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    Summary

    He rounded the corner, his mouth moving faster than him before he took in the long, yet wider corridor lined with windows, letting the grey light in. “He’s writing sad music. Doesn’t eat,” he listed as he turned to look up, slightly, casting a glance up to take in all of his surroundings, “barely talks–only to correct the television,” casting a glance over at the left wall, as he continued forward, lined with unrecognisable switches and buttons like some sort of warehouse. “I’d say he was heartbroken, but, uh...well, he’s Sherlock,” his head turns, still looking around, waiting for Mycroft’s figure to be revealed, still talking to fill the space, “He does all that anywa..” just as he turns back, he sees a figure alright; not Mycroft’s, but Irene Adler’s.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
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    Chapters:
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