Sherlock looked once more at the gathering clouds in the sky.
Dark, looming, ready to break.
In an instant, he was in a Literature Studies class, looking at the phrase ”pathetic fallacy” written in a prim hand across a whiteboard.
Pathetic Fallacy - assigning emotions or other human attributes to non-humans.
Many authors and critics looked down on the practice. He’d laughed at it, too.
Now, he gazed intently at the sad, angry, hopeless sky. He felt the first drops of rain fall on his cheeks like held-back tears.
I was wrong to laugh , he thought.
Sherlock left the snoring man on the floor and moved over to the stack of carelessly-dropped items in the corner.
The key to finding his next target in Moriarty’s web was somewhere among those belongings. It wouldn’t take long to find it - Ah. Yes. A packet of Armenian-made cigarettes, and a note scribbled on stationery from from the Golden Tulip Hotel in Yerevan.That would be his next stop then.
He bent down, looked through his own overnight bag, and retrieved a small but quite effective knife. It was better to do this naked; less chance of blood smearing the only clothing he had to his name.
“So. These are your palatial university quarters, are they? Quite… efficient. May I sit?”
“Be my guest, Mr. Trevor.”
“Please. Call me Victor.”
“Victor. And you must call me Sherlock.”
“Happily. And are you, Sherlock, naked under those bed linens?”
“Well, Victor, I believe there is a very efficient means of finding the answer to your question.”
“Bring the axes. I’ll get the guns. We’re going to find those two fuckers. And then I get to kill mine.”
“I still don’t understand. They were both dead. I saw him. And I saw the photos of Mor-…”
“Well, they like tricks, don’t they? And the arrogant bastards thought we wouldn’t track them down, either.”
“They’re together? You’re sure?”
“Jesus had nothing to do with it.”
“John, is that… is that a French Maid fancy dress costume?”
“When I said, ‘Clean the bloody flat, Sherlock!’ I didn’t mean for him to do it dressed like that, I swear.”
“Right. The fishnet stockings work rather well, though, eh?”
“Everything works well on those legs…Oi! Watch it. That’s my…Sherlock… you’re ogling.”
“Sorry. Look, I’ll leave you to it then, shall I?”
“You do that. Oh, quick question. Does Mycroft do this sort of thing? No, you know what, forget I asked that. I don’t want to know.”
“Oh, God… Sherlock… it’s so beautiful… this is what it’s like for you?”
“John, please come down from there. You’re in danger of falling…”
“It’s like…Jesus… I never even imagined Sherlock!”
“Listen to me: Those biscuits were not meant for you. They were drugged, John. It was for a case.”
“I can see the top of your head! I see can see it, Sherlock! Haaaah!”
“John. John, please!”
“It finally happened! Sher- oh! Sherlock, I’m so happy!”
“YEEESSSSS! YES! GOD, YES! ……. I’M TALL!”
“Sherlock, what the HELL are you doing?”
“I’ve found a use for the hotel’s complimentary shower cap, John.”
“You look ridiculous. You do know that, right?”
“I assure you it looks less ridiculous like this than it does when used as intended.”
“Okay, fine. Take it off.”
“Come over here and make me.”
“You… God, you’re like a five year old sometimes.”