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Location: Storybrooke
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alias: Bach
age in ##: 37
story: Elementary
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Joined: 5-March 17
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Sherlock Holmes


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Mar 3 2018, 12:59 PM
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<h1>Tiberius Thornton Xavier Huntington III</h1>

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<h3>Sherlock Holmes.</h3>
<h2>Cursed Personality:</h2>
Don't let his long pretentious name fool you, Tiberius who generally prefers to go by Xavier, is actually a warm laid back guy. Cooking is his passion and it is something he can do to a science. He is a master chef and loves to always find new ways to create old dishes or just to have fun in the kitchen. He's quite the ladies man and loves to woo. His typical idea of a first date is to close down his 3-star Michelin restaurant for the evening and cook a magnificent meal with a paid violinist serenading. He doesn't have a good relationship with his family however.
<h2>Cursed Life:</h2>
Xavier had everything growing up, he came from a wealthy family in the UK that even boasted of some dukes and duchesses in their lineage. His older brother was keen on going into the family business and following in their father's footsteps, while Xavier was a disappointment. He wanted nothing more than to cook for a living, something his father deemed frivolous and something only 'women' should spend their time doing. Wanting to get out from under his family and their money, he moved to America, Hyperion Heights specifically.
<p>Truth be told he had lost track of how long he'd been in Hyperion Heights, Weeks, months years, it all blurred together. He was happy though and quite proud of his restaurant where he cooks a mix of both American and British cuisines. He can't remember the last time he spoke with either his brother or father and that is perfectly fine with Xavier, he wants nothing to do with them.

Nov 21 2017, 06:43 PM
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<p>Sherlock still wasn't sure if he liked Storybrooke or not, on one hand it opened up a whole new set of variables for him, which made things mildly less boring. However, at times they were also rather irksome, magic was certainly new but trying to figure out how it worked had so far alluded him. It was also a much smaller town than he was used to, having been a detective in London and then in New York City, he just wasn't used to the small town mundane. Storybrooke was tiny, a blip, the middle of no where. At least it had access to the internet, not that it did him that much good since he wasn't in his realm, so the world it opened up to him didn't mean as much, outside of it filling passive curiosities about the realm he was in and the similarities and differences from his own realm.

<p>In some ways he was glad Jamie was here as well, though he sometimes worried about how she was getting on here. She definitely wasn't used to being so constrained in one small place as well as what trouble she might get up to. Then of course he also worried about what was going on back in their realm. Was Joan and everyone worried, did anyone think perhaps Sherlock had helped Jamie escape and disappear. Had the pilots gotten off a distress call before the plane went into the vortex, so many questions, with no answers. At first he had done his best to keep busy, but in such a small town, a consulting detective who kept his services available only to the local constabulary, well there just wasn't that many crimes being committed in Storybrooke.

<p>So for awhile after they had arrived, outside of the occasional odd magical event, the topic of magic being one Sherlock knew absolutely nothing about, Sherlock had been bored out of his skull. If the town weren't so small and out of the way, he might have even feared for his sobriety, but he had a hard time believing he'd be able to get heroine in this town, the town was invisible to the outside world, he was confused enough just as to how the town kept so well supplied in the shops and such, let alone how the illegal world of drugs would make their way to this town. Eventually though Sherlock had found a need to fill, when he realised there was really no further education options for young adults, no universities of any sort. He supposed in some ways it made sense, it wasn't that big a town so why would they even need a university, especially since apparently for nearly thirty years of the town's existence no one had really aged, or so he'd been told.

<p>Still, as much as Sherlock abhorred teaching imbeciles, he also hated that there were no options for education, so he opted to open his own type of school down in an empty warehouse by the docks. Holmes Detective & Defence School. He even already had some help with teaching various aspects of defence, swordsmanship and archery. He wasn't a patient sort though, anyone that took classes with him sometimes left in frustration, anger or tears even since there was no filter in Sherlock's brain that allowed him to go easy on people if they weren't catching on immediately.

<p>As one small class let out for the day, one girl fell under that category, she burst out of the door to Sherlock's office, her eyes red with tears, sobbing. She tore up a slip of paper and kept running, once Sherlock finished making a few notes on the girl's records he kept for her marks, he yawned and walked out of his office into the larger area of the school where much of the defence training happened. Big open areas much like one would see in a gym. The building was two floors and had other rooms for defence as well, including an archery range up on the roof, and classrooms for the detective classes. As he currently had no classes to teach, he just stood there in the main room looking around, making a mental note of things he needed to buy at the store later.

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<div class="character-bach1-note">tag Christine Daaé // notes: meeting</div><br>
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Apr 3 2017, 01:51 PM
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tag OPEN / Notes: April Fools, meet Sean Harriman, teacher at Storybrooke High, Closet addict


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<p>Sean hated teaching kids, especially teenagers, though really just teaching in general drove him mad most days. He had a keen mind in general, but due to his love for certain extracurricular activities over the years, becoming a high school professor was all that he ended up amounting to. Wasted talent his parents used to say, parents who lived far away and he never had to see any more. Today was a good day though, it was Saturday, and Saturday meant not having to teach any stupid teenage brats.

<p>Sean had spent much of Friday evening getting drunk and other things, so by the time he woke up Saturday it was well into the afternoon. He tossed on an old sweatshirt and the cleanest pair of jeans he could find. He had lived in a room in Granny's Bed and Breakfast for as long as he could remember, he was never good enough with his money to save up for a proper place, and to his memory he'd been told off more than a dozen times for paying his rent late.

<p>He stumbled out of his room, ordered a large black coffee to go as well as some greasy burger and chips and headed into the park to eat. He hated the smell of the diner, and not that he was that keen on fresh air but it was better than the stale diner smell. He found a park bench that wasn't entirely covered with snow and sat down, he imagined he wouldn't be out long, the cold would get to him eventually. So much for spring, the weather lately seemed to not be able to make up its mind, warm one day, snow another. He sat on the bench and just drank his coffee, occasionally eating a chip or two, a general scowl on his face. At one point after he'd drunk a bit of the coffee, he spiked it with some whiskey from a half empty bottle in his coat jacket, and continued to sit and scowl at the world.

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<span class="libcred"><a href="">thanks!</a></span>

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Mar 31 2017, 10:31 AM
It had been a good week or two since Sherlock had finally been released from the hospital, since him and Jamie had apparently crashed through some sort of supposed magical portal into what he was told was a completely different realm. <i>Realm</i>, a word they had used, but a word that Sherlock found quite absurd. Realms, it was as if he'd fallen into some bizarre magical fantasy novel. Granted, as much as Sherlock hated the idea that there were other realms out there, that magic existed in many of them, there were things about this odd little town that he couldn't deny, things he'd seen with his own eyes. After all, when ruled out all of the possible, all that remained, no matter how improbable had to be the truth.

Generally speaking Sherlock was still fairly convinced that if one dug deep enough, had the proper equipment, one could find science hiding behind magic, like the moon controlling the tides. Might have seemed like magic how the tides went back and forth hundreds of years ago, or like some deity was controlling things, but then science stepped forward and explained how it all worked. Didn't mean that anyone could just go on and do what the moon did, but at least there was a deeper understanding behind it.

As Sherlock walked around town, trying to focus on anything besides the problem of being stuck in some other realm with, for all intents and purposes, a fugitive from law. Granted it hadn't been Moriarty's design to end up in Storybrooke or have the plane crash, but to anyone back in their realm was concerned, they were missing. He only hoped that no one suspected him of aiding and abetting, he certainly knew at least Joan knew him better than that. Eventually he came across the pawn shop, it reminded him a bit of a case he was on once, felt like a million years ago now. He decided to pop in for a look around, see what exactly passed for a pawn shop in a magical town.

The bell jangled a bit as Sherlock walked in and started looking around a bit, his mind analysing every item he saw, every speck of dust, it wasn't as if he meant to, it was just something he did automatically, without conscious thought, like a knee jerk reaction. Some looked familiar, or at least from generally familiar time periods, other things looked strange, things he couldn't place or identify and wondered if any of those things were magical or not.

His eyes fell on an old set of foils, he didn't touch anything, but he looked every inch of the foils over carefully, he wondered if there was other fencing gear somewhere to go with it, he had to admit it might be a nice gift for Jamie, give them something to pass the time while they were stuck in this town.

Mar 25 2017, 11:56 AM
Once Sherlock had recovered from his injuries he had incurred during his rather tumultuous trip through the portal, or rather since the small plane he had been in had quite literally crashed through the portal and into Storybrooke's forest, he was finding the relative quiet of Storybrooke rather unnerving. Not to say that it was always quiet, certainly there were things going on, especially since not long after he fell through it appeared that zombies were also finding their way into the town. It was still not quite at all the same from being back in his realm, in his version of New York City, where his services to the police had been invaluable and nearly constantly needed.

All array of crimes happened there, all with puzzles and mysteries behind them that needed to be solved in order to apprehend the culprits. Though Sherlock had never been one for the limelight, he had certainly also never been the type to be useless or unneeded. He also wasn't used to what people around here were calling magic, his mind was fairly stubborn on that account, and he was quite positive that whatever they were calling magic, were simply things that science had yet to explain. Eventually some brilliant scientist would figure out how magic worked, the science of it all, and put it all in a much more explainable light.

Until then, he found himself hardly ever needed, aside from petty crime and magical catastrophes, there wasn't much on the order for normal crimes like he dealt with in his world. He was taking much of his down time to learn as much as he could, and to keep a watchful eye on Moriarty, who he still didn't trust to play by the rules while they were stuck in Storybrooke. He read up on anything he could get his hands on about this realm, and the other realms and even magic. He also kept in shape, because to him physical shape was as important as it was exercising his intellect.

As he was out and about for the day, it seemed that he was soon to experience yet another portal incident, only this time he'd only be falling through with himself and what he was carrying in his bag he had with him. The ground seemed to make strange noises, the wind restless, some people managed to run away before the portal started plucking the closest people to it, one of whom was Sherlock.

The next thing he knew he was sprawled yet again rather unceremoniously onto the ground, his head a bit foggy but other than some bumps and bruises he was relatively unharmed. He sat up and looked around, didn't look like his world, though wherever he was the place had seen better times. It looked like the scene from a Michael Bay film, he glanced around to see if anyone else had been sucked in as well.

"Hello there, excuse me, are you quite all right, do you require assistance?"

Lithiasaur (Holtz)
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