Holmes, Sherlock

[Sherlock Holmes]

Holmes, Sherlock



We Are But the Players

Name: Sherlock Holmes
Age: 38
Story: Sherlock Holmes stories
Affiliation: Good
Occupation: Private Consulting Detective

Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder

Hair: Dark brown, curly
Eyes: Brown
Height: 5ft. 7in.
Weight: 176lbs.
General Build: Thin, slightly lanky, but built.
Play-by: Robert Downey Jr.

All of it is Elementry

Personality:

There are two distinct parts to Holmes’ personality that one should understand. The first part is that he is very confidant in his abilities as a detective. When putting his mind to a case, he continues on it until it is solved. The way he solves cases is probably the best look into his personality. He is very logical, gathering facts through extreme observational and deduction skills. Often times, he will give up eating or sleeping in order to solve a case. However, no matter how confidant he is in his abilities, he is the first one to admit if he has done something wrong, or went down the wrong trail. Even he understands that he is not flawless.

Which brings us to part two of Holmes’ persona. Though a charming gentleman, Holmes is often depicted as being incapable of love. More accurately, he loves his work more so than the pleasure of a woman’s company. (And if ever there was a creature so illogical, it was that of women). Except for one woman (THE woman), Holmes has never had any thoughts of female companionship. When he is finally done with a case, he becomes moody and withdraws to his room for weeks on end. During these ‘dark moods’ between-cases, Holmes will often play his violin or participate in random experiments (such as trying to harness lightning or capture flies with music). Either way, he becomes withdrawn from his fellow man.

Weapons: Pistol, is trained in fencing and singlestick, he also has a riding crop.

Skills:
-Has amazing deductive and sensual (sight, sound, smell, taste) observational skills
-Is learned in Chemistry and other sciences connected to it such as Botany and Geology
-Expert fencer, singlestick player, and boxer
-Plays the Violin
-Has a knowledge of Latin and needs no translation of Roman epigrams in the original.
-Can speak fluent French, and can understand some German (but cannot speak German).
-Cryptanalyst (can decode secret writings with relative ease)

Mother: Amelia Holmes (nee Vernet)

Father: Oscar Holmes

Siblings: Mycroft Holmes (older brother)

History:

Not much is known about Sherlock’s early life. He defiantly doesn’t like to discuss it with others. Not because he had an unhappy childhood, but an indifferent one.

Sherlock’s mother, Amelia, was a beautiful French woman of a notable aristocratic family that had fallen on hard times. Oscar Holmes was in France for an ambassador from Parliament. He was attending a dinner party hosted by Amelia’s parents, and was immediately struck by her beauty. Of course, one would ask if perhaps Amelia felt the same way, and happily went off to marry Oscar. This was not so. Instead, Amelia’s father fell in love with Oscar’s money and title. Mr. Vernet was happy to promise his daughter’s hand in marriage to such a wealthy man.

With her fate sealed, Amelia sadly packed up her belongings and left her home country of France to move into her future husband’s country estate in Rochester, England. The rest was history, she married him, even if they were both complete opposites. Amelia was a thin, petite brunette with rich curly hair and soft brown eyes combined with an infinite amount of energy that came from no-where. She constantly was riding horses, reading a novel, or even painting; never sitting still. Oscar was portly, and shorter than his own wife. He was also an extremely lazy man, despite his brilliance. Another factor that separated them was that Amelia was not too fond of children, while Oscar couldn’t wait to be a father.

A year into marriage, Amelia gave birth to Mycroft Holmes. Amelia became indifferent toward him, handing him off to a nanny as soon as he was weaned. When Mycroft was seven years old, Amelia gave birth to another son. This one was named Sherlock.

Sherlock was a clone of his mother, both in looks and personality. While Mycroft would much rather sit by the cozy fire, Sherlock would be outside exploring the world (and making friends with some of the local village children). Despite this, Amelia was just as indifferent toward Sherlock as she was toward his older brother. He too, was raised by a strict no-nonsense nanny.

Oscar didn’t know what to make of Sherlock. He was so used to having a son who would sit still and listen to him drone on about politics. But Sherlock as a child was too hyper to sit still. Oscar couldn’t really display emotions very well, either. So even though he loved both Sherlock and Mycroft as sons, he never really let anyone know that he was anything but indifferent. So with an indifferent mother, seeing his mother hate his father behind closed doors, and being raised by an extremely strict nanny that defiantly didn’t love him, its no wonder Sherlock would grow up and have an ‘aversion to most women-kind’, as Watson would say.

Oscar Holmes passed away when Sherlock was 9. Mycroft was 16, and getting ready to attend University. A free widow now, Amelia took Sherlock to France while Mycroft was at University every winter. It was in France that Sherlock’s nanny was switched out for a governesses. And so, it was then that Sherlock’s brilliance really did show itself. It was clear that he could notice the smallest things, and see relevance toward them. Living in France for five years also guaranteed that he would become fluent in the French language.

Mycroft graduated Oxford with honors, and went on to take their father’s place in parliament. (He would also become an extremely important government official, becoming the eyes and ears of the British empire. But that is a story for another time.) Sherlock’s mother passed away in France from Scarlet Fever.

After the funeral, Mycroft took his younger brother back to their family estate in Rochester. It was hard to say that they acted like a nice comfy family. Mycroft was often away in London, so for two years before he went to Cambridge Sherlock was virtually alone in his childhood home. Not that he minded exactly, he had been emotionally separated from his family from birth. To him, them being physically gone didn’t make much difference.

Sherlock entered Cambridge, and while he entered with the idea to study mostly the sciences, it was there that he truly honed his methods of deduction. While at the university, he would take cases from fellow students. A man who had his quill stolen, a pocket watch missing, so on so forth. Slowly but surely, he would solve every one. It was then that Sherlock decided that he would become a detective.

After Sherlock graduated Cambridge, he took up single residence in 221b Baker Street. In that time, Sherlock worked alone. Though his landlady Mrs. Hudson would be drove out of her wits end with his strange behavior, he still continued to pay the rent in good time as a private consulting detective. Nevertheless, there were more rooms to be let out. Mrs. Hudson came to her boarder and told him that he would be having a roommate.

Thus, Sherlock Holmes finally meets Dr. John Watson for the first time. At first, Watson doesn’t seem to understand what exactly his fellow renter’s job is exactly. But eventually, Sherlock invites Watson to join a particular case with him. And from then on, Watson becomes Sherlock’s closest confidante and ally.

A few years went by, including close encounters with a woman named Irene Adler (who remains the only woman to best Holmes), and also with the deadly Professor Moriarty. Watson fell in love with one of their clients, a woman by the name of Mary Morstern. They are to be married soon, and Watson will be moving out of Baker Street. Holmes has yet to really elaborate on this feeling of loosing his colleague. He has been rather moody lately, regardless…..

But All the World is a Stage

Name: Sherlock
Years Roleplaying: 11 years at least
How did you find us?: I own you >

RP Example:
It was a quiet night on Baker Street. Most citizens of the district were in bed at such an hour.

Except the man walking down the Cobblestone Street couldn’t be characterized into such a group. He was dressed in good-fashioned clothes that had seen better days. His hair was messed under his fedora, his hands laced behind his back as he strolled slightly hunched. And yet, there was a distinct look on his face, slightly pouting. Brown eyes darkened in quite a nasty mood.

Sherlock supposed he deserved to be kicked out for the night by his landlady, Mrs. Hudson. It wasn’t even for the whole night, just until she calmed down. She had chased him out with a bit of a fury, after he had burned a hole into her best silk tablecloth. She would calm down when his associate returned from his dinner with his betrothed.

It had been coming for weeks. Yes, he had seen the way her nostrils flared as they did when she was angered; increasing so. With the good doctor moving out, and now spending less and less time in 221B, she was left to deal with the detective on her own. And it had been a while since his last case. In his defense, his rebellious mind realized that silk was a good conduit for the chemistry experiment he was attempting to accomplish.

Sighing he stopped in his stroll, slowly closing his eyes. A quiet night? Not for him, never was it quiet in his mind. Even now the sights, sounds, and smells of the residences around him made his mind reel. A broken sound, one that shattered in a way that simple glass could not, indicated that a maid had probably broken a plate. The smell of several tobacco pipes at once coming from a nearby window combined with the sound of polite male chattered indicated that the man inside was wrapping up his dinner party with his fellow colleagues.

And as for the sound of boots walking up behind him? Their make was of standard police-issued sort. He himself had heard them before.

“Ah, Inspector. Good evening. Shall I assume that you already stopped by my residences?” Sherlock turned around calmly to face the Inspector, but the tone of his voice indicated the dark post-case mood he was shrouded in.

The Inspector frowned at him, not bothering to ask Holmes how he knew it was him. “Your landlady said you were out for a stroll. Didn’t go far, did you?”

“I hardly do. Be it ever so humble, there is no place like home.” Sherlock quipped back expressionlessly. “So, what could Scotland Yard wish of me now? Don’t tell me that all your police officers have lost their way to the station again?” A small ghost of a smile twitched on his rugged features.

The Inspector rolled his eyes, “Very funny. You need to come with me, we’ve got a bit of a problem.” He started walking, and Sherlock followed.

“What sort of problem, inspector?” Sherlock frowned at the look on the officer’s face, noting that he looked much more confused and distressed than usual. If the bags under his eyes gave any indication.

“Well, there have been some missing peoples. Gone, disappeared without a trace. No facts. They just walked out of their houses and poof!”

The detective blinked, “Poof?” Lestrade rolled his eyes as he approached the Police Cab with the sarcastic detective. “How many have been named missing?”

“Ten so far. And there is something else.” The Inspector, about to climb the carriage, turned to look Holmes in the eyes. “One of the people named missing was Miss. Irene Adler…”

Holmes was caught now, his mood lifting and disappearing as soon as the name was mentioned. The game was afoot now, especially since THE woman was in on it. He would defiantly be following this one quite closely.