"You are. And writ particularly large in the shadow of the man who haunts my nightmares," Crane intoned, "The mental half, anyway. The physical half may as well be sprung from hell, and there's no relation."

He stopped close, a foot or so away. Only had three inches on Sherlock, which was a peculiar feeling. "Assuming you're not working with the police to make me incriminate myself - and there are easier ways to do a sting operation, I promise you - I see no reason I can't give you what I suspect you want. Your hands?"