Sherlock Holmes (brainattic) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2015-01-06 16:51:00 |
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Due to a, rather tedious, scheduling error at the laboratory, Sherlock was forced into taking the day off which left him irritable. His mobile phone sat next to him on the arm of the chair he had been occupying for the majority of the day and it too often blipped and flashed, indicating a new message of some kind. Between his numerous ads (one of which being on the strange network a coworker had introduced him to), and his brother’s incessant calling, the battery on his phone was draining, as was his patience. Add to that the frequent visitors to the flat creates an environment that brings out the worst in Sherlock. Granted the arrivals were technically at his request, but it didn’t make enduring the seemingly endless droves any easier. The majority of people who came to the flat were met with a two second visual study and a quick and resounding ‘No,’ before seeing the door slammed squarely in their face. The issue with Sherlock is that he was extremely picky about the people he would allow to be around him and he was quick to find faults in people. Sherlock never had the ability to see past a person’s faults if they were considered egregious by his own standards and his definition of fault would be considered harsh by anyone who was able to see the criteria in his head. Sherlock refused to live a person he didn’t believe himself compatible with, and while he had implied the opposite to most of the people who responded to his inquiries online, it was crucial for him to find someone that would fit. Only rarely had Sherlock stumbled across people who seemed congruent, but in the long run, what he had initially judged in them was nothing more than a coincidental similarity. It had always been hard for him to fit in with others being the way he was, and he had hoped that at least one of the people to come knocking at the door would be someone worth getting to know. However, Sherlock had long since given up any kind of notion of finding such a person and instead remained in his chair, silently waiting for the next knock to come at the door and the next person to be found boring, tedious and not worth his time. The small clock on the mantlepiece — a gift from his mother that held a small modicum of sentimental value despite being hideous — rang for half past two in the afternoon and Sherlock instantly remembered the individual who had responded to his query on the network; the only person who had attempted to lecture him on the theory of ‘harmony’ when dealing with flatmates. Sherlock had even remembered his name: John. He had been the only one Sherlock remembered at all, and he wondered if John would fall into the same category as the rest. |