The Shade has his own pipe, tapping it gently against his palm to pack the tobacco, pressing the loose leaves on top with a thumb, before he pulls out a small flipbook of matches, and he sets it alight, the musky, rich scent of tobacco filling the air. It was woodsy and rich, a hint of cocoa in the leaves.
He smiled at the other man, one moment he's still stepping behind Sherlock, the next a cloud of dark wisps of shadow fabric materialize into a man shape on the bench next to him. He pulls his hat off to take a good look at the monument. He felt no attachment to it, of course. Even now, he didn't think of himself as a Briton, but having it here was still... odd.
Even now. He never voiced such concerns, but it still felt wrong. "Indeed it has been. I trust you've been well in that time? You hardly look worse for the wear," his voice was light.
He was, however, somewhat concerned. He liked Sherlock, and for an immortal, it was terribly rare to find gentlemen he enjoyed. It was always hard to see someone lost, and know that he would still be there long after.
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He smiled at the other man, one moment he's still stepping behind Sherlock, the next a cloud of dark wisps of shadow fabric materialize into a man shape on the bench next to him. He pulls his hat off to take a good look at the monument. He felt no attachment to it, of course. Even now, he didn't think of himself as a Briton, but having it here was still... odd.
Even now. He never voiced such concerns, but it still felt wrong. "Indeed it has been. I trust you've been well in that time? You hardly look worse for the wear," his voice was light.
He was, however, somewhat concerned. He liked Sherlock, and for an immortal, it was terribly rare to find gentlemen he enjoyed. It was always hard to see someone lost, and know that he would still be there long after.