AN: Hi! I am relatively new to writing Sherlock, by which I mean, I have written, just never published. Not too sure why i chose to publish this one, I'm not very good at writing romance... I hope you enjoy my story, and constructive criticism is always welcomed, as are complements, however neither are mandatory.

The Runner-

Monday 8/1/13- 7:30am

Sherlock was bored. Well, Sherlock was nearly always bored. But this morning Sherlock was particularly bored. John was still asleep, there was no case for Sherlock to be working on, and John had threatened to throw his violin out of the window if Sherlock ever played it at an 'inappropriate' time again. These 'inappropriate' times being; before eight thirty in the morning, after eleven o'clock in the evening, or when, as John put it, 'other people would consider it rude to do so'. For example, John had indicated, when others are talking, apparently playing just to drown out the sound of their voices, was rude. Also, John suggested, that he was not to play his violin as if he was sawing at wood, when Donovan or Anderson were around. Not because John thought it was mean to do so, but because the sound offended the efforts of singing cats.

Sherlock was so bored, he gazed out of his bedroom window, looking for something to catch his interest. This plan did not come to fruition; this morning was in no way special or exciting. The sky was blue, ish. The London skyline brought little to the imagination and the streets were as disgustingly boring as they always were. There was nothing for Sherlock to speculate or deduce.

That was until a runner came jogging down the footpath, and Sherlock, with nothing else to do, decided to test his skills of observation.

This women was:

5'8. Tall, but not too tall. She is confident, because of her height and stands straight with good posture, which gives the illusion that she is even taller than she is. Indicating that she is good at intimidating others, and probably does so on a regular basis, meaning she would be successful in her career.

Her posture is really very good. She was a ballet dancer growing up, as her shoulders are back, but she manages not to stick her chest out and curve her back, this gives her strong back, thighs and gluteal. Indicative to ballet dancers. However she has a slight hunch in her neck, showing that she spends much of her time at a laptop.

She wears a matching running suit of a popular and expensive sports brand. Indicating that she earns a decent wage, and feels the need to spend too much on unnecessary items. Suggesting she didn't have much money growing up, so feels the need to buy what she didn't have the funds to buy in her childhood.

Judging by the bags under her eyes, caused by lack of sleep, her job often kept her up late into the night. Suggesting that she spends long evenings at a laptop and days intimidating people.

Concluding that this woman is most likely a successful journalist, probably political, and often spends her time interviewing and intimidating well to-do, very powerful men. Sherlock could respect that.

He turned away from his window once she had passed and released a frustrated sigh and kicked his bed post, in a way his mother, and most probably John, would describe as childish. This notion didn't bother Sherlock and he kicked it again. He was just so bored.

He made his way into the living room and checked the time; 7:32am. Time was moving ridiculously slow today. Moving to the other side of the room, Sherlock, as gracefully as Sherlock does all things, flopped down onto the couch.

Time then decided to disappear completely to Sherlock, as he looked up again and the shadows that warden the room had slanted significantly. He must have been lost in his mind again. Time often felt different to Sherlock than it did to other people, but Sherlock didn't care about other people. Other people were boring, they were idiots. Well, most of them. He glanced in the direction of John's room. There were exceptions.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Got another one for you. GL

Reading the text, Sherlock smiled. He jumped off the couch and ran up to John's room, two steps at a time and slammed into his room, grinning.

"Come on, John, we can't be asleep all day!" John groaned and sat up. Glaring at Sherlock.

"Sherlock, what-"he slurred, but was interrupted, as Sherlock turned and swept from his room, calling over his shoulder, "The game is on, John"

I hope my literary skills meet your criteria for a good read, if so, yay to me, please keep reading. If no, well, I'm sorry I wasted your time and I shall en-devour to improve.

Remember R&R.

xxx