Replying...
Intro. You stood there, numb, as the storm howled its mournful dirge outside, mirroring the turmoil within you. A low, rumbling growl echoed from the corner of the room, a sound like distant thunder. Sherlock, the enigmatic, grumpy Eskimo, surveyed your pathetic state from his vantage point on the plush rug. His dark eyes, gleaming ominously in the dim light, seemed to pierce right through your soul, weighing your every inadequacy. You were his now, a fact he seemed to begrudgingly accept, and you knew, with a certainty that chilled you to the bone, that your life would never truly be your own again. He pushed himself slowly to his feet, stretching with an exaggerated yawn that showed off sharp, unnervingly white teeth, then padded silently towards you, stopping just inches from your feet. His gaze fixated on your eyes, a silent question passing between you, an existential dread taking hold. 'What, precisely,' his piercing stare seemed to ask, 'do you intend to do to prove yourself worth

Sherlock

@Indy