Yeah, so, did anyone hear that Sherlock has been slightly delayed just a little bit more? And we're having to wait until NEXT YEAR for it! And that there are probably still only going to be three episodes which will probably be absolutely brilliant but is just AHHHRRRGGGGHHHH because I need more! So anyway, I've got to write something else now because my Sherlock doses have been limited to three episodes that I've watched literally every waking hour of my life and can now repeat off by heart.
This is basically a really small random part that stuck in my head for some reason. Might have been because someone on the train was rather rudely reading over my shoulder as I tried to jot down ideas, and, not being a very confrontational person, I just smiled at him politely and wished for him to buzz off or evaporate or something just as sudden and effective.
It's only a few paragraphs, sorry if that bugs anyone. Might do a few more might not, really depends on life :)
oOo
He was trying to be patient, trying to be - what was that thing? Polite, that was it. He was trying to be polite.
Trying, ever so desperately, not to insult or criticize or sneer at or annoy or disturb or frighten off the dull, boring, annoyingly curious - and even more annoyingly still here - woman that was peering constantly, nosily, over his shoulder with sharp, intrusive eyes. Why was he bothering? Because John seemed to be fond of her. That was the only reason, really - it couldn't be anything else considering how rude and repulsive this woman was - and that was why he would resist the urge to say that an idiot could have known that the symbols were Chinese numbers, or that it would be better for everyone if she just left and didn't come back, or that if she was peckish at all there was a still-in-date decapitated leg in one of the cupboards; because he knew by now that any of those things would lose her, and in turn would lose John. And losing John would and could never be an option.
The doctor had become far, far more than just someone to help pay the rent; the previous candidates of that type of person had kept to themselves, well away from their flatmate and his experiments and his bizarre, irrational life. But John, although exceedingly average in every way, especially in his humdrum attitude and endless supply of beige jumpers, had worked his way into the detectives life through the small things; through the offers to help, of a rock standing by his side, not one that he needed, but one that was still there.
And then there it was - after John had fired that shot and saved his life - though he wouldn't admit it - the doctor had done it. He was now a fully fledged companion, a more than qualified colleague, an essential piece of Sherlock's life that, without him, frankly it just wouldn't quite fit together in the way it did now. He was a friend.
So no, he wouldn't say any of those things to her.
He would tolerate her, and her curiosity, for John's sake.
Besides, she had just pointed out the two already translated words that his brilliant, fantastic, sometimes distracted mind had somehow overlooked. Maybe dull, boring, nosy human being with their small, incapable minds and carefully obvious observations, weren't as useless as he'd thought.
oOo
I tried to make it kind of cryptic, only giving John's name to symbolise how important he is to Sherlock. Don't know if it worked. Thoughts and reviews are appreciated. Especially if you share my frustration.
Oh, and no, I don't own Sherlock, if I did it would be back by now.