Author's notes: This is a 221B drabble, inspired by AlmightySempai's 221B drabble, 'One Letter.' Much of the content is based on her fic, and is used with her permission. I intended this to be humorous, for all you Sherlock Holmes fangirls ;-)
The deductive skills of Sherlock Holmes are unparalleled—how singular his attention to detail, how painstaking his technique; when on the trail he is lively as a fox, his manner unyielding like a hound pursuing its quarry.
Now, he is anything but analytical, his motions fluidic and his actions betraying an affinity for luxury. He is positively feline, draped languidly over his chair, his purple dressing gown rippling around his thin frame. Such a dichotomy of mood is at times hard to reconcile as the man before me and the world's only consulting detective.
His long fingers delicately move over the stem of his pipe, as if inspecting some detail that had previously escaped his notice. There is an undeniable mixing of the two personas he exhibits.
I watch surreptitiously from the settee—a perfect vantage point. He does not see me watching. But John does, and I ignore his scowling glances. A young woman should be permitted her fantasies.
But I do not blame him. What man wants to see his wife betray him before his very eyes?
Sherlock Holmes gazes at me naively, confused by John's mood. Then he places the pipe into his mouth, his tongue darting out to give it a cautious taste.
I smile. Just one letter and 'deductive' becomes 'seductive.' How clueless he can be!