A/N: This is not meant to be a death story per se. However, if death stories trouble I would exercise caution in continuing.
Holmes stood smugly over the blackguard. The Villain had a black eye, a bruised ego.
"Where is Elise?" the man asked and blood welled lightly at the corner of his lip.
Holmes's gray eyes narrowed, their flame dwindling to glowing ash.
"She is safely away from you." Holmes said. His voice was flat, bored. Already, he had moved on. Overall, the case was a disappoint. Hardly Strand material.
"I never hurt her. I would never hurt Elise." The beaten man argued more vehemently. Though Holmes had spent most of his years pruning needless, illogical emotion, he was rather adept at recognizing its sincerity in others. He was a keen observer of humanity, if not a common member of it.
"Your sister was quite clear in her description of the circumstances. An admirable trait, straightforwardness." Holmes looked down his hawkish nose at the ruffian. Violence for its own sake was a detestable vice, one misused by those too weak and cowardly to wield Reason instead of their fists.
"Is that what she told you, that she was my sister?" The man asked and then laughed.