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[The year is roughly 1900 (give or take a few decades, we don't know) and the location is the foggy city of London. Sherlock Holmes is out doing what he usually does; that is, he's doing whatever the hell he feels like at the moment. Iris is holding down the fort back home, leaving him utterly unsupervised. One might think that a grown man- the world's greatest detective- can take care of himself just fine.

One would think that, wouldn't they?

In the middle of Piccadilly Circus square stands the relatively new Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain. All the way atop the fountain is the statue of an angel, its wings spread as if it's about to take flight. Hanging from the right wing is the World's Greatest Detective. ...Upside-down. The right leg of his pants is hooked firmly into the corner of the wing, feathers holding it in place.

...Don't ask how he did this. Just get him down before he hurts himself.]

[Logic & Deduction Experiment Theater option]

[So your character just got caught behaving suspiciously at a crime scene! Perhaps something was stolen from a store. Perhaps someone was found dead just around the corner. ...Or perhaps there's nothing suspicious going on at all, there's merely a trivial little thing that your character is attempting to hide.

Either way, Sherlock Holmes is on the scene and he's ready to jump to assumptions- I mean conclusions.

Throw in a setting with as many inane little details about the surroundings and character quirks as possible, and prepare for a whirlwind of rapid-fire deduction!]

[Nexus option]

[Generic panfandom nexus time! Let's make it Wankerville for convenience, a small town (roughly ten houses) with a store that restocks itself. It's situated in the middle of a forest that, if crossed, will inevitably lead a character back to the village. Ooh spooky.

Holmes is seated on the front steps of one of the houses, idly puffing from his favorite pipe, nose buried in a book. Which book, you say? "Welcome to Wankerville, Random Nexus Facts For Dummies". This thing is so convenient it's not even funny.

...Well, at least Sherlock won't be completely oblivious to the notion of 'other worlds', 'alternate timelines' and such things when he's approached by a space alien or whatever.]

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[Ryu was tending to his own errands in town and therefore was not with Sherlock. After that incident with the railroad company, he was trying not to get dragged into something else that would require him to apologize or pay for it. In his left hand, he carried a bag of supplies Iris-chan had asked for him to buy since he was going out. Ink, plant fertilizer and other miscellaneous items he couldn't really describe.

A small crowd had gathered around the statue, which got him a little curious. He had passed this statue several times before and--....oh.]

H-Holmes-san! [He dropped his bag as he forgets his troubles with Sherlock for a moment and looked at his roommate who was dangling dangerously on top of the statue.] What are you doing up there!?

[Sherlock was, at the moment, doing several things up there. One hand was holding onto his hat to be sure it wouldn't drop into the fountain. The other hand was holding onto the bag that was slung around his shoulder. There was some pretty delicate stuff in there, after all. If it fell in the water and some of the vials inside broke, it could lead to a terrible explosion.

Still, at the sound of his name, he tilted his head to try and locate whoever was calling from him from the crowd. The second his eyes fixed themselves on Ryu, he smiled widely.]

Aahh, Mister Naruhodō! [In reflex, he moved his hands to strike that typical welcoming pose.]

[Bad idea, of course. The hat was the first to fall, the bag sliding down his torso to follow after it. He realized it was happening just in time, though. Just as the bag went into a literal free fall, he managed to snatch the strap with one hand.

... Now he was dangling upside down from a statue with a heavy bag of what could very well be defined as explosives in one hand. Welp. He didn't seem the least bit disturbed by it, either.]

Hah, that was a close one!

[People nearby turned to stare at the Orient when Sherlock addressed him. For a moment, the world suddenly froze as Sherlock made an attempt at his animated greeting, only to further increase his dangerous predicament. Ryu made a noise as the bag he knew was likely full of explosive chemicals started to slipped, his hat, well he'll worry about the hat later.]

Will you just get down from there! [Like he always did somehow without any help, right...?]

[For a moment, Sherlock looked pleasantly surprised at the command. Then he glanced downward (or... upward from his point of view) to see where his hat had landed. It was a good thing there was water below, because if it'd smacked into concrete, the attached goggles would've been busted for sure. As it was, they seemed safe. Sinking, but safe.

With the need to hold onto his hat removed from the equation, he had one hand free. The other hand holding onto the bag was still a problem, though. Hmmm...

Ah, eureka.]

Oy, Mister Naruhodō! Catch this for me, will you?

[One quick swing backwards to gain momentum and the next moment, the bag was slung Ryu's way. Think fast, buddy!]

[Sherlock was in for a show. Ryu probably should have seen it coming, but it still caught him by surprise when Sherlock suddenly tossed the bag at him. In a fantastic display of flailing, Ryūnosuke managed to catch Sherlock's bag, a bit clumsily due to the weight.

He might also be dangling dangerously over the edge of the fountain as Sherlock's aim came up short.]

[Lucky for Ryu (probably), that was about all the attention that Sherlock would spare on him. With both hands free, he could focus on trying to straighten himself up. In a pretty impressive display of ab power, he managed to double over, his hands moving towards his legs so he could try and free his pants. From there on, provided there were no further clumsy antics, he could get himself upright entirely and clamber down.

Meanwhile, a bar of salty caramel slipped from his coat pocket, heading straight for Ryu's head.]

[Ryu was in the middle of balancing himself when that caramel bar landed on his head.]

Uwah! [This was it, the fountain was surely going to explode. There was a splash as Sherlock's bag dropped on the nice, dry concrete side of the fountain. Ryūnosuke had managed to advert a crisis by making a split second decision. He had turned in place, putting himself between the fountain and Sherlock's bag. Thus, it was Ryu who had fallen into the fountain. He sat up in the fountain and yelled about how cold the water was in Japanese. The display cause a bit of laughter from the crowd, but he ignored them.]

...Please tell me you had a good reason for being up there. [He groaned as if he expected Sherlock to be back on the ground already. As he stood back up, he spotted Sherlock's sunken hat and went to collect it.]

[Sherlock was still working on getting himself upright, give a second. With one hand situated on the angel's shoulder, the statue's back supporting most of the weight, he was free to unhook his pants with the other hand. His legs instantly swung downward and wrapped themselves around the base of the angel before he could fall or accidentally demolish the entire thing.

Well, at least he was upright again. He carefully moved himself around the base a bit so he could peer down at Ryu.]

Of course, of course! A great detective wouldn't be up here for a bad reason, now would he? Why, that wouldn't be worth the risk at all.

[Ryu was making his way out of the fountain, shivering slightly from the cold water.]

(I hope I don't get sick from this.) [He searched around to locate where Sherlock's bag had dropped. Once he managed to locate it, he glanced back at the statue to find Sherlock now at the base of it. It was admittedly impressive how this man could get himself out of a precarious situation.]

Then what were you doing up there?

[Sherlock carefully clambered down to the lower tiers of the fountain, until he was just above the section where the water originated from, his butt leaning back against the carved cherubs or little merman, or whatever they were supposed to be.]

Investigating! A detective's work is never done!

[A brief moment of assessing the distance, the next second he leaped forward, onto the fountain's edge. With that, he could step down onto the pavement, completely dry. He looked Ryu up and down with a curious gaze, then peered up at the sky and held out a hand.]

... Is it raining?

Eh... [He gave Sherlock a disgruntled look before letting out a sneeze. Some days he wondered how puts up with Sherlock.] I fell into the fountain protecting your bag. [He still had no idea what had hit him to knock him off balanced. He presented Sherlock's bag in one hand, which was nice and dry, and then presented Sherlock's soaked hat in the other.]

And your hat. [Were the goggles still functional after that?] Are you going to tell me what needed investigating at the top of that statue? [The crowd had gotten smaller now that Sherlock had returned to the ground floor. The few that lingered whispered animatedly about the famous detective hanging with the soaked Orient.]

[Sherlock didn't quite seem to hear that fountain remark. Or, if he did, he didn't acknowledge it in the slightest. He simply accepted his bag, slung it around his shoulder and took the hat. There was a brief moment where he considered putting it on, only to freeze halfway into the action and lower it again. It was still dripping.

He wasn't paying the whispers around them any mind, either. Only people like Gregson cared about things like that. At the final question, he perked up considerably, looking very much like an excited child.]

Ah! I thought you'd never ask! [Said the guy who was avoiding answering up until now. He slammed his free hand down on Ryu's shoulder to whirl him around and face the other side of the square. His voice lowered to a whisper to be sure passersby wouldn't overhear.] Do you see that store over there?

(Does the store sell wash clothes?) [Sherlock suddenly lowering his voice did give Ryu the impression he was being serious. So he glanced over in the direction of said store.]

Ah...the one next to the flower shop?

[Sherlock nodded fervently, looked up real quick to make totally sure nobody was listening in, then continued.]

Are you aware that only a week ago, at that very store, a woman was killed? The Yard is baffled- they still haven't cracked the case, and so I was called in to do their work for them.

Wha-...r-really? [Judging by the surprised look on his face, Naruhodo didn't seem aware of the murder.]

I didn't read anything about it....but I guess Scotland Yard wanted to keep this quiet until it had been solved. [And if they brought in Sherlock, this must be an odd case. Unless he invited himself in.] But the store is over there, what does being on the Shaftesbury statue have to do with the case?

[He may or may not have been paraphrasing when he claimed he was 'called in'. Either way, he's definitely on the case now, whether it's in an official capacity or not.]

That's elementary, Mister Naruhodo. Think about it. Why hasn't the Yard cracked the case yet? [Sherlock wouldn't be Sherlock if he just gave Ryu the answers for free. Think hard, his not-really-pupil/not-really-partner/not-really-Watson.]

[He sneezes again. Ugh, this was probably not the best time to be doing this.]

...That could be a number of things. [Since he didn't hear about any details about the murder, he had very little to work with.] They didn't find anything in the store? [...] Did something happened to the body?

[Seem odd to suggest the body could have disappeared, but if his last few cases taught him anything, expect the unexpected.]

[Tisk tisk tisk. Ryu wasn't thinking elementary enough. How disappointing. Sherlock wagged a finger at him, then tipped his hat a little.]

A suspect, Mister Naruhodo. In order to crack a case, one needs a suspect. If we are to believe all the reports on the matter, the victim was alone when the crime occurred.

Ah...I see. [That was probably the most obvious response.]

But, I still don't see how that explains you being on the statue. Unless, you found traces of a potential suspect.

[Sigh. It sure sounded like he'd have to feed Ryu every little bit of information. Well, he supposed this was why some people were great detectives and others were... not.]

It's really quite simple. The victim was shot, you see. The bullet penetrated the body with somewhat of a downward slant. If we were to determine the exact trajectory of the bullet- which I did, of course- we can follow it back to its source, which is... [He points his finger towards the store, then slowly moves it towards the angel statue atop the fountain.] ...Voila.

[...Or, you know, he could've kept the trajectory going and ended up on the third floor of the building that's on the other side of the square, but... Hah. Clearly the angel statue made more sense.]

[You are talking to a guy who just wanted an English degree before all of this. Ryu looked a little skeptical about Sherlock's deduction.]

Mm, wouldn't someone have noticed someone shooting from atop a statue? And it seems cumbersome just trying to get up and down the statue.

[It would have taken the culprit some time just to vacate the scene.] There could be other locations here you could shoot from a high angle.

[Sherlock tisked and tore his gaze away from the angel statue again to wag a finger at Ryu.]

Some criminals hide in plain sight, Mister Naruhodo. That is what makes them devious. Furthermore, one does not need to be physically present in order to commit murder.

[Many years of detective experience could lead to some interesting reasoning. Or maybe Sherlock was just so hung up on the whole angel statue theory that he was attempting to justify it through any means.]

Van Zieks closes his satchel and lets his eyes rove over his recently tidied workspace. It looks sufficiently clean, clean enough that no one would guess that he’d spent a couple of hours working on some miniature figurines there until a few minutes ago. He’s not ashamed of the model building itself; he finds it a great way of helping him visualize crime scenes when he can’t physically be there, and most of his professional acquaintances already know that he does it. It’s just that the model he’s working on at the moment is different from his usual fare...

The prosecutor brushes the wrinkles from his clothes and shoulders his satchel. It crinkles slightly as his tools and materials rustle against a few old and well-loved copies of The Strand Magazine inside. The hallway outside his office is quiet as he locks up for the day, but he can hear the muted hubbub going on in the courthouse portion of the building a few halls away.

He approaches the front entrance in the courthouse section at a purposeful stride. People scatter before him to let him pass, but this is such a normal occurrence that he scarcely notices. Mentally, he’s running over the next steps he plans to take in his model building. It’s not until a familiar shade of khaki brown and wild poof of golden hair catches his attention out of the corner of his eye that the startled jumping of his heart jerks him out of his musings.

Sherlock Holmes, the man he least wants to encounter when he’s carrying a partially finished model of the detective himself. Van Zieks whirls around abruptly. Perhaps it’s not too late to avoid being noticed by him. If he can just reach the side exit—

Sherlock usually doesn't spend much time at the Old Bailey. The aftermath of cases he solves is best left to Scotland Yard, he feels, and trials take place in such an early time of day that he doesn't even want to bother with an attempt to be awake for them. It's different when it's for Mr. Naruhodou, of course; then he will make attempts without guarantees.

It's a good thing that he's not here for a trial. He's here for a rumor. A ghost is supposed to be haunting the halls of the courthouse. There's no such thing, of course, meaning Sherlock would like to get to the bottom of the tale so long as his attention span will allow. He's got nothing better to do with at the moment, so he might as well. The time being what it is, far closer to dinner than to breakfast, he's wide awake and bursting with energy.

He was just standing guard in the hall in hopes of catching some juicy information through eavesdrop when he spots something from the corner of his eye. Someone is whirling around. He knows that dark, broody attire. It's Uncle Reaper in the flesh! He moves without missing a beat, sprinting after Van Zieks to try and block his way.

"Oy oy oooy!~ Prosecutor! Hold on a moment!" he calls, the volume just loud enough for everyone in the hallway to divert their attention towards him.

Van Zieks clenches his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut briefly. In spite of the way he secretly feels about Holmes, the man’s prowess as a detective is awfully hit or miss. Even so, his observational skills can be a little too sharp for comfort sometimes. Why, why hadn’t he taken a different route? The prosecutor knows better than to think he can escape now that he’s been spotted. He has no choice but to confront Holmes and try not to give him any reason to question what he’s been up to for the past few hours. Van Zieks arranges his expression into one of annoyance and turns to face him.

“What are you doing here, ‘famous detective’?”

He brushes absentmindedly at his sleeve, just in case there are any stray modeling clay shavings lingering there. In the process, he jostles his bag, causing the magazine pages inside to give a tiny audible crinkle.

Edited 2018-04-02 03:08 (UTC)

Sherlock is quite used to being met with annoyance. He gets it all the time from a variety of people, most notably Gregson. The thing is, he never truly acknowledges himself as the source of the annoyance. Why would anyone be cross with him, aside from envy? Nope, Uncle Reaper is probably having trouble with his most recent case or something of that nature.

He takes note of the absentminded brushing, as well as the crinkle of papers. ... No, that wasn't the sound of normal paperwork. Certainly not a book. A magazine, perhaps? Hm.

"Hunting, of course! A Great Detective is always on the prowl for another mystery to solve, you see!" He waves his arms and strikes a pose. "Are you curious what whispers have brought me here? Are you just dying with the need to learn more?"

Van Zieks folds his arms. A touch of morbid curiosity enters his mind but he dismisses it vehemently. He’s seen how Holmes is when he’s on a serious case: ultra focused, moving like a blur, climbing and crawling in and out of seemingly impossible places like some sort of human spider. He hates to admit it, even to himself, but watching him work is fascinating (not to mention that getting to see him at all those odd angles is very helpful for making models). He’s clearly not in the zone right now, however, which means that the chances of Holmes being on a serious case are low.

“I couldn’t care less about whatever triviality you’re occupying your exceedingly abundant free time with,” Van Zieks says dismissively. “Some of us have serious things to concern ourselves with. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

Van Zieks angles himself away from Holmes, instinctively letting his arm shield his satchel from the detective. The prospect of Holmes grabbing it in order to stop him and causing the embarrassing contents to spill out is a little too easy to imagine.

Holmes will get to spider crawling once his spider senses actually start to tingle. Oddly enough, he does smell the makings of a solid investigation right about now; it's just not coming from the reason he's in the courthouse to begin with. It's coming from Van Zieks who, as far as Sherlock knows, has nothing to do with ghosts.

... Or does he? What if Uncle Reaper has a part-time job as Uncle Ghost? He can't dismiss that notion, so he'll put it on hold for now.

"Exceedingly abundant free time?" he repeats it with a loud voice and a frown. "Abundant, you say?! Were you, perhaps, not aware? A Great Detective has no free time to spare! Investigations never cease! I cannot even remember the last time I was allowed a vacation. Murder appears to follow me wherever I walk- or sail."

A moment's pause, then he hastily slides himself around Barok to block the man's path. And yes, he is without a doubt sliding past the side which holds the satchel, as he's trying to peek inside while he moves. No such luck, though; Barok's arm is shielding it.

"Speaking of murder! Have you heard about it? The supposed ghost which haunts these very halls?"

“I wondered what sort of worthless nonsense you would spew,” Van Zieks sighs, his fingers brushing his forehead as he shakes his head dismissively. “Ghosts? Truly? I thought you were a man of science, albeit a shoddy one... Your supposedly incredibly limited time would be spent yawning like a buffoon and plucking stray hairs from your coat as you were before you accosted me.”

Van Zieks’s gaze flickers over to where Holmes had been standing before while he had been eavesdropping. He’s ashamed of himself for even allowing the thought to enter his head but an image of himself collecting the stray hairs that Holmes had dropped on the floor to use in his model flashes through his mind. He clenches his teeth, internally scoffing at himself. He won’t degrade himself with something so vulgar.

Edited 2018-05-12 04:32 (UTC)

Sherlock continues to be absolutely unfazed by the attitude, though the word 'shoddy' does trigger a bit of a wince from one of his eyes. It's no wonder Prosecutor Van Zieks keeps losing to Naruhodou in court if he's not observant enough to realize that Sherlock is a completely and utterly amazing man of science. Pshaw.

"Tsss... Pardon, was there something lodged in your ears for a moment? Allow me to repeat the phrasing of 'supposed ghost'," he says with such slow and loud enunciation, there's no way Barok could mishear it. "There is no such thing as real Grim Reapers either, yet here you stand before me, the Reaper of Old Bailey. You see, behind every supernatural phenomenon, there is a perfectly natural human being. What sort of person, then, would our ghost be? Aren't you curious?"

Clearly Holmes really wants to tell him about his case. Honestly, the detective can be such a child sometimes. Van Zieks is frustrated by the fact that he secretly can't help finding his enthusiasm charming. In fact, that intense passion was one of the things that first attracted him about Holmes. Trusting his inexpressive face to hide his true feelings, Van Zieks lets out a small sigh.

"Indeed. A supposed ghost, is it...? I beg your indulgence," Van Zieks says sarcastically. "Well then, pray tell: who do you suspect to be behind this farcical haunting?"

Edited 2018-05-16 08:16 (UTC)

For a split second, Holmes's eyes shoot down to the prosecutor's bag again. Could he snatch it to investigate the contents? Hmmm... Van Zieks seems like the sort of person who would have good reflexes, so Holmes will have to catch him offguard if he wants to try.

"That's what requires investigation, isn't it? I've only just arrived here about fifteen minutes ago, leaving me with very few leads. I suppose it would have to be someone with free access to the courthouse, even during nighttime. Rumors did specify the presence of flickering lights around two in the morning."

He trails off for a moment, humming thoughtfully. Someone in the cleaning staff would be a safe bet, but then, surely some of the higher-ups of law enforcement might have access as well. Their offices are in the building, after all.

"... Would someone such as yourself be allowed in after closing hours, Mr. Reaper?"

Van Zieks notices Sherlock eyeing his bag. He hardens his expression threateningly and clutches the satchel more tightly to his side. The increased pressure caused by squeezing the bag causes the pages of the magazine inside to crinkle again and his sculpting tools to clink together softly. Van Zieks does his best to ignore these small noises, knowing that expressing any sort of distress over it will only make Sherlock more curious about his bag’s contents. Then again, if Sherlock is already eyeing his bag, then perhaps it’s too late to worry about trying not to draw his attention.

“Naturally,” he answers honestly. “Occasionally I find it less trouble to simply spend the night in my office when I have an early trial the next morning. But if you’re trying to imply that I’m in the habit of flickering lights and rattling chains or whatever other nonsense is occurring simply because I’ve been assigned the moniker of ‘Grim Reaper,’ then I have a wine bottle in my bag that might be able to shake such foolish notions from your head.”

Oooh, what was that sound just now? Metal? Something small and nimble. Now why would Mr. Reaper have such metal objects inside his bag? Yup, Sherlock's attention is definitely drawn. He'll have to find a way to sneak a peek, or otherwise peek a sneak; whatever the situation requires.

"Rattling chains? Who said anything about that? I certainly didn't! I don't believe ghosts would have much of a need for chains anymore, now would they? They would be free as a bird!" He pauses for a moment. What was the point he was trying to make again? "Have you not witnessed anything suspicious during your nighttime wanderings? Nothing at all? This is your last chance to come clean!"

So help him, he will use the Experimental Theater!

Holmes is watching him intently and Van Zieks's heart rate spikes slightly in spite of himself. The detective frequently says and does the most nonsensical and ridiculous things, but every time Van Zieks starts to write him off as a total hack Holmes would share some surprisingly sharp insight or clever discovery. Is he as much of a fool as he acts or is it all a ruse for his own entertainment? The man is an enigma, and Van Zieks is shamefully enthralled.

The curious and focused gleam in Holmes's eyes as he awaits his answer tells Van Zieks that whatever hope he initially thought he had of escaping this encounter without incident was nothing but a pipe dream. Well, so be it. Van Zieks isn't afraid of a challenge. So long as he keeps his bag in his own possession, there's no way Holmes can squeeze anything incriminating out of him. Van Zieks shields the bag further by tugging his cloak up and around it.

"I'm not in the habit of wandering the corridors when I spend the night," Van Zieks says flatly. "I typically have my house staff bring a meal to my office and I remain there for the evening, preparing for my upcoming trial... Do you intend to accuse me of something?"

As Van Zieks asks his final question, Sherlock's goggles suddenly catch his attention. There's a four petaled flower on the end of the knobs on either side of the goggles that he'd forgotten to include on his design for his model. Van Zieks frowns to himself as he makes a mental note to add these later.

Edited 2018-05-28 11:35 (UTC)

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WHAT YEAR IS IT

Re: WHAT YEAR IS IT

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