What Does Sherlock Holmes Look Like Novels & Stories

because the look on his face was definitely a deadly one. But despite how dangerous he appeared even from afar, Sarah couldn't help but admire him. He was wearing a spotless blue suit with a white undershirt and blue tie. His black hair was caught at the back nicely, giving good view of his perfect hazel eyes, full lips and sharp jawline. Every single thing about him was spectacular, but when it came to his eyes, all else seemed like a shadow from behind. Beauty such as this had never graced her eyes before...not from what she remembered. All she had seen for five years straight was Mr Knack and his lackeys...To put it bluntly, they weren't a beautiful sight.

He eyes me suspiciously as he walks closer, stopping a safe distance away. He doesn’t look like a man who controls billions of dollars. Casual white sweatpants, a white t-shirt with black stripes, a bowl of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other. His hair—dark and light brown curls, thick and messy—is more than I’ve ever seen on a man. His beard is neatly shaved, his face sharply defined with cheekbones, a cut jawline, thick brows, and sunken eyes. He looks like a hot nerd. A geek who somehow narrowly escaped being ugly and he looks nothing like Jake too.

He stepped into view Tall. Broad. His presence filled the hallway before his voice ever could. His suit was black, cut to perfection, tailored so sharp it might as well have been a weapon. His shirt was open at the collar, a small rebellion against the suffocating elegance of the house. His dark hair was slicked back, precise, not a strand out of place. But it was his face that trapped me…the severe line of his jaw, the faint scar that cut across his cheekbone, the mouth that looked carved from stone. And his eyes.

She takes my hand in hers and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “What did he look like? Did he have an accent?” I blink at her and nod my head. “Yes, he did, but it wasn’t Russian, Italian, or even American. It was a combination of them. Muddled, like he has been around the world and lived in different places. He was tall, as tall as Ivan, not as built. He had short blonde hair, brown eyes and …” “A scar down the side of his face from his eyebrow down his cheek.” She finishes and my eyes widen and I nod my head, gulping.

The car window rolled down, and Chloe saw an older man with a serious and sharp demeanor. His hair was slightly gray, and his eyes were sharp and full of vitality. His face didn't show much age, and from the deep lines of his features, it was clear that he must have been a striking and imposing figure in his youth. What surprised Chloe was that this man had a high, prominent nose, typical of the British aristocratic look, and his tightly pressed lips and piercing gaze vaguely reminded her of someone.

After a hint of suspicion flashed across Shaun’s eyes, he strode in. On the black leather sofa sat a buff man in a dark blue bathrobe. The man looked like he was in his forties. His features and outline were very masculine, but it was a shame that he had a scar on his face. That scar made one side of his face look ferocious, while the other side of his face was handsome. At that moment, there was a cigarette between the man’s fingers. His dark eyes looked toward Shaun through the smoke. Seeing that person clearly for the first time, Shaun thought the man was strangely familiar, but he could not remember.

Maybe she’d been giving Jeffrey far too much credit all those years. She took a good long look at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Like his brother, David was tall with dark hair and blue eyes. His nose was slightly thicker than Jeffrey’s and hinted of a childhood break, but it was, none-the-less, a handsome nose. His lips were well-formed and thin, as were all the lips of the Holmes men. His broad shoulders and well-formed chest tapered seductively into tight, narrow hips and a small, solid backside. The way he’d tucked his form fitting, western style shirt into his faded jeans accentuated that fact. The major difference was the hair. Although his was dark, like Jeffrey’s, it

Standing up I regain my composure, wondering what knocked me down to begin with. Staring up at Ellie's grandparents, I watch the small cave is suddenly engulfed in purple fog and Lochness fazes. Out from the purple fog steps a bear-sized man. He towers over Vesla, staring down at me. His shaggy black hair hangs just below his ears curling at the ends. I am once again captured by his deep violet eyes. His eyes are like a vortex, pulling me into their intense grasp, framed by piercing, sharp features and a strong jaw. His complexion is smooth and coppery and he is without a single scar.

One could take him for either a deliveryman or a garbage collector with his shoulder-length hair, flat face, and small stature. I thought it was just right for any detective or investigative officer to look that way so that their profession and identity would not be risking being known or guessable. “What would you like, coffee or tea?” I asked when he took his seat next to the fireplace. He had taken off his beige coat and what was left on him was a sweatshirt and pants. He looked even smaller. “Tea, ma'am,” he replied. “Okay, peppermint, ginger, or lemon balm?” I offered.

It was left there by the staff earlier and she never came back after delivering the first aid kit to us. "By the way, what were you looking at earlier.'' The sudden question made me look up at him, as I viewed him above, he looked like a proper gentleman. His eyes caught me first, it's like a greyish black hue that's so rare to see, plus he has long and dark eyelashes that even women will envy. However it doesn't make him less masculine, as his face is equally can be compared to those handsome models in Vogue Magazine. He has a mysterious aura around him. Maybe I' ve been staring so much that he noticed that he even turned his eyes and smirked, and I felt embarrassed. He must have noticed th