Hardly alarming, and not completely unattainable, especially for a man who possessed the skills to charm. Sherlock Holmes just never bothered with it. His body existed merely for transport.
And yet this evening he found himself standing in a converted detached house in North London, negotiating with a young, petite, chestnut-haired prostitute.
He cleared his throat, fixed her with a steady gaze and said, "No, thank you. I just want to lose my virginity as I requested over the phone."
She blinked twice, but otherwise didn't display anything remotely resembling ridicule or disappointment at having been turned down after offering Sherlock an initial massage.
Sherlock had been to this end of North London many times before.
Admittedly those occasions were for far more noble reasons—missing diamond, drug seizures, the mystery of the blind albatross and the case of the glass skull.
This time, however, the trip was purely selfish.
He had checked out the establishment in the days leading up to this particular visit.
He wanted to make sure none of the employees were there because they were victims of crime and forced into this way of life against their will.
He was also thorough in conducting a background check on the owners: were they part of a vast criminal network,
or were they struggling independent operators and perhaps worthy of Sherlock's custom.
In the end, he found that the owners constituted an ex-police officer and his wife, an ex-prostitute herself.
Read the rest via the link in the description!