Panic threatened to break through an aura of calm, mind consistently reminding that she’d been through worse, sometimes these things happened when upset. Either way these hollow reassurances did nothing ease the incoming tide of gathering emotions. Though hazel eyes appeared cool and collected, a weight continued to smash against her chest, forceful and demanding. The only good thing the young woman had going for her was the fact that the city she landed in also happened to be sunny and warm, just like her home across the world.
Figures that London would end up her destination. A frown twitched on pink lips, fingers curling into fists as her form tensed, aggravated from the current situation. But above all? She was exhausted ( traveling so far takes a lot of strength, will-power ). Mumbling pooled from her lips, talking to now one in particular, simply cursing her own actions, her own downfall. ❝ Dumbest mistake I’ve made all week. ❞
The man’s voice startled her, heels spinning around to face the stranger. Confusion clouded hazel eyes, for the man appeared to be far too intrigued for his own good. And even more surprising? The truth that tumbled from his mouth. An eyebrow skyrocketed, suspicion replacing the incoming panic.
❝ And you know how, exactly? ❞
❝ Simple. Your hands are covered in a thin layer of hand sanitizer residue and your clipped nails entail basic hospital decorum. Lunch time passed an hour ago, so you clearly don’t work in a surrounding hospital. Not to mention your attire is all wrong. It’s fit for the sun, surely, but uncommon in the city. No, it’s too Western. It would explain your tan. ❞
The words spew out of his mouth without pause. His countenance exudes confidence as he voices his analysis. He noted her exhaustion, another factor out of place; his eyes told him she hadn’t been running ( inappropriate shoes, loose hair ) and yet her current state matched that of a jogger. One question lingered in his mind and rather than make an assumption ( no matter how careful ) he relied on facts and data. He neverguessed. So he pressed the persisting question onto the strange woman instead.
Sherlock often graced the streets of London by foot, and not without purpose. Only a case worthy of his attention motivated him off the couch, and drew him to Scotland Yard. Long strides got him far until he happened upon a particular passerby to whom he glanced over. Something wasn’t right. The backwards visual cues, and questionable signs jumped out so obvious and clear but he couldn’t pin it. This woman wasn’t normal and Sherlock paused in his stride to figure out why—the encounter piqued his interest far enough to distract him from the summons to Scotland Yard.
The detective focused on the given data, piecing together an odd story based on what he can observe. Bright clothes, slightly tanned skin ( exposure to sun; American; West Coast ) and young complexion ( late 20s? ) and clipped nails ( basic hospital decorum ) but those signs barely scratched the surface. He couldn’t quite place his finger on the strange readings.
