Post by Sherlock Holmes on Sept 18, 2010 17:22:39 GMT -5
Dull. Boring. Why was the world so blind and needy? Cases of missing cats and stolen watches, so beneath him. At least if he was going to get given a case, something to exercise and challenging to the mind was the way forward yet somehow people just didn't seem to get the message. His time was better spent on something worthwhile, and he would rather be bored then stoop to the low level of solving 'family disputes', as they would bruise his overwhelmingly large ego. Like all of a sudden he would become overjoyed with 'the mystery of the broken filing cabinet' - Yawn. People were only just beginning to get the fact he only did the interesting cases or the ones that didn't seem as straightforward as they sounded. He strived for the adrenaline rushes working as a consulting detective provided him; it was sort of like a drug he couldn't get enough of.
His mind was one of a kind, working in a way that provided him with 100% efficiency and clarity when it came to working things out and his methods of deduction and observation were almost unrivalled. He was talented in many different fields, yet at the same time flawed in others. As John had pointed out, Astronomy was his downfall, yet he had seen such information as irrelevant to him. Since when would he need to know that the Milky Way had a radius of 50,000 light years and the sun is 5 billion years old and expected to live for a further 5 billion? It was stupid- insane, worthless information which would have no use or reason to stay floating around his already tightly-packed brain. It had only been a one off that he had needed knowledge of one star in the entire galaxy to solve a case faster, but he had cracked it in the end and that was what mattered right?
Yet geniuses got bored and this was one such moment. He knew the Police and the inspectors were always reluctant to come to him and only resorted to that of times of dire need. That was why he often sniffed out cases by himself or entwined himself in a network of complicated men and women who would later get back to him to ask for his help. Also around London, he had gained the reputation of the man to go to should they want to wriggle free of a spot of bother they seemed to have dug themselves into, with no chance or luck of ever getting themselves out scot-free. Yet there was one condition and that remained to be they must provide a useful window for him to utilize later- it was more fun that way.
"Bored.. boredd. BORED" Sherlock ranted, hanging upside side down on his comfortable arm chair as he stared at the ceiling from an entirely different angle. As he ran his eyes up at the ceiling, he turned round and returned his body to its normal gravitational position and stared up at the spot he had been formerly attached to. "Has that mark always been there?" He asked himself, shaking his head incredulously before running a lazy hand through his black, curly locks trying to occupy his mind. It called out for something exciting to happen, for something that would fill his time and provide him with the adrenaline rushes his body so craved. But until then, he had to sit and wait like a condemned man at the gallows until his phone rang or until an opportunity presented itself that required his assistance.
"What do ordinary people do when they're bored?" He asked himself, staring round at an empty flat whilst Watson was out gallivanting somewhere, completely unknown to him. How could that man be content in living normally? It was... boring, lame. Sauntering over to the fridge, he pulled it open with ease to find the confines of it's neglected shelves completely empty. Just as well really, he wasn't really hungry. For the sake of ordering Watson about though, he scooped up his mobile phone and quickly punched in a message before pressing sending.
Shopping Watson, Don't forget.
SH
He then set his mobile phone back on the oakwood table before collapsing onto his chair of preference and drumming his fingers on it's velvety surface as loudly as was possible. "Someone die already.. My brain cells are dying" He complained, picking up a magazine strewn on the floor, flicking through its crisp, pristine pages not particularly paying any attention to it at all. It was all the same. So called 'Celebrities' having babies, getting divorced, getting married, having affairs. It was all the same, yet they continued to print out an issue of the drivel every week. "He's gay, she's lying and he doesn't even have a cat" He concluded, throwing the magazine back onto the floor before resting his head in his hands ready for some hint of excitement already!
His mind was one of a kind, working in a way that provided him with 100% efficiency and clarity when it came to working things out and his methods of deduction and observation were almost unrivalled. He was talented in many different fields, yet at the same time flawed in others. As John had pointed out, Astronomy was his downfall, yet he had seen such information as irrelevant to him. Since when would he need to know that the Milky Way had a radius of 50,000 light years and the sun is 5 billion years old and expected to live for a further 5 billion? It was stupid- insane, worthless information which would have no use or reason to stay floating around his already tightly-packed brain. It had only been a one off that he had needed knowledge of one star in the entire galaxy to solve a case faster, but he had cracked it in the end and that was what mattered right?
Yet geniuses got bored and this was one such moment. He knew the Police and the inspectors were always reluctant to come to him and only resorted to that of times of dire need. That was why he often sniffed out cases by himself or entwined himself in a network of complicated men and women who would later get back to him to ask for his help. Also around London, he had gained the reputation of the man to go to should they want to wriggle free of a spot of bother they seemed to have dug themselves into, with no chance or luck of ever getting themselves out scot-free. Yet there was one condition and that remained to be they must provide a useful window for him to utilize later- it was more fun that way.
"Bored.. boredd. BORED" Sherlock ranted, hanging upside side down on his comfortable arm chair as he stared at the ceiling from an entirely different angle. As he ran his eyes up at the ceiling, he turned round and returned his body to its normal gravitational position and stared up at the spot he had been formerly attached to. "Has that mark always been there?" He asked himself, shaking his head incredulously before running a lazy hand through his black, curly locks trying to occupy his mind. It called out for something exciting to happen, for something that would fill his time and provide him with the adrenaline rushes his body so craved. But until then, he had to sit and wait like a condemned man at the gallows until his phone rang or until an opportunity presented itself that required his assistance.
"What do ordinary people do when they're bored?" He asked himself, staring round at an empty flat whilst Watson was out gallivanting somewhere, completely unknown to him. How could that man be content in living normally? It was... boring, lame. Sauntering over to the fridge, he pulled it open with ease to find the confines of it's neglected shelves completely empty. Just as well really, he wasn't really hungry. For the sake of ordering Watson about though, he scooped up his mobile phone and quickly punched in a message before pressing sending.
Shopping Watson, Don't forget.
SH
He then set his mobile phone back on the oakwood table before collapsing onto his chair of preference and drumming his fingers on it's velvety surface as loudly as was possible. "Someone die already.. My brain cells are dying" He complained, picking up a magazine strewn on the floor, flicking through its crisp, pristine pages not particularly paying any attention to it at all. It was all the same. So called 'Celebrities' having babies, getting divorced, getting married, having affairs. It was all the same, yet they continued to print out an issue of the drivel every week. "He's gay, she's lying and he doesn't even have a cat" He concluded, throwing the magazine back onto the floor before resting his head in his hands ready for some hint of excitement already!
