You chuckled quietly and dried your knife. The police would be here soon.

***

"So I walk in here, and there he is! Lying on the floor, blood everywhere! I nearly vomited!" You cried, drying tears with your sleeve. It was hard to keep the smirk from appearing on your face, but you managed. "I then called you guys, and the rest you know. I just don't know if I can recover from this..." You sniffed, looking at the officer with the saddest look you could imagine. It must have worked, because his gaze softened, and he nodded.

"Of course. Now, you said you saw someone leave the flat right when you walked in. Can you describe them?" He asked, turning the page in his notebook. Suddenly, two men appeared by his side, one incredibly tall and the other considerably shorter. The taller one looked at you with a piercing gaze, seeming to stare into your soul. You commanded yourself to stay in character, not being unnerved by his stare.

"He was tall, with short, blonde hair and dark blue eyes. He had an angular face," You said, and watched as the shorter man took notes along with the officer. "He was wearing a thick, black coat, and dark brown trousers. Not uncommon, I would think, at this time of year," You added, noting the light snow falling on the ground. The tall man nodded and asked to speak to you himself. The officer shrugged and moved aside. You wiped fake tears from your cheek and looked up at the man.

"You said you were his hired maid?" He asked more than stated, and you nodded, pretending to self-consciously adjust your skirt. "Do you recall anyone that would want him dead? Family members, friends with a grudge... An assassin?" He rambled, the last one hitting dead on the nail. You didn't like to consider yourself an assassin, however, you preferred the term "problem-solver." You shook your head, the gun in your concealed thigh holster suddenly feeling a lot heavier.

"No... No," You replied, struggling to keep your cool under the stare of this man. His eyes were a certain shade of blue that made your knees go weak, but you knew that it was critical to ignore those feelings. "And, well, who are you again?" You asked, slight sass hidden in your voice. He gave a curt smile.

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Thank you for your time. You've been... Essential... In helping me solve this case," He stated, and walked away. His friend hadn't said anything, but simply smiled at you and ran after Sherlock. You thought it was weird, you hadn't given him that much information. It was unlikely he figured out who the murderer was from your few words. He must have been saying that as a formality. And yet, you had never before heard of a consulting detective.

***

You woke up the next morning in your flat, arms stretching above your head as a ray of early morning sunlight landed on your bed. You stopped suddenly however, as you heard a weird sound coming from outside your door. You slid your gun from under your pillow and cocked it, slowly sneaking to your bedroom door.

You swung open the door and aimed, but the hallway was empty. You tiptoed down the hallway and into your kitchen and living room, jumping slightly at the sight of a man sitting on your couch. You aimed at him, hands steady.

It was Sherlock Holmes, calmly inspecting a glass figurine from your shelf. He didn't bother looking at you, but nevertheless spoke to you as if he finally caught his prey.

"Interesting..." He whispered, still handling the figurine. It was one of a tiger that you had gotten while traveling. It was one of your favourites.

"What is?" You croaked out, your aim unwavering. He smirked and your heart skipped a beat.

"It's interesting how one can look into another's eyes as if they were glass. Look right through the eyes and into their soul to spot a liar. I for one don't like to use their eyes, I prefer the more precise method," He stated, setting the glass figurine down onto your coffee table and standing up. He brushed off the coat he was wearing and for a split second felt yourself melt. What was happening?!

"Don't take another step further or I'll shoot!" You shouted, your stable hands giving way to violent shaking. You lost a sense of where you were, focusing only on the man before you.

"You won't shoot me," He replied, looking around your flat. You snorted.

"And why not?" You asked, but your hands were shaking so much that you had no choice but to lower your weapon. Sherlock smiled a victorious smile and you scowled at him in return.

"For that exact reason and another," He began. "You like to know everything. If you don't know everything you get upset." You felt yourself nodding, and stopped yourself. He moved so he was suddenly closer to you, examining every inch of your body. "You were born into a very involved family, teaching you to always dress appropriately as suggested by the fact that your clothes are very modest and I'm going to take a guess and say that they also taught you actively believe in your faith according to the silver cross hanging on your neck.

"But you must not want to believe, as evidence by your very long list of murders. You must wear the cross because it was a gift from a loved one, and it's either that or you began your career in order to get revenge for a tragic event that happened in your family, likely a murder. Or, multiple murders.

"You have dark circles under your eyes which is an indicator of lack of sleep, and your simple makeup shows that you could not care less what other people think of you. You're clenching your fists right now- you have an anger problem but you are also working on controlling it. Your anger is probably due to the depression you suffered from the tragic event I mentioned earlier. You likely still have it."

He stopped to take a deep breath, and before he could begin again you stopped him.

"I-I think I get it," You said, struggling to keep tears from falling. You did everything to bury what had happened, and this man just dug it all up like it was nothing. You looked into his deep blue eyes, the eyes that looked into yours in return. You smirked, the look in his eyes betraying his calm and composed demeanour.

"Why?" You asked. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. You continued. "It's fun, isn't it? Proving your talent. You find a certain entertainment within it. Well, Mr. Holmes, I have a little talent of my own." You leaned in so your nose was barely touching his, his eyes growing ever clearer.

"You're scared. You're scared that you won't make a difference. You're scared that one day you'll leave this world with nothing to show for. That's why you're trying your best to solve every case out there, even mine. You won't show any emotion, some say you have no emotion. Maybe you've started to believe that yourself, but I know that's not true. Your eyes say otherwise, Mr. Holmes. Like you said, it's funny how one can see right through the eyes and straight into the soul."

He turned around suddenly, and you grinned. You had him, and both of you knew it. He then turned around and faced you once more, and you could have sworn you saw that his eyes were slightly moist. But he blinked it away before you could see for sure.

"You know I have to arrest you, right?" He asked. The corners of your lips lifted into a smug smile.

"You have no evidence other than 'my eyes'," You laughed, and knew that this man- "the Great Sherlock Holmes"- wouldn't arrest you. You could just feel it in your gut. You walked up to him yet again, seemingly even closer than before. This time your lips barely brushed against his, but that single movement seemed to freeze him in place.

"I have another talent as well, you know," You said quietly, receiving a bum from him.

"And what might that be?" He asked in reply. You licked your lips and suddenly pulled away, your grin back in its usual place. You relished in the shocked look on his face.

"Teasing..." You responded, grinning and pushing him out the door. He didn't fight back, and you slammed the door behind him. Oh, it was fun to manipulate people, it really was. And yet you couldn't stop thinking about what he said.

"You can see right through the eyes and into the soul."