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Izzybella303
Guest
Original poster
Audra ran a hand through her curly locks as she set the very last of many boxes down on the table in her flat. "All done for now," She sighed softly, turning to look in her mirror. She had black curly hair that was somehow laid flat naturally. It reminded her of the few memories she had of her mother. She had a few blood red streaks in her hair that made strange contrast with her naturally dark hair, something that she liked to have. It was much more fun having a little color mixed in, rather than just all plain and boring. Her pale skin was riddled with light freckles on her cheeks and over the bridge of her small, rounded nose, which created a nearly flawless face and worked beautifully with her deep blue colored eyes. She was short, only around five foot seven inches, and with her larger than average chest and hips, it created an attractive woman only in her late twenties. She yawned slightly, going to grab her jacket. She'd have to nap later. It was so different here, in London, than her home back in the Midwest. It was a good different, but the gloomy weather of today and the previous night was tiring her out even more. She was hungry, and had an appointment with someone for lunch, whom, she couldn't remember the name to. All she remembered was it started with the letter 'M'.
John pulled on his shirt, buttoning it up before walking out of his room. He looked around for Sherlock, who, surprisingly, wasn't in the kitchen dissecting some poor louse for what Sherlock called 'research' or an 'experiment'. Lestrade had called them nearly half an house ago to help on a confusing case, something about a serial killer. He sat down on the couch, tying on his shoes and looking towards Sherlock's room. He sighed loudly. "Sherlock, Lestrade called you nearly half an hour ago. You need this case," He called into the flat as he went to put on his jacket. "Besides, I have a date later, and I'd really rather not be late," he mumbled to himself, sighing softly and shaking his head subtly.
John pulled on his shirt, buttoning it up before walking out of his room. He looked around for Sherlock, who, surprisingly, wasn't in the kitchen dissecting some poor louse for what Sherlock called 'research' or an 'experiment'. Lestrade had called them nearly half an house ago to help on a confusing case, something about a serial killer. He sat down on the couch, tying on his shoes and looking towards Sherlock's room. He sighed loudly. "Sherlock, Lestrade called you nearly half an hour ago. You need this case," He called into the flat as he went to put on his jacket. "Besides, I have a date later, and I'd really rather not be late," he mumbled to himself, sighing softly and shaking his head subtly.