Sherlock Holmes And The Dance Of The Tiger - Plot & Excerpts
Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at the intruder, a slight smile on his lips, adding in quiet undertones, “Here comes our other operative.” Mycroft motioned to his guard to allow the visitor in overalls to join them, all seated in the shadows behind the Cirque d’Hiver stage, inasmuch as anything in the Cirque d’Hiver was in shadow. “Ah, Miss Hudson,” Sherlock murmured in a low tone as she sat down. “And how did you know it was me, Mr. Holmes? I thought my disguise was reasonably good.” “You cannot simply put on different clothes and add a moustache, Miss Hudson. You must also speak the part—and move as your subject would move,” Sherlock admonished, shaking his head. Sherlock was certainly one to criticize one’s presentation! He looked half-mad, his eyes jutting everywhere. His hair was tousled, and he was unshaven. And yet, somehow he managed to look . . .well . . . masculine instead of disheveled. His dark, navy pants were neatly pressed at least. No doubt the hotel where he was staying took care of that.
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