Sentiment. It crawls into your brain, over takes everything, leaving nothing but scrambled neurons and fried hardware behind. I wouldn't be here, lying in a barn in a country whose name I deleted the moment I stopped taking geography, if it weren't for sentiment. I'd be still taking cases, and doing the Work. And my mind palace wouldn't be cluttered with everything there possibly is on Moriarty's network. I would be able to play my violin, not this poorly constructed imitation I bought from a street vender four countries ago. It sounds more like a cat screeching than an actual instrument when I pull the bow over the strings and the bow itself is falling apart. Without sentiment I'd still...no John is directly correlated to sentiment. Fuck. This is why I hate it. It confuses me. I don't like being confused. It's like having put a puzzle together, but then realizing that although the pieces seem to match up, the picture isn't right.
Mycroft told me that caring is not an advantage. Hypocritical of him, considering that he has been shagging Lestrade for years now. But maybe if I hadn't cared then maybe John would be living a normal, boring life and he wouldn't be the utterly broken man I saw at the funeral. And there is where my thoughts go odd, because I think that without sentiment I would still be with John, but sentiment is what makes me want to be with John. Sentiment made me jump off a building and rely on my brother to survive. Without sentiment I would not have had a heart to be burnt by Moriarty but then I would not have met John.
I don't know where I would be without John. Alone, probably. Before John, being alone wasn't something I was to afraid of. Or if I was I just shoved those feelings into a box deleted it. Now I hate being alone. I hate not having cases. It's gotten to a point where I miss Anderson. I am feeling sentimental about the absence of Anderson. Anderson. He possibly has one, maybe two functioning brain cells, and I Miss. Him.
Fuck I am bored.