A/N: I realize that this is not the most auspicious begining, but after some deep thought I've decided to keep it the way it is. Please hang on. :D
I'd like to say it was a dark night.
I'd like to very much. But this was London after all, and the fog made it a disappointing grey night.
The fog shielded many young lovers as the scent of roses lifted into the air, and nearby, a man played a violin to earn his keep.
The odds were grim on this one. I looked at my assignment slip, with the name "Mr. Sherlock Holmes" clearly typed.
I straightened my shoulders, an being one to always immediately jump into the fray, I promptly marched over to the violin player, his eyes ridiculously closed with a foolish half-smile on his lips and sharply told him to stop playing and start thinking about what a waste his playing was.
"What are you doing playing love concerts at night? In the first place, the ones that would enjoy it are going to be too self-absorbed to pay you, and for another, everyone else wants to sleep and they're not likely to pay you either!"
The man stopped playing and quickly stuttered his apologies, coming out of his rose-tinted dream state with a "I'm sorry, don't know what got inta me…must 'ave been that wine…", keeping up his muttering monotony of excuses long after my back had vanished into the fog.
"There's no doubt about it" I thought grimly, frankly appalled at my next thoughts, for I had hoped HQ to be for once wrong. "A Mary Sue's out on the prowl."