The Devil's a lie
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"Do you like it?"
Sherlock enters the room slowly, reaching out and shutting the slightly ajar door softly behind him. There's only one lamp on. The room is dim and the air smells like cigarettes. It takes his eyes a second to adjust.
"I chose it specially."
Sherlock tries to step forward but falters. He can't tell straight away where the voice is coming from, but there's no mistaking exactly who it belongs to.
"Don't look so frightened..." The voice drawls again, lower this time. "I won't bite. Well, at least not yet."
Sherlock feels his eyes darting nervously, following the shrill sound of the high-pitched sniggering that follows until he finally catches sight of what he's been looking for. Yearning for.
All this time.
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