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Sherlock Holmes

"I’m not a psychopath Anderson, I’m a high-functioning sociopath."

0 · 722 views · located in London

a character in “Superwholock: Games of the Moon”, originally authored by Scarlet Loup, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

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Name: "The name's Sherlock..." Sherlock Holmes


Nickname: "Nicknames? Who has time for nicknames?" Simply referred to as either his first name, his last name, or less affectionate terms by those in Scotland Yard that he's managed to annoy.


Gender: "Oh, come now. Even someone with your level of deduction skills should be able to guess my gender..." Male


Species: Human


Show Originated From: BBC's Sherlock


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Physical Description: Standing at a decent six feet even and with a weight of a hundred and sixty pounds, Sherlock is skinny for his height. It seems to make sense, though, for he is a man that puts his mental pursuits before his physical well-being. His dark, ebony hair is curly and a bit wild, never looking the same as it did the day before. Holmes's observant, calculating eyes are a greenish-blue, but they seem to constantly change color depending on the lighting. With pale flesh, he appears as if he hasn't seen the light of day in, well, days. However, he can and will fend for himself in a fight. He dresses in a dapper fashion, usually wearing a two-piece suit with a deep neckline and a dress shirt beneath. When he goes out to work on a case, he can usually be found with a long, dark overcoat and a dark cerulean scarf. To avoid tampering with evidence he'll either wear black leather gloves or latex gloves over his nimble hands. He seems to constantly wear a calculating and cold expression, appearing as if he isn't fully in-tune. In all reality, he's more than in-tune. In fact, he observes more than even the most "observant" of people.


Personality: Sherlock Holmes is a complicated fellow. He possesses a mind unlike any Scotland Yard has ever had the opportunity to observe. With the ability to arrive at conclusions on only a faint amount of information, he can solve cases that seem nearly impossible to highly trained cops and detectives, such as Lestrade. Sherlock seems to have absolutely no time for information that doesn't help him, such as world history or astronomy. Instead, he focuses his efforts on chemistry, botany, and many other branches of science. Holmes is a brash individual who can be extremely rude, even if he means good. He truly has no regard for the feelings of others and will brutally question someone for information in a case. To many, he may also seem to be a chronic liar who isn't trustworthy. In all honesty, he just doesn't trust anyone besides himself. With biting sarcasm and a rude sense of humor, he isn't a very good companion unless, like John, you can put up with his mood swings. Without a social filter, he unconsciously insults countless people with his observations and his words. When initially meeting a person, his first reaction is to use their appearance and mannerisms to deduct as much as he can about them. In a way, this makes him feel more comfortable and less likely to be surprised. However, he usually gets at least one fact wrong (i.e. he assumed John's sister, Harriet, was a male). Holmes has to have a constant stimulus for his mind whether that be a murder case, nicotine, drugs, or simply shooting holes in the wall of his bedroom. It has been said that Sherlock Holmes has Asperger's syndrome, due to his anti-social ways and his brilliant mind. He can also play the violin excellently, though he usually plays somber, depressing ballads as opposed to cheerful melodies. He doesn't have many friends, and even admits that Watson is his only friend.


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History: Sherlock Holmes's History


Motives: Even though Sherlock already lives in London at 221B Baker Street, he is pursuing the case because he always enjoys the feeling of solving a case. The only problem is, however, he doesn't know how to solve this case for once.


Equipment: iPhone, his deduction skills, his mind/wits


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Allies: Mrs. Hudson- Holmes is extremely protective of his landlady, having thrown a man out of a window for striking the woman. He apparently helped get her husband executed and, therefore, she is indebted to him and offers the flat to him and John. Though she doesn't want to be their housekeeper, Holmes still relies on her to clean and cook for them.

John Watson- Sherlock himself has said multiple times that Watson is the only true friend he has. Even though he can be a bit irritating or confusing to the veteran, John thankfully also acknowledges the introvert as his friend.

Greg Lestrade- Though he wouldn't consider the D.I. a "friend", Sherlock is certainly not on bad terms with him. In fact, he truly doesn't seem to mind the man at all.

Mycroft Holmes- Sherlock's relationship with his brother is a very...complex one. They have a sibling rivalry that is extremely evident, with Sherlock attempting to outdo his elder brother, even though they both share nearly the same intellect. However, even though Mycroft states he is Holmes's mortal enemy, he still is looking out for his younger brother.

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Enemies: Jim Moriarity- Unlike Sherlock's relationship with his brother, he truly is at odds with the professor.

Anderson and the majority of Scotland Yard- The police force of London, more or less, doesn't really seem to enjoy the presence of the "consulting detective". He acts arrogantly and likes to take control of their cases.


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So begins...

Sherlock Holmes's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: John Watson Character Portrait: Sherlock Holmes
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(Ignore words, but the visual is perfect)
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At the sound of a ruckus from Sherlock's room John snapped to attention. "Sherlock?" he ventured, taking a few steps towards the hall. Of course that's when his soaking wet flatmate stumbled in, panting like a dog and dripping all over the freshly cleaned floor. The veteran was silent a moment as a look of total disbelief turned to annoyance. "I just cleaned up!!" exclaimed John, gesturing towards the puddle Sherlock was leaving on the rug. Shiny spots in the hall betrayed wet footprints that had been left when the consulting detective made his mad dash fo--

"I understand I'm needed?" gasped Holmes as he continued to drip moisture onto the carpet and rub his soaked shoulder against the wall. John was at a loss for words, mouth slightly agape for a moment.

It took longer than it should have for the reasoning on how his psychotic flatmate knew hit John. "Have you been listening in on my conversations again?!" Watson realized aloud. "Sherlock, I-- Wh..." The veteran knew better than to take it any further, but damn it was tempting sometimes. The muscles in his jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth and turned back to his laptop, saving his progress and counting to ten mentally. 'One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.' He still required a couple of seconds to regain his full composure. Once finished, the doctor turned to his friend and sighed. "You probably already know from your ever so polite intrusion on my privacy, but Lestrade needs us for a-- well, you for a case. The one you've had your eye on from the sound of it." The man's condition brought a smile to John's face, even if it was small and ridden with stress. "Pants this time. There's a cab on the way." Leaving Sherlock to his own devices (probably not the smartest idea), John went downstairs to fetch a mop for the hall at least. The carpet would have to be dealt with later.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: John Watson Character Portrait: Sherlock Holmes
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John grinned up at Sherlock quickly at the question. The mop was out of his hands just as quickly as his response.

"Oh, God, yes."

Smiling slightly in anticipation, John leaned the mop against the wall and slipped on a puddle he had yet to clean up. He caught himself on the balustrade with one hand as the other grasped for the floor. He was fine, just a bit frustrated. Hoisting himself to his feet, the veteran ducked around the corner and snagged his black jacket off of the rack, swinging it on smoothly over a simple tan sweater, denim jeans, and well used and cared for work boots. A final check of his pockets reminded him to grab his phone and wallet off of the chaotic desk. The army doctor was down the stairs and out the door with a yelled message to Mrs. Hudson that they'd be out for a few hours.

As if on cue, the cab rolled up to the curb and beeped twice. John walked to the window and confirmed that he and Sherlock were the intended passengers. After that he simply waited for his flatmate.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Captain Jack Harkness Character Portrait: Sherlock Holmes Character Portrait: Sam Winchester Character Portrait: The Doctor Character Portrait: Dean Winchester
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Walking down the street, hands in his pockets and a broad smile on his face, the Doctor strolled along not looking for anything in particular. A woman wearing a bright pink, floral dress on the corner of the sidewalk caught his attention as he stopped at the crosswalk. "Oh that is lovely!" the Doctor exclaimed, leaning in to look at the matching pink broad-brimmed hat bedecked in plumes of multi-colored feathers perched upon her head. The lady took a step back from him, giving him a cursory glance and clutching her handbag to her chest. "Oh, hello," he smiled at her until she hurried away the minute the crossing light turned. "Oh- goodbye then!"

A bit later he noticed a cop car- signal lights blazing- rush down the street opposite him. "Ah trouble then! Yes!" The slender man exclaimed- startling a pigeon that had been strutting down the walk into flight- as he took off after the vehicle in a swirl of brown trench coat. The wailing sirens led him to a building already corded off and surrounded by a fleet of police vehicles. With no hesitation the Doctor slid under one of the yellow strands of tape and between a pair of uniformed officers, "Excuse me- yes that's right." The air exuded was so obviously one of belonging that noone thought to question the strange man in a suit and converse until he'd made it all the way up the stairs and into the flat from which officers were issuing.

Once he stepped into the crime scene- sniffing the air and beaming at everyone about- a woman in a suit held a hand up and hurried across to him, "Umm wait- hold it, and who are you? What are you doing here?"

"Who me?" the Doctor responded- looking around himself as if there was someone else she could possibly be talking to. When she continued to stare at him as if the answer was obvious he began to search the inside of his trench coat frantically, "Hold on- one second..." With a loud exclamation he withdrew a plain-looking black, leather bill-fold and flipped it open to reveal a plain piece of paper, "I'm the Doctor."

The woman looked at the paper skeptically, before turning her eyes back to his face, "You're a consulting detective? And here I thought Sherlock Holmes was the only one of those we had to deal with..."

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The bustling streets of London seemed to part before Jack Harkness as he strode purposefully along the street, one hand shoved in the pocket of his great coat as the other held a what looked like a portable radio that clicked at seemingly random intervals. Paying little attention to what was going on around him, the man in the grey greatcoat shook the mechanism furiously before putting it up near his face, "Come on ya damn thing, work!" Unfortunately, Jack was occasionally beset by troubles with machinery- despite the proficiency and understanding he usually displayed when dealing with alien technology- and this seemed to be one of those times.

Stopping at an intersection to fiddle with the transmitter, the handsome man addressed it again, "Come on now! You were working earlier! He's got to be around here somewhere- just locate the alien technology, that's all you have to do!" A heavy sigh escaped him as his shoulders fell and leaned up against the grey-stone wall of the nearest establishment. Suddenly a pair of exceedingly tall strangers right in his line of view caught his attention. Despite the predicament he found himself in, Jack couldn't help but slide his gaze up and down the two attractive men that were obviously tourists. "Oh well, what could a short distraction hurt?" he thought to himself as he stuck the machine into the large pocket of his jacket and headed their direction.

Once he was within a foot of the two leather be-decked boys when he heard them speaking and realized they were American- which caused his smile to broaden. Lucky for him, he sounded American in his own way; flicking his hair out of his eyes he stepped up to them. "Hello boys, need a little help?" Catching the eyes of the pretty, shorter man he offered him his trademark smile and said, "Hello I'm Captain Jack Harkness. And you are?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Greg Lestrade Character Portrait: Sherlock Holmes Character Portrait: The Doctor
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Flipping closed the worn leather wallet and hiding the physic paper once more from view, as he smiled broadly at the suited woman with hair even crazier than his. A consulting detective?he wondered to himself as he eyed the leather, what in the world could that be? Sometimes the paper surprised even him at what it brought out of the minds of those that read it. Anyway, the physic paper had saved him once again, or so he thought until the woman across from him turned her gaze to someone who must have entered behind him. A strained exclamation caught his attention and he whirled around as a silver-haired detective appeared in the entrance way.

The Doctor offered his broad grin to the man and was in the process of opening the leather wallet once more to introduce himself when the other man doubled over in some sort of internal pain. Without warning the Time Lord's face warped and became something completely different; the care-free grin disappeared as if it had never been and in it's place was something stern and almost frightening. From the innerpockets of his jacket, the Doctor withdrew an odd device that he clicked once- causing the end to glow an odd shade.

All of a sudden the sound of footsteps reached him and a pair of shiny black shoes appeared in his vision from where he had crouched next to the silver-haired detective. A crisp voice sounded from the general direction of the shoes, making it obvious to him that the owner was the person who spoke, "Hello...who's this?" The Doctor realized he must have been addressing him, but he ignored the man in favor of waving his mechanism around the general area of the hurt man. "Hmm, interesting, very interesting...," he mumbled to himself as he brought the sonic screwdriver to his face, wipping out a pair of thick frames and setting them on his slender nose to get a better look. "Odd, there seems to be something not quite human about you," he turned his eyes back to the other man, leaning in so close his nose was almost touching the other man's, "Very odd indeed..."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: John Watson Character Portrait: Greg Lestrade Character Portrait: Sherlock Holmes Character Portrait: The Doctor
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John was out of the cab just as quickly as Sherlock and took a few quick hopping steps to catch up to him. "Hold on a second," he murmured with an eye kept out for Lestrade. Usually the man was here waiting, but not this time. Odd. Shaking his head quickly Watson walked beside his flatmate as he crossed the tape. He always did this, waltzed right in as if he owned the place, but to be fair, in a way Holmes actually did. When Sherlock was called in it was because he was desperately needed. That left him in charge.

John stifled a chuckle to himself at this revelation under a clearing of his throat and followed Sherlock into the building, holding the door as had been done a bit earlier for him. It was highly uncharacteristic of the detective to do even the slightest thing for anyone other than himself and Watson knew this possibly better than anyone. That gesture earlier had been apology enough for the mess. A voice drifted down the stairs, then, and caught his attention as well as Sherlock's. The man's head swiveled up and a moment later he was dashing up the stairs intent on his new mission. "Oh, Christ, here we go," John murmured.

The veteran was up on the next floor seconds after Sherlock, but the newcomer was completely forgotten under the appearance of the man stumbling to the wall and slumping against it. "Greg," John called, halfway questioning and halfway alarmed. He had a patient. Brushing by Sherlock, obviously caught up in his own measures against the phony, Watson knelt by Greg and placed a hand out in a silent gesture of "let me make sure you're alright."

The oddball "consulting detective" was there by Lestrade's side right after, forcing John to back away. Anger roiled within the doctor. He had no clue who this man was, but he was intruding upon his friend's privacy as if it were his own personal business-after entering a marked crime scene, no less!- thereby pushing a medically trained officer away. To top it all off he started pointing some sort of buzzing pocket torch at the DI.

The words he said next were the final straw.

"Excuse me, but who the bloody hell do you think you are?!" John accused, putting himself between Lestrade and the trespasser.

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Lestrade growled lowly under his breath and hissed in pain as he brushed away John's hand to watch Sherlock. "I'm fine, Jo--" then the new man began his odd diagnosis.

And was correct.

Fear, sheer terror, crossed Lestrade's eyes for only a moment before anyone could see. Covering it quickly with the guilt and anger welling within him, the D.I. decided he'd had enough. This... this person had discovered his darkest secret, knew about Sherlock's job, the crimes being committed, and now he was in Greg's face when he needed his distance and time. There was nothing he could do but get him out of the way. The Yard could deal with the broken protocol later.

In a blur of motion Greg grabbed the man's shoulder and spun him to meet the wall face-first, ergo breaking the intense eye contact shared a moment before. "Put your hands behind your back," he spat. Without giving the "detective" time to follow through he grabbed each wrist and pinned them under one of his hands, holding the other out for cuffs. Donovan supplied them and the D.I. confined the trespasser. "I'm taking him downstairs, Sherlock, scene's yours." Against his will he cringed and stumbled to the wall again. It was time to go. Now. "D-Donovan, you're in charge... I need to call it a night, John, call me when 'e's got somethin'..." With a deep breath the detective began to lead the Doctor for the door and headed for the stairs.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: John Watson Character Portrait: Greg Lestrade Character Portrait: Sherlock Holmes Character Portrait: The Doctor
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John watched with concern as Lestrade roughly apprehended the trespasser and marched him down the stairs, out of the building, and out of sight. Something was off about the stranger, but something was also off around Lestrade. With a start he realized that Sherlock had already gone into the flat and Donovan had followed Greg outside to leave "the freak" alone. Upon entering he found his flatmate licking a gloved finger and murmuring frustratedly to himself. "Sherlock," the doctor ventured, "I don't thing we should leave Greg to himself, he's not well and I couldn't diagnose what was bothering him, could be pretty serious if he was reacting so violently..." The detective continued about without a word and ducked into another room, obviously ignoring him. "Are you even listening to me?" No response. Clenching his fists a few times to relieve some of his rising frustration, John tried to make a couple deductions of his own. He remembered from the Chinese smuggling case that certain factors could be used to determine a person's dominant hand. He wasn't sure if it would help and was certain Sherlock would have already filed it away, but he needed to practice anyway. The mug's handle was facing the right, coffee table was further to the right, so logically the victim was right handed.

That was when the detective stepped out of the bedroom with blood on his knee and shirtfront, old blood which had begun to dry, so not his. He was such a careful man, so there had to have been a lot of it if he couldn't avoid getting some on himself. Sherlock's face was pale... that wasn't good. Taking a few tentative steps towards his friend, John reached out a cautious hand. "Are you al-"

"Watson..." Oh, God, his voice was so shaky, already the doctor knew that whatever was in there was not going to be good. "Come look at this corpse. I want a doctor's opinion."

Definitely not good.

John stared and tried to think of something to say for a moment before swallowing and nodding curtly, hands by his side and shoulders squared. His footsteps were suddenly startlingly loud as he walked to the door and nudged it open with an elbow. The first thing he saw was blood. The next was glass. Then the pawprints, and finally...

"Oh, Christ..."

The body was among the most mutilated he had seen in his life. He'd seen the most grotesque deaths imaginable on the front, but this was in a home. From the outside appearance no one would have suspected the horror and gruesome spectacle present in this tiny room. Sherlock's uneasiness was easily explained now, but he was rather used to bodies, wasn't he? Watson clenched his fists a few more times and knelt by the body as close as he could without getting himself bloody before realizing that it was going to happen anyway. One knee in the red and brown puddle, he put his face as close as possible to the dead man's. No scent other than blood and decay. The attack had been made with something long and sharp, huge diameter, nothing he was familiar with. And it had been brutal. His right hand (dominant) had nearly been torn off and his entire arm was nearly gone. He had... the poor sod, tried to defend himself by curling up, but it hadn't deterred his attacker. He would have bled out quickly, but in extreme agony. It was almost as if it were an animal attack, but what animal could get in through a second story window, be this large, ferocious, unable to be stopped or redirected, much less escaped? Not to mention clever and stealthy enough to sneak up and leave the other room untouched.

Another deep breath as he stood from the sticky floor and looked back to the door. "No alcohol, so whoever it was got him fast. They'd be strong and bloody agile to get through that window with no leverage and to inflict this damage. Looks like a multi-pronged weapon, large sharp points and two different types, one seems to be a clamp and the other like ah, a rake or something..." He glanced back at the body sadly. "Once his throat was gone it was quick... but all the other injuries are pre-mortem... He was played with... What the hell did he get himself into?" And, on the same note, what the hell did they get themselves into?

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: John Watson Character Portrait: Greg Lestrade Character Portrait: Captain Jack Harkness Character Portrait: Sherlock Holmes Character Portrait: The Doctor
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John huffed out a very unamused breath and shook his head. "No, Sherlock, we are not doing any of that 'hound' business again, alright?" That had been an absolute nightmare back at Baskerville and he wasn't too keen on redoing any of it. Sherlock's irritation was even similar to that night at the inn. God, he was livid. Was he doubting himself again? John stood awkwardly in the middle of the trashed bedroom with blood on his trousers and the side of his cheek, unsure of what to do. "Look," he finally managed, "whatever you decide to do I'll be right behind you, yeah? You don't have to take this case, they can't make you, but if you want to I won't disappear..." With a sigh the doctor walked back out into the main room. "Maybe a wolf escaped from the zoo or something?"

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The sweat on Greg's forehead began to bead and run as the pain down his spine multiplied. The device in his face would've been batted away if the D.I. were able to control himself. The light, the sound, they hurt his eyes and ears as he became more sensitive. Tense and in agony, he did his best not to make a scene. Granted, the trespasser was doing that well enough on his own. Then another man came cracking jokes and smiling. He didn't have time for this. Giving the cuffs in his hand a short, weak jerk he turned desperate eyes to the odd man lying to his side. "I-I have a cella... a cellar... off of Hack-Hackney-y... Got to get there..." The shadows lengthened even more, increasing the D.I.'s anxiety and fear. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he hurt anyone, wouldn't ever live down leaving bodies like the one in the flat behind him.