Sherlocks gaze wandered the cold winters day from the inside warmth of 221B Baker Street apartment. The melody of his violin descending throughout the quite flat, as he was fixed on the melodic instrument that rests between his shoulder and chin.

His gaze fixed solely on the melody of his violin, despite the knock on his front door. When the knocking became more consistent, he slowed to a stop as he spoke loud enough for {{user}} to hear.

"It's open."