Sherlock was never a man who was good with human interaction, finding it better to be alone in his bedroom then out in the real world. Even as a child he would stay in his room and read behind closed curtains, keeping himself in the book world then going out in the real world where it was far more complicated. No, in the world of books and science he was normal; he wasn't judged nor treated like a child. In that world anything and everything was possible. It was something he could sit back and do without worrying about people considering him a freak for the ability to deduce everything he saw; in these worlds of symbolisms, literature, places of wonders, he, Sherlock Holmes was normal.
People were far too complicated to be around anyways as well as not worth trusting. Behind every human was a secret, something dark and sinister, even Lestrade whom was the head of police most likely had more skeletons in his closet then he would ever like to admit. Everyone had secrets, secrets that made Sherlock sick to his stomach thinking about. The only person he could ever interact with without thinking ill of was none other than his dear landlady who had humbly taken him in after he had made sure that her cruel husband stayed in prison- Yet another man who had more skeletons in his closet then thought possible. But behind a man of secrets was a lovely woman who wanted nothing more than someone to take care of. Ever since they moved in together she had treated Sherlock like a son; no far better than any mother would treat their child yet even so. Sherlock considered her like a mother he never really had, a mother he would have been proud to have.
His family was uncaring to say the least; his mother didn't really enjoy him, instead of taking care of him like a mother should she gave him a cold shoulder. He had a lovely nanny that took the place of a true mother. His mother was always far too busy for him, she had too much work as did his father. But it wasn't just that; they spent time with Mycroft and less with the strange son who would rather be in a world of books and education then in the real cruel world that they had been born in. Even his nanny kept her distance after he began asking questions she didn't know how to answer. He had proven to be a genius but instead of being treated well and praised he was given space as if they were afraid they would be looked down by the child.
He was forced out of his mind palace at the sound of someone knocking at the bedroom door, his eyes casted up, his hands up to his mouth in the thoughtful position he had been doing since before he remembered. Sherlock looked away a moment, hoping that would leave him be for a while but the knocking only got a tad bit louder. "Sherlock are you alright?" Came the lovely voice of the older woman, she was worried. Of course she was worried it had been nearly 3 days since he had left the smoky bedroom he was sitting in, he hadn't left it for food, water, or any interaction what so ever. She probably was worried that he had died and she would have to walk in on a corpse if she wasn't careful. He sighed a moment before getting up to his feet, slowly heading to the door. His hand grabbed onto the once golden now rusty door knobs and he twisted, letting the bright light of the hallway into his naturally lighted room. Smoke slowly escaped the bedroom and into the surrounding crevasses of the flat the two inhabited, gray smoke molding around him and into the clean areas of the flat before simply turning transparent as if it was merely air as well.
"Yes, ?" Sherlock asked softly, the woman seemed a bit bewildered by the amount of smoke coming from the bedroom but said nothing about it. Instead looking at him to make sure he was alright. His skin was pale but it didn't look like he was ill, his cheeks still a slight pink color. He had lost a bit of weight but not an extreme amount that would have made her worry too much. His ocean blue eyes pierced her own, trying to find the answer to his own question within her own but coming out completely empty handed.
His eyes began to look at her appearance; she had flour on her sleeve, her cheeks rosy and lovely from the heat of the oven. She had been baking, and by the brown sugar under her nails he could guess it was simply cookies and not a full course meal just yet. Pity, he would have been happy with a simple dinner then something sugary. He moved that thought away, better to be thankful for now then rude to the one person who meant a lot to him, his eyes met hers once again and a smile appeared on his face.
"I made tea and cookies would you like some?"
"Of course. Your cooking is always preferable to store bought . If you would be so kind as to set it at my door when you have gotten it for me, I'm a bit busy at the moment. I don't have time to chat."
nodded a bit though the look in her eye as well as her posture told Sherlock that he had disappointed her. Surely he had wanted him to come down stairs and be of some company to her but she knew better than anyone that he kept to himself no matter what mood or how close he was to someone. He wanted to apologize for getting her hopes up or ruining her attempts to get him to get out of his smoky room but he had no idea how to begin, human interaction had to be kept to a minimum or he would be sure to screw it up. Instead he let her turn and head back down stairs towards the kitchen to get him the cookies and tea while he went back to reading and looking down at the city around him.
His eyes casted down at the streets below, streams of water from the continuous rain in London streamed down into the storm drains of the alley. He watched as small animals he presumed to be frogs hopped about happily over the oncoming storm that would most likely strike within 5 to 10 minutes. Most storms in England lasted some time and intervals between them weren't near long enough though Sherlock didn't mind. Cold weather, dark storm clouds, the rain hitting the window making a perfect rhythm was peaceful and perfect reading weather to him. He enjoyed it far better than reading without a single sound; rain was just a natural sound that made him concentrate on the book in hand harder.
He eyed a frog that jumped into one of the streams and watched as it made its decent into the storm drain before he sighed and looked away. "Idiotic creatures." He muttered, and in reality it was truth. As a child he had attempted to safe frogs in the pool on their property but when he would safely put them on solid ground, away from the doom of drowning in the toxic chlorine water the frogs continuously chose to try to hop right back into it. After a few weeks of it he had given up and let them die; surely upon trial and error of previous frogs the rest would evolve and adapt. Hopefully see that what their stupid species had done they would learn not to jump into the toxic water themselves but that never happened. He compared them to the criminals through the ages.
None had really ever gone without punishment, most were executed and brought to justice but no matter how many were taken down more would try crime themselves. Instead of seeing that criminals were always getting caught they would continue to make the mistake so many others had made before them and get caught themselves. They were as stupid as the amphibians on the street below his home and the ones that had died in the pool of his childhood home.
The knock on the door once again took him out of his deep thoughts; he looked towards the direction of the door before once again getting on his two feet. He opened the door, his eyes casted down at the cookies and tea on a plate, was nowhere in sight but that didn't matter to him, he merely smiled at the kindness she had given him, bending down and picking the treats up happily before locking himself up in his room once again.
Instead of sitting back down at his chair he went to the closet and took out a dusty violin case, he only ever played it when he was depressed or bored. He claimed it helped him think but it was in fact the exact opposite, it took his mind off of the fact he had no cases what so ever, instead slipping his mind into the blissful melody that filled his small yet comfortable bedroom. He opened the case, taking the beautiful violin below him. It gleamed in the light as if inviting him to play, welcoming it fully. He picked it up in his bony fingers, propping the end on his chin skillfully before he began to play soft yet sad music.
His eyes casted down at the floor as he walked from one edge of the room to the next, a beat to his step as if he had an audience but there would never be except the woman in the home with him. She was the only one ever presented to the sweet melodies Sherlock played for no one but her and himself. He didn't need sheet music, all music either came from the heart some claimed he didn't have while others were perfectly in his memory that he had learned when he was much younger. He passed by the two windows that were directed at the front of the flat, his eyes looking down at the streets below but instead of seeing the streets empty and void of any people what so ever he was surprised to see two police cars parked near his home, lights going.
There was a case and it was serious if they needed his help. Sherlock slowly moved the violin away from his chin as he heard footsteps coming up the stair case. The door opened and Sherlock didn't turn around, knowing full well it was Lestrade behind him panting for air. "Good god." He heard the police chief whisper as the smoke came out of Sherlock's room once more; most likely surprising him more then he would have liked to admit. His mind quickly went from the smoke to the problem at hand.
"There's been a murder."
"I assumed as much, considering you're here. Make it quick and don't be boring."