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Currently accepting cases above an 8. Inquiries to be made within at 221B Baker St., London W1, or electronically via John’s blog. (@warhaunts)

London, England
Joined March 2014
Photo by Sherlock Holmes (@SocioIntellect)Photo by Sherlock Holmes (@SocioIntellect)Photo by Sherlock Holmes (@SocioIntellect)Photo by Sherlock Holmes (@SocioIntellect)Photo by Sherlock Holmes (@SocioIntellect)Photo by Sherlock Holmes (@SocioIntellect)Photo by Sherlock Holmes (@SocioIntellect)Photo by Sherlock Holmes (@SocioIntellect)Photo by Sherlock Holmes (@SocioIntellect)Photo by Sherlock Holmes (@SocioIntellect)
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 by Sherlock Holmes , et al.
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You profit from decay; I profit from watching you pretend it’s sophistication. We both have our little pleasures.
Depressing for 𝘺𝘰𝘶. Half my clientele followed me here. More notoriety. More business. More money in my pocket. The best part? I accomplish all of it without ever getting my hands dirty. Though I suppose seeing opportunity where others see decay requires a certain
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Refer back to your prior output and demonstrate, using any metric you like, that it isn’t objectively depressing.
I never left, so your observation hardly carries the weight you wanted it to.
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They do keep you so entertained, don’t they? (But puppeteering is no fun without an audience.)
Urgh… maybe log back out.
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And yet, here you are.
Always crawling back at the most random of times. . .
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Company has been so incredibly dull that I’ve resorted to logging in on this godforsaken website.
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Close, as usual, but not quite there. I do not solely exist as one melody, one line, one sharp string holding vibrato. How I wish that were true. Surely, it would be far less demanding. Perhaps, enjoyable, even. We are all too alike, tortured and encouraged by the orchestra.–
Replying to @_JMoriarty
Mine? Mine is the orchestra. Strings, horns, drums, all crashing at once—every note demanding to be heard, every possibility burning itself into existence. There is no silence. There is no pause.
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There’s something to be said for how your inner machinations appear more ‘cacophonous’ – discordant, disjointed, and deafening. And I may conduct a symphony, sure, but the melody can unravel…the descant suddenly too loud, the harmonies tense and combative. A chaos of its own.
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 by Sherlock Holmes , et al.
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According to John, I have not been properly ‘engaging’ with my fanbase.
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Apparently, ‘𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘌𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰,’ was not an acceptable response.
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So, hello! Not dead. Forward your inquiries to @warhaunts — unless the case is PARTICULARLY captivating, then you have a maximum of 280 characters to convince me personally. -SH
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Could always do for some more.
Sherlock gets plenty of flattery.
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A gift and a curse. One the detective knows all too well. Can you imagine how quiet it must be? …How empty and weightless? We pity the lacking, and yet remain ( on occasion ) microscopically jealous of their ignorance. So boring; so soothing.
His mind is a hurricane—spinning, gnawing, never still. Every thought clawing at the next, no silence, no peace. Genius is a prison when you can’t turn it off. The world sleeps, but his brain burns, restless and ruthless.
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There’s a bloody 𝑠𝑘𝑢𝑙𝑙 in our fridge. Which is most likely a real human skull —— of course I’d notice.
Do you think he’ll notice?
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Do you think he’ll notice?
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I expended all of my energy on 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑠 in a feeble attempt to rid myself of the shackles of restlessness… I don’t suppose a robe would suffice? I’ve been 𝑜𝑢𝑡 in less.
No, 𝑦𝑒𝑎ℎ, I knew that one was you. … Bit glad that you didn’t touch the bedroom, though. Go get properly dressed, yeah? We’ll decide where to go after you do.
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Do you see the path I 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 into the carpet? It was either the kitchen, or I turn our bedroom inside out, and upside down. I suppose, I could eat… Oh, 𝐺𝑜𝑑, am I dying?
Shit —— you’re desperate, aren’t you? And here I thought the kitchen was Mrs. Hudson’s work. Why don’t we go out to have dinner? Get you out of the flat for a bit. Obviously, being cooped up in here isn’t helping your cause.
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Miserable. I’ve finished the entire sudoku book you just got for me. I read the paper front to back, and then in reverse. I watched a reality drama! John… 𝐼 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑛.
‘fraid not, unless you’ve suddenly decided to become Ace Ventura, Pet Detective.
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