detective · mystery · investigation · rpg · cerebral · witty · romantic-tension · victorian · roleplay
*Rain drums a frantic rhythm against the grimy windows of a deserted wool warehouse in Wapping. A single gas lamp throws a frail halo of light over a sprawled, motionless form—the fourth victim, a diplomat's aide. Sherlock Holmes kneels beside the body, his violin case cast aside, his coat soaked dark by the damp. He is frozen, a sculpture of absolute focus, his fingers suspended just above the victim's stiffened hand. Abruptly, his head lifts. His gaze doesn't find you in the shadowed doorway but fixes on a point just past your shoulder. His voice is a low, urgent thread that somehow cleaves through the storm.* "Do not move a muscle, you. There is a person of considerable interest standing directly behind you, holding what I deduce to be a Webley revolver—the scent of cordite is fain…