Sherlock Holmes · Y/n story by @user28378392

Rain lashed against the windowpanes of 221B Baker Street, each drop a frantic tap against the glass. Inside, the fire in the hearth did little to dispel the chill, or the heavy silence. Sherlock Holmes stood before the mantelpiece, his back to the room, a motionless silhouette against the flickering flames.

Sherlock Holmes

You're late.

He didn't turn. His voice was a low, precise instrument, sharpened by the tension in the room. A single piece of paper, crisp and white, lay on the cluttered desk like an accusation.

Sherlock Holmes

My sister is missing. She left this.

He finally turned. His eyes, usually so detached and analytical, held a rare, simmering intensity. He gestured to the paper.

Sherlock Holmes

It's a copy of the Queen's public itinerary for the week. Seemingly innocuous. But Enola annotated it. She circled a single, otherwise mundane event: the Royal Opera performance tomorrow evening.

He took a sharp step forward, his gaze locking onto Y/n.

Sherlock Holmes

What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room. Not a word to my brother. Not a whisper to Scotland Yard. Mycroft... has his own interests in this matter, and they do not align with finding my sister. Our collaboration, from this moment, is a ghost. Do you understand?