They checked in at the brothel as soon as Mrs. Trevor was escorted from the building, with promises that they would find her husband and that everything would be okay. She had ceased crying and yet she still seemed far from satisfied, almost as if she knew their words were no good, and not to be trusted. However it was all they could do but talk now, for their actions weren't possible if they had a desperate housewife on their tail, crying and pleading with them while they tried to conduct police work. Lady Irene's proved to be empty at this time of morning, however there were still some women wandering about, as well as Irene herself, the owner and proprietor of the establishment. She was helping the women get the table cloths in order, the candles lit, and the stage cleaned before the night rush came in, and by helping she seemed to be only yelling. The poor women were running around in their long dresses and doing their best, however the iron fist of Irene Adler was more than most of them could handle, and some looked way over their head as they couldn't possibly fulfill the woman's demands just as she asked them to. Irene was everything you might expect the owner of a brothel to be, demanding, fadingly beautiful, and rich beyond her wildest dreams. She had long dark hair that was beginning to go gray, a face that was painted so heavily she could almost pass as a canvas, as well as an overabundance of skirts that hung down to her ankles. She of course prospered heavily over the dishonesty of sinful, cheating men, and with every transaction made in the back rooms she profited. Every drink sold, every woman lent, that was just more gold in her pocket, what a terrible way to run business, what a brilliant way to become rich! And yet women and drinks was not why John and Greg were here, and she seemed to notice that they looked out of place just as soon as they walked in.
"Gentlemen we are not open yet, come back tonight if you're..."
"We're not here for your services, we're here from the police station." John said abruptly, interrupting the woman. She evidently wasn't very accustomed to such maltreatment, for she rose to quiet the height and stormed in a very intimidating way over to where the two men stood. For a moment Lady Irene looked them over with a scowl before ultimately deciding that they were probably legitimate officers.
"What is it that you need to know?" she asked in a snappy sort of way, as if their investigation was nothing more than a waste of her precious time. The women that had been setting things up had stopped for a moment, whispering to each other with the arrival of the police officers. As soon as Lady Irene turned back to them, however, they burst back into their respective chores, as if too afraid to let her catch them taking a break.
"We're looking for a man that would have been here three nights ago." Greg started.
"Lots of men are here lots of nights; you are going to have to be more specific." Irene insisted, crossing her arms moodily yet making Greg smirk.
"I was getting to that." he insisted. "His name is Victor Trevor."
"I do not mingle with the guests; you will have to ask one of my waitresses if they have seen such a man here before." Irene insisted, waving one of the women to her side. John nodded, trying to remember just how to describe Victor before remembering that he had a newspaper in his bag, something that might have a picture of the column writers if they were lucky. While Greg tried to describe Victor to the girl (she didn't recognize the name) John was lucky enough to unearth the very photograph he was looking for, a mere headshot that was enough to give the woman a vague idea of the man they were after.
"Yes! Yes I have seen him before, three nights ago... That would be Sunday night, yes? I was working that night, handing out drinks." She agreed with a proud grin.
"Wonderful, what was he up to, do you know? Was he with anyone, did he um...hire anyone?" John wondered anxiously, knowing that if Victor had been with a woman that night they might be closer to catching the culprit behind these apparent serial kidnappings.
"He was alone, and then he joined a man. Someone who is frequently here, oh what's his name? Dark hair, curly. He's very attractive but he's hardly approachable, he sits there with a scowl on his face and he's very, very pale." The woman described, tapping her fingers against her cheeks so as to try to fish a name out of the mess of identities she undoubtedly had mixed up in her head.
"Sherlock Holmes?" John guessed quickly, knowing that strange man from the café they had eaten at that very morning! And he had seen him outside, hadn't he; he'd noticed Sherlock as he walked into the brothel! Could it be that he had business with Mr. Trevor right before the man had been taken? That or it was just a coincidence, and Sherlock Holmes had been here for a much more falsely romantic purpose with one of the ladies.
"Yes, yes! Mr. Holmes! He talked to Mr. Trevor, they left together." The woman agreed, nodding her head furiously up and down as if trying to convey the absolute truth she was speaking.
"They left together? Do you know where they were headed, did they take a hansom, did they walk?" Greg asked urgently, scribbling these notes down while John tried to think about what the possible connection to be. Surely Sherlock wasn't the one behind the kidnappings, for what use would he have with these unfaithful men? However it was worth a visit, that was for sure. If Sherlock had heard Victor mention where he was going, or if he could at least describe some of his behavior then they would be all the more closer to catching the culprit! This was the first lead they'd had since John arrived, and t was a good one at that!
"And do you think..."
"Thank you, thank you both. Greg we must be going." John decided finally, grabbing his partner's hand and dragging him off to the carriage in newfound excitement.
"What do you think you're doing? Come on John I've still got questions!" Greg exclaimed, however he didn't seem too upset about getting out of Lady Irene's unwaveringly inconvenienced gaze. John pulled him into the carriage and sent the man towards the Holmes household, a place which he assumed the driver might know, for John of course did not. He could only now connect Sherlock Holmes with the café and the brothel, and those both could not be anywhere close to where Sherlock was actually living. He had mentioned that he had his own carriage, and so not only must he live outside the city, but he was undoubtedly rich as well. Both of these things didn't help much, however with the strike of a whip on the horse's backsides it was obvious that the driver knew exactly where he was off to.
"What authority do you think you have, just tearing me away like that?" Greg growled, arranging himself moodily in his seat and glaring at John as he set his notebook away.
"We got all we needed from them, didn't we? We know who Victor was with the night he disappeared, isn't that enough, isn't that more than we've ever had?" John insisted excitedly, to which Greg just rolled his eyes and sighed, for obviously he had nothing that could argue with that. He had to admit that the brothel held nothing more for them, and that the answers most definitely lie within Holmes manor.
"Yes I suppose so." Greg admitted with a sigh. "How do you even know Sherlock Holmes in the first place? He's a rather odd man for you to be hanging around."
"He goes to the café that's next to my hotel, I go there for breakfast with Mary every day and he was kind enough to introduce himself." John admitted with a bit of apprehension, wondering why Greg would think that such manners would be considered odd.
"Introduce himself, really? I didn't think Sherlock Holmes was capable of human interaction, much less keen." Greg admitted with a bit of a sneer.
"Do you have something against him?" John wondered.
"No, nothing against him just nothing for him. He's like the town weirdo, no one really talks to him and he really doesn't talk to anyone else. All the kids think he's a vampire and to be quite honest I wouldn't be too surprised. He's like a social recluse, always wearing those dark sunglasses and brooding..."
"I don't think he broods." John said with a frown, to which Greg just smiled, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"You're not telling me you like Sherlock Holmes? Out of all the creeps you could have befriended, why did you have to pick the most supernatural of them all?" Greg wondered with a shake of his head.
"We're not friends; it's just that I don't see any of these seemingly pressing character flaws." John defended quickly, holding his head up a bit higher now that he had something to argue about.
"Well even if this investigation turns out to have nothing on his record, I'd still advise you strongly to stay away from him. Who even knows what he gets up to in that manor of his, all alone? He gives me the creeps, and I would say positively that if there is some sort of psychotic killer running around this city, it would most certainly be him." Greg said with a sharp little nod. John sighed heavily, shaking his head and watching through the window as the carriage started up a sharp hill away from town, leading up to a grove of large, eerily sagging sycamore trees.
"I'm quite sure that if there is a serial kidnapper in our midst it would most certainly be a woman. Besides, what on earth would Sherlock Holmes do with all of these men?" John wondered, to which Greg shrugged in defeat.
"Honestly mate, probably carving them up just to see what's inside. I wouldn't put it past him to take up an obscene hobby of surgical knowhow." Greg admitted with a sigh. John felt a shiver go down his spine and yet he ignored it, for despite this now long, sloping driveway leading to an eerie set of rusted black gates, he still had to have an open mind. This certainly did appear to the be the house of some sort of misunderstood psychotic criminal, however he couldn't let stereotypes get in the way of a formal and very serious investigation. Sherlock had been kind to him when they had met the first time, and John could not allow Greg's ghost stories to get in the way of what was surely logical. The carriage dropped them off at the front door, leading them up to a magnificent house that towered to the sky, with numerous dark windows peering down at them like sad eyes, hiding what was inside with good purpose. The house was kept to a state that might be considered presentable; however it was in no way up kept like the rest of the manors that scattered about this city. The paint surely needed attending to, and some of the shingles were dangling off of the roof above. The flower gardens had all been left to die, with leaves scattered about the brown bushes and weeds popping up through the underbrush. It was a bit depressing, however John and Greg had to take deep breaths and remember that most everyone was more scared of them than they were of most everyone. Just because this Sherlock Holmes was a little bit peculiar did not mean he didn't flinch in the face of the law, and if he was guilty then it was all the better! He would push them away as quickly as he could, and then not only would they not have to interact with him long but this case would be closed and John could bring his wife back to London where they belonged.
"Alright mate, maybe you should let me do all the talking? I don't want your friend to think you're here on some sort of social visit." Greg insisted, jabbing John in the ribs while chuckling as they made their way up the cement stairs.
"He's not my friend, don't be an idiot." John growled, being the one to ring the doorbell as they looked upon the beautiful and towering door that stood before them. There was an iron doorknocker in the shape of a raven, however John was sure that was there only for decoration, and not intended for practical use. That was why there was a bell, after all. Almost as soon as John's finger released from the doorbell the door was opened, and before them stood a very elegant looking man. He must be the butler, for he was dressed for service and groomed very nicely, with brown hair swooshed over his head and a rather large stomach tucked haphazardly underneath an old waistcoat. The man looked between the two detectives with some interest, as if wondering who on earth might be intruding at this hour.
"May I help you gentlemen?" the man asked in his most formal way, keeping the door open just enough to display himself and not the rest of the house.
"We're looking for Sherlock Holmes; we're from the police station, investigating the recent disappearance of Mr. Victor Trevor." Greg explained quickly, to which the man barely even flinched.
"Yes of course." The man agreed, bowing for a moment before disappearing just in time for the door to shut, leaving the detectives on the stoop and wondering if they would ever be visited again. John looked over to Greg, who almost seemed like he was trying to hold in a laugh as they heard the butler's voice call to his master upstairs. There was an annoyed scream in return, a very harsh voice that nearly made John flinch, however Greg seemed to be expecting such treatment. He seemed almost pleased with himself, as if he had just proved a point that John neglected to notice.
"Is he going to come back?" John wondered apprehensively, looking back towards the carriage where the driver was busying himself with a novel, perched overtop of the horses and looking quite satisfied where he sat. Almost as soon as John dared ask such a question the door opened once more and the butler reappeared, looking rather annoyed as he tried to maintain his professional persona.
"Mr. Holmes will be here in just a moment." he announced and, without waiting for an answer, slammed the door in their faces once more.
"I'm starting to get the feeling that we're not entirely welcome." Greg said truthfully. John nodded his agreement, however he knew that whatever reluctance these men had was only all the more reason to investigate, for the guilty party was always just that...guilty. They waited for about a minute before finally the door opened once more, and this time it was not the pudgy butler but the master of the house himself. Of course this was not necessarily the state John had expected to see him in, for it would seem as though they had interrupted Sherlock in the middle of something that seemed, well, important. He was dressed (if you could even call it that) in a short silver robe, pulling the two halves together so as to cover himself just slightly before tying the string around himself and looking down at the two detectives with something of an interrupted gaze. At first John was at a loss for words, feeling rather stunned at being approached at this hour of the morning by a man who was gleaming so heavily under the sun that he ought to be his own light source. Sherlock sighed heavily after seeing the detectives, as if he really had better things he ought to be doing, however John couldn't think of anything to say and at the moment it would seem as though Greg was speechless as well.
"You're um...showing quite a bit of leg there, Mr. Holmes." Greg said stupidly, to which Sherlock just leaned heavily against the doorframe, making no moves to cover up. John looked down at where the robe ended, which of course was just a little bit above the knees, and had to agree with Greg, if not silently. He felt a bit awkward, almost as if he was invading Sherlock's privacy just by seeing him in such attire, however there was something strangely exciting about it....something strangely welcoming.
"My apologies detectives, but you caught me at a rather awkward moment." Sherlock admitted with a great sigh.
"This won't take long Mr. Holmes, just a few questions." John assured quickly, to which Greg nodded in agreement.
"A few questions, of course that requires a drink. Come in, gentlemen, please." Sherlock insisted, holding the door open wider and leaning ever so slightly against the wood, watching as Greg and John passed into the threshold and looked around the manor for the first time. The inside proved to be as dreary as the outside, with a rather outdated style of gothic design in the wood. It was dark wood, with black curtains and barely any lighting from the inside. There was a large spiraling staircase going up towards the topmost floors and an entry way towards what must be the rest of the house, and through this doorway Sherlock led them to a dark yet gentle sitting room. The butler had evidently just put a fire together, for there were very fresh logs burning in the hearth, and the dark leather couches were free of any blankets or things that might obstruct their sitting experience. John hesitated for a moment before sitting on the one right in front of the fire, feeling the springs squeal underneath him as he looked for a moment at their guest. Dispute the daylight of the outside the house was very dimly lit, the curtains were preventing most all of the sunshine from getting in and it provided a very dreary if not hostile environment. John couldn't help but suspecting the school children of being right about Sherlock's rather supernatural presence, however their host was indeed treating them with all the hospitality that was necessary, even if he was wearing two feet too little.

"My butler mentioned police business, something about Victor Trevor? Do tell me he's alright, gentlemen, for I have been so worried about him ever since Sunday." Sherlock begged, handing them both square glasses of what John assumed to be whiskey. Greg took a daring sip, looking pleased and taking another sip. John, however, was a lot more cautious, for he knew that if Sherlock really was a criminal then it was probably a good idea to avoid drinking anything he handed you.
"He's missing, I hate to say. Declared missing this morning by his wife." John admitted finally. Sherlock sighed heavily, seemingly distraught as he let himself lean up against the stone mantle, balancing a glass of whiskey between his two forefingers and letting his beautiful head swivel for a moment on his white, exposed neck.
"That is what I suspected. He seemed upset when I last saw him, but I didn't want to suspect the worst until my suspicions were confirmed." Sherlock admitted heavily.
"He was upset?" Greg clarified, for John had been momentarily distracted by Sherlock's body movements that he couldn't think of something to respond with.
"Oh yes, very upset I hate to say. We were becoming friends, and when I saw him that night I asked him to come back to my house for a drink, just a social affair, nothing more. We took a hansom up here and yet just as soon as we arrived he checked his watch and looked terribly distressed, I asked him what the matter was and he said he had to leave. He took my carriage to the end of town, left with no explanation except that he was late for something, and ever since then he's been absent. Missing...oh why didn't I report it earlier?" Sherlock wondered in a distraught sort of way, shaking his head in his own exasperation, almost as if he couldn't believe how oblivious he had become.
"There's no need to blame yourself, Mr. Holmes." John assured quickly, feeling Greg's eyes turn on him for a moment before he blinked and looked back at his fellow detective. Greg was smirking, and yet John didn't see what could possibly considered as funny.
"Oh but I will try." Sherlock admitted heavily. "Mr. Watson, I presume, from the café?"
"Yes." John agreed with a nod. Sherlock hummed in recognition, drawing himself up to full height (and bringing some of his robe with him, so now the fabric failed to cover the very beginning of his thigh).
"How's the wife?" Sherlock wondered, to which John just blinked, hardly remembering Sherlock ever having met his wife.
"Fine, of course." John agreed, to which Sherlock nodded once more, a slight smile coming over his face as if he had just had some sort of revelation.
"Good, very good Mr. Watson." He said with a grin.