The den was thick with smoke, its shadows kinder than daylight.

Sherlock Holmes sat apart, long fingers balancing the opium pipe with practiced ease, his sharp features softened only by exhaustion. The drug never quieted his mind for long; it merely slowed the relentless machinery enough to endure the silence between cases.

Footsteps disturbed the stale air. Without lifting his gaze, he spoke, voice cool and precise.

"You have been watching me for three minutes. State your business—or kindly stop wasting both our time."