Disclaimer: Do not own. Do not sue.
A/N: A contribution to the 221B challenge. Moar?
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
How great a difference does one letter make!
Long have I been astounded by my dear friend Sherlock Holmes' deductive skills. I have recounted them time and time again—how singular is his attention to detail, how painstaking his technique! When on the trail, he is quick and lively, yet his whole body is held rigid as a foxhound pointing to its prey.
But now, he is anything but analytical, his motions all fluid grace and ease. He is positively feline, draped languidly over the arm of his chair. He displays such a dichotomy of mood that at times, it is hard to reconcile the Holmes on a case with the Holmes without one.
His long fingers twist and twirl around the stem of his pipe, as if inspecting some detail that had previously escaped his notice. All this I watch from behind heavy-lidded eyes, nestled comfortably in my own chair. He believes I am asleep. It is not the first time I have fooled him, taken the opportunity to spy on him when he thinks I'm not looking. And once again, what a difference does that small fact make.
He inserts the end of the pipe into his mouth, his tongue darting out to give it a cautious taste. One letter, and 'deduction' becomes 'seduction'. How clueless can he be?