“How do I look?” asks Arthur.

“A little more Jeremy Brett. And older, if you can.”

Arthur frowns and turns to the mirror. Eames admires his costume, though the trousers are disappointingly historically accurate. He smooths down his own waistcoat, glad that this Holmes aficionado is a purist. A dashing ladykiller is a more entertaining forge than Nigel Bruce.

When Arthur turns back, he’s just about perfect. He looks Eames up and down.

“I like the mustache.”

Eames gives his characters sexual personalities whether or not it seems directly relevant. This time, he has a feeling that it will be.