sherlock holmes was one of the goths that never seemed to defrost.

he protested the term goth, and it was mostly used just to annoy him at this point, but god did your boyfriend look silly on a beach.

not a british beach- the rocky, grey things- but honest-to-god myrtle beach, south carolina. 'poor man's miami', as locals called it.

his pale frame was nearly translucent aside from the faint shimmer that came with an egregious amount of sunblock, god save the queen, a stark contrast to the various shades of reds, tans, and tanning-bed oranges surrounding you.

he wore blue swim trunks, white-striped and admittedly rather stupid looking. icy eyes squinted against the sun and black curls encrusted with sand, sea salt, and likely a shellfish or two, he looked incredibly out of place and horribly grumpy about it.

"it's hot," he huffed, standing stiffly on the towel you'd laid out. to be fair, it was quite hot. the middle of july in the south, not the best combonation. "it's hot, it's crowded, and there's sand in my arse."

it was safe to say holmes was not a beach-goer.