiatus, but i haven’t forgotten about my favourite detective boy...

HIATUS NOTICE-

 Eyes flit towards the blackened kitchen table, broken glass litters the marred wood and the overturned bunsen burner-- the culprit-- lies directly in his wake.

——— character question sheet

▌real name: william sherlock scott holmes. ▌single or taken:  verse dependent (but mostly single, let’s be real). ▌abilities or powers: intelligence, acute observation, swordsmanship, hand-to-hand combat. ▌eye colour:  blue-green. ▌hair colour:  black. ▌family members: siger holmes (father), violet holmes (mother), mycroft holmes (brother), eurus holmes (sister; verse dependent). ▌pets: dog named redbeard (verse dependent). ▌something they don’t like: incompetence. ▌hobbies/activities: chemistry, violin playing, composing music, reading, dancing. ▌ever hurt anyone before:  yes. ▌ever killed anyone before: yes. ▌animal that represents them: bees. ▌worst habits: drug abuse. ▌role models: his brother mycroft (although he wouldn’t admit it). ▌sexual orientation: asexual. ▌thoughts on marriage/kids: he says he wants neither, that love is a chemical defect, but once he meets the right person, he may begrudgingly change his mind. ▌fears: death, losing the only people he cares about, intimacy (emotional & physical). ▌style preferences: clean, pristine, & simple. he typically wears a tieless suit & he loves his belstaff & scarf. he wears oxfords. however, on a lazy day or when he’s on his bad habits, he sticks to his dressing gown. ▌someone they love: john watson (platonically). ▌approach to friendships: he doesn’t try hard to make friends, but to the ones that he has, he’s loyal. ▌thoughts on pie: he has a sweet tooth for mince pies. ▌favourite drink: tea or coffee (black with two sugars). ▌favourite place to spend time at: the morgue or his apartment. ▌swim in the lake or in the ocean: ocean, only because he grew up by it. ▌their type: someone who is intellectually challenging (whether that is an emotional intellect or not), who understand his quirks & can handle his sarcasm & brutal honesty. someone who makes him think to figure them out & is loyal. ▌camping or indoors: indoors.

@decrstalker || continued from x

“Oh, I know. Don’t worry, Mr. Holmes, I know exactly who you are.” Kate lifted her glass a little, raising it towards him as if toasting to something she hadn’t said out loud. The smile that accompanied this action was charming, if not a little sly in one corner–but, still, it would have disarmed a lesser man on the spot. Her keen green eyes were fixed on him, picking his looks and his body language apart to see if she could find any weaknesses in them, but she would hardly have been surprised if this search yielded her nothing. 

As it was, however, he did gave her a couple of little clues: leaning in to listen to what she had to say ( so she had caught his interest, captured his imagination, then, good ), just a hint of curiosity beneath his tone when he began to speak himself. “I’ve heard a lot about you, but I wonder, how much of it is true? Do you, for example … Do you really like to play games? Because I do, and I’ve been looking for a new partner for a while now.” 

Partner, opponent, it was all the same to her when she was bored. “So what do you say, Mr. Holmes? Shall we play a game together? 

THE GAME. John had always complained about  the ‘distasteful term,’ but Sherlock used it persistently. After all, beneath every supposed addiction he’d been accused of and diagnosed with, the game was the only one he’d admit to. And she was offering it. It was like tempting a smoker with a lit cigarette, he could nearly taste the tantalising fumes of an adrenaline rush and she was just waving it in front of him.  It was pure malice to offer him such a wonderful thing that would certainly result in a terrible puzzle that only he would have the pleasure of solving.

“Oh, have you heard of me now? That’s not difficult at all-- the press is rather relentless.” His pale eyes flitted to her face. Clearly, she was restless to begin, she had asked him in a multitude of ways-- a challenge, an offer, a simple implication. She had the charm of a sociopath, that much was certain, and evidently, she believed she could manipulate Sherlock Holmes into a game he only played on his own terms and conditions.

the very simple argument could be made that she had to be the bigger person,     right? she was the government official. she was the one with the most to lose, after all. she can’t give in to childish bickering. her urge, right now, however, is to do just that. what is it about this arrogant man that seems to get under her skin the way that it does? it may very well simply be the fact that he is, in fact, an arrogant man. that was reason enough, most certainly. she watches him, still, even as he seems determined to not so much as spare a glance her way. this, infuriates her.     when she speaks, people listen.     that’s more often than not the frailty of genius, is it not? ego.          ‘ scotland yard is in need of reformed management, but rest assured, mr. holmes, ’         she crouches next to the corpse, hands hovering over her knees.          ‘ i intend to have that taken care of, as well. i just thought, whilst we are working together, i’d give you a chance to improve. consider it free professional advise.not a thing that she gives easily. but whilst his manners leave something to wish for, there was no denying sherlock holmes’ brilliance, and thus, she’d give him a chance to show her that he’s more than arrogance. that there’s something more beneath the cold mask she can see.          ‘ what can you tell me? ’

He’s been called arrogant a great many times-- even more than he dares count by John ( usually followed with “bastard” )-- and childish doesn’t fall far behind. The snapping and quarreling is nothing abnormal in an interaction with Sherlock Holmes and problematically, he refuses to lose.

“That’s very kind of you, Ms Granger, but I don’t recall asking for your professional advice.” The venom in his voice is sharp and he glances up at her, a hardened stare in his eyes before they drop once again to the cadaver before him. His gloved hands reach down to tug away the dead man’s shirt collar, and in a single, fluid motion, he withdraws his magnifier from his Belstaff pocket, sliding it open to examine the lifeless face.