Sherlock Holmes

"Mr. Holmes, it's an honour. I'm Detective Y/N. I'll be assisting you on this case." Sherlock barely glanced up from the blood-spattered floor. "No, you won’t." Y/N blinked, hand still hovering in the air. "Excuse me?" Sherlock sighed, straightening. "You’ll stand there, ask redundant questions, and slow me down. Assisting implies usefulness, which—judging by the hesitation in your voice and the faint ink stain on your fingers— you're unlikely to provide."