#adam-worth

            Rumbling clamourously, veins of lightning and thunder illuminated the sky from its encroaching seven-point-five distance. With each passing second accounted to measure the distance of the natural chaos, Sherlock mentally associated the biting rain to the onomatopoeia of a persistent street sweeper. The globules of water weeping from the sky had succeeded in its persistence to soak through his overcoat within the past half hour. His previously voluminous curls depressed in their form to hang wetly against his skull. Pallid countenance ashen, droplets of moisture clung to the arcs of his cheeks and fullness of his bowed pink lips. Capitulation of morality held the soles of his oxfords to the concrete below.

            His elongated neck craned from the saturated frigidity of his blue scarf, looking onward to the apartments above. Sherlock’s collected, stoic countenance altered within his gaze. Brow slanting in excruciating pain, his heels scraped against the slickened sidewalk.

            Rising rigidly from his side, the consulting detective’s hand trembled as he retrieved his mobile from his pocket. He hollowed his cheeks, thumb nails biting harshly against the sides of his cell.

"You're the only one I've seen walk through here all day. Where is everyone? Am I missin' somethin'?"