His hair was as black as midnight and slicked back with gel, not one piece sticking out-of-place. The blinding light from the bulbs above was bouncing off his luscious locks.
His eyes, the darkest shade of brown I have ever seen, glinted in the harsh light. Behind those eyes you could see wickedness and insanity that must plague him in everything he does and I almost felt sorry for the man who stood before me.
His smile was more of a smirk, but wicked in its entirety. The corners of his mouth were turned up ever so slightly as if he was trying to hide his true joy in the current situation. His flawless white teeth where poking through the small gap between his two plump lips.
His suit, Westwood as he so proudly pointed out, was clean and sharp without any sign of wear. Each button almost glowing and his blood red tie perfectly placed in the centre of his crisp white shirt.
His stance was confident and intimidating, making up for his lack of height. His arms behind his back and his chest slightly puffed out as if he thought this made him any more of a man. His shoulders were relaxed showing how comfortable he was, most likely due to the amount of times he had to do this.
His voice was smooth and rich like dark chocolate yet still held a patronizing tone. As he spoke he sounded as if he was holding back a laugh, obviously he found the position I was in extremely funny. As to my current position I was tied to a chair with rope in an old leaking warehouse as he stood in front of me slightly pacing.
I had been kidnapped by the devil himself, taken by the world's only consulting criminal, Captured by Sherlock Holmes greatest enemy.
I was in the hands of the one thing Britain should be scared of...
James Moriarty