The chase that follows is impressive. Even at this age, strung out, wiry, with a chip on his shoulder and everything to prove, Sherlock is a genius. He finds clues that shouldn't even really be clues, traces scent on bare air, follows the man hired to do the stealing just fast enough that poor Mister Gray will have to give up his prize.
He's on the corner that very night, on his way to pick up the painting and murder the thief himself, when he notices the colors. Red and blue, flashing, crisscrossing and lighting up the night sky with police sirens. Dorian grits his teeth and pulls back into the shadows.
The painting itself is hardly recognizable as a person, much less Mister Gray himself. Age spots and rot, sinister eyes and quirk of the lips, wispy hair, fattened fingers... even the surroundings look torn, blood on the chair the subject is sitting on, ripped curtains behind it... everything is just so wrong. Who would risk their life to steal something like this?
The detective notices Dorian, briefly, but is too preoccupied with thoughts of fixes and dealers, and misses him on his walk past him to the scene of the find. He pulls his coat tighter about himself in the dark, and stares at the painting. Sherlock has seen photos of the original- it looks nothing like this, of course. It had been quite a capable rendering of Mister Gray, who is also missing.
He insists that there is more, but is dismissed from the case.
Any investigation Sherlock can possibly do is curtailed before it really begins. The only real lead is the artist of the portrait (who is regrettably dead), and Mister Gray himself (who is still missing, presumably dead).
Rumors of a drug ring begin to slowly surface. A different sort of drug ring- gangsters who fancy themselves as lavish, fancy parties with thick smoke in the air, passion and intrigue for the young men who inherit their family's wealth and social status. Agents sent to investigate it tend to either go missing or become addicted to the atmosphere and lie in their reports while they go back again and again.
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The painting itself is hardly recognizable as a person, much less Mister Gray himself. Age spots and rot, sinister eyes and quirk of the lips, wispy hair, fattened fingers... even the surroundings look torn, blood on the chair the subject is sitting on, ripped curtains behind it... everything is just so wrong. Who would risk their life to steal something like this?
Reply
He insists that there is more, but is dismissed from the case.
Reply
Any investigation Sherlock can possibly do is curtailed before it really begins. The only real lead is the artist of the portrait (who is regrettably dead), and Mister Gray himself (who is still missing, presumably dead).
Rumors of a drug ring begin to slowly surface. A different sort of drug ring- gangsters who fancy themselves as lavish, fancy parties with thick smoke in the air, passion and intrigue for the young men who inherit their family's wealth and social status. Agents sent to investigate it tend to either go missing or become addicted to the atmosphere and lie in their reports while they go back again and again.
Reply
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