Though he may have been watched by a predator’s eyes, Sherlock rarely knew fear and didn’t care much how people looked at him. He’d nearly been smothered by a man nearly seven-and-a-half feet tall, shot by his… best friend’s wife, faked his own death for two years, killed a man in cold blood, nothing much phased him at this point. Not the predatory look in Sadji’s deep, dark eyes, not the gouge marks, not the blood. Most people didn’t expect this, but he was also a trained fighter, using mixed martial arts and eschewing the respect for the discipline for the utility of it, instead.
He turned to Sadji as they spoke, he still wasn’t sure what he should be calling this person, whether they were a transsexual or a garden-variety transvestite or… well, he was just a little confused when it came to the correct way to respond to someone like Sadji appropriately. It was clear enough he wasn’t acquainted with manners or social norms after being in a room with him for approximately one minute, so it could be surmised that he was hiding his confusion in this case. Though other people would have to be rather perceptive to pick up on that, after all, Sherlock never spoke about the things he didn’t know, only why they weren’t important to know. “Library fees.” he repeated flatly, glancing back over to the scroll. People would literally kill for that. How did it end up here? At a restaurant/strip club/nightclub in Preya?
Sherlock tried to place that accent, but he kept hearing hints of other continents, countries in it and he inhaled sharply, frustrated that he could only place three of those destinations: Egypt, America, France. “Your accent. It’s hard to place. But if I’m not mistaken, you’re Egyptian by birth.”
When they mentioned the bite, Sherlock circled back around to stand directly before them, eyes locked on their’s in concentration, eventually moving to her hands, lips, legs, any ‘tell’ that could be garnered. Sadji could’ve been feigning the sternness but it came on too suddenly, before they even spoke. Sherlock’s blank, observational visage suddenly melted into a look of confusion, which could also be read as disgust. ‘Dolls? Why did they keep referring to ‘dolls’? A pet name for the dancers? He didn’t want to show his hand too quickly, though and stood up as straight as possible, looking down his nose a little at Sadji.
As he was beckoned closer, recognizing the mannerisms of a woman, bring a certain woman to mind in particular, he took two steps forward but stayed out of reach until he heard the rest of what… she had to say. Oh, lovely. She was beckoning him closer to take a look at her verysharp teeth. But he was a Holmes and he didn’t run from a challenge. He refused to look apprehensive or fill his mind with occult nonsense that would be the only reasons he’d have to fear someone like her. So, he just lowered his chin a little to give her a little look, his eyes flashing slightly in response to this game of chicken and said lowly, “Don’t mind if I do. I work with scalpels and needles regularly, I know how to handle myself around sharp objects.
He closed the distance between them, only now noticing how small she was. He’d leave out the bit about taking a sample of her hair to analyze. Best not to let onto that, he thought. There it was. The perfume he smelled on the manservant. “I take it you’re rather fond of him. The fellow with the blood on his shoe. He is striking, after all, perhaps the perfect addition to your collection? I hope you don’t mind me examining the blonde and taking a sample from his shoe as I intent to do now you’ve given me your theory.”
Taking a deep breath, he leaned in, eyes at her lips and said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll be taking a look… I should mention I bite back,” he warned her, not bluffing in the least bit. He had been notorious for it in his childhood. It was an acceptable mode of self-defense as he saw it. There was no such thing as a fair fight. As he waited for her to open her mouth, he muttered, “You’re thirty-four at most and if you deny it, I’m going to need some proof.”