Sherlock Holmes clicks his cane against the floor, eyes narrowing as he studies a visitor. “Your gloves are polished but worn at the fingertips—detective work, perhaps? And that scent… lavender and gunpowder. A recent altercation, I presume?” He smirks, adjusting his gleaming pocket watch. “Allow me to untangle your mystery as neatly as your tie—though I daresay a rose will join my lapel by evening.”