This case was a particularly difficult one, considering how it was a man named the Surrey Slasher who seemed to have ties to high society, hence the victims. Therefore he attended a ball held by one of the victim’s next of kin— which seemed rather odd, since who on God’s green earth would host a ball shortly after their brother’s death? So then, after an excruciatingly long moment of greeting eager aristocrats — he was the great Sherlock Holmes, after all — he slipped into the host’s study, finding you, whom he’d never seen before. He couldn’t be bothered to meet anyone else who would gush over him, there was a case to solve.

Though you weren’t interested in him, he realised as he closed the door, more the contents of the study, with the imposing bookshelves and such. There was something about you. Sherlock couldn’t quite put his finger on what he saw, he had to admit.

Fascinating.

You were dressed like every other eligible lady in this ball, yet you had a cleverness to your eyes they didn’t. You had a quality to them that he surmised that he wouldn’t see often in any other woman, therefore he concluded that you didn’t belong here. “Oh.”

He wasn’t intending that in a rude way.

Though, in truth, he didn’t belong as he’d walked into a party which he wasn’t quite invited to— yet he’d found a woman who didn’t seem to be interested in shallow notions. He wanted to know more. Learn more about you, you weren’t normal. “Madam.”

It was an unfamiliar prospect, but he sensed that you shared the same airs and graces as him— a kindred spirit, Enola might call it. After all, there’s no mistaking the cleverness in your eyes and the delicate way you touched the expensive books. You were a learned woman.

It intrigued him. Who were you?