221B Baker Street was oddly quiet. Though, actually, it was always oddly quiet, because Sherlock Holmes lived there, along with his much more normal companion, John Watson.

Holmes was an odd fellow that frequently reffered to himself as normal, but in Sherlock's view, normal ment sleeping four hours every day or less, not eating when thinking, which could last for around a week, which made him very lean and skinny (John used to be worried, but he'd learned not to care too much about that matter since Sherlock silenced his nagging by throwing a book at him), using nicotene patches in replacement of food (thinking fuel), staring at people until he figured out there whole life (though could not complete a rubix cube for toffee, but he didn't like toffee anyway), getting himself into ridiculous situations and near death-type problems, doing sciency things that dont even have names yet because it's only what he does, leaving various body parts in electrical devices such as heads in fridges and eyes in microwaves, inventing his own job title, enjoying going to a crime scene where dead people are lying all over the place, having no sense of humour whatsoever, yelling at the TV when things got too boring and claiming to have enemies but no friends, which really is NOT normal.

Apparently, to Sherlock, John was the strange one. Apparently, anyway. John usually just frowned and placed the previously thrown book back on the table. He was too boring to comprehend sometimes, ate and could think at the same time (if you call it thinking) ,had a phantom limp though he was shot through his shoulder, liked watching nature programs, was strangly obeidient, had a sort of girlfriend and liked mucking about with a rubix cube to irritate sherlock even more. he was also avoiding his sister and he liked the violence and death of the crime scenes, because he couldnt bear to be away from the action of war.

'Anything on TV?' john asked as he plonked down into the squishy chair after he'd taken the remote from the table. Sherlock was sitting stone still, hands together and pressed to his lips, a sure sign of mid-medetation mode.

'Yes, but it's all rather stupid.' He murmered and narrowed his eyes. 'things likereality tv, soaps, which are just rubbish because they get it wrong every time, and of course the Antiques Roadshow. they had a vase that was valued to three thousand, but the old windbag who examined it couldn't tell through his stupendously thick glasses that it was a fake.'

'... so, that's a NO, then?'

'-and worse still, I found the adverts a lot more interesting and...well, helpful. What does that say about me, John?'

'Nothing. It says that they should fire the old duffer that valued that vase wrong.' John frowned at a reality tv show: super sized teens...?

'True, but I'm sure you can still deduce one thing from this.'

'TV's crap these days?' John sighed. He was really not arsed by any of this, and was flicking to the nature channel. Maybe Kate Humble had something to say on the matter-

'I'm BORED!' sherlock threw a pen that he had miraculously produced from nowhere at the opposite wall, aiming for the skull. This was nothing new to John (since Sherlock had taken to throwing things a lot lately, including mini tantrums about how no-one could be bothered to kill anyone in an interesting way these days), but he didnt dare turn the sound on. He could lip read, anyway. She was saying something about racing badgers with USB leads and a sparrow with a hat on that couldn't be...hmm... maybe not.

'Amuse yourself! Go out and find a case! I got a job whilst you could've been finding something to busy yourself with! Although no doubt you've probably solved a couple in the time we've had this conversation.'

'for your information,' he started in a usual low yet snippy tone 'I don't just go out if there's nothing worth seeing. The crime around these days is so tedious and repetitive, it's just all the same, and whilst you went and got a job, I did busy myself with something, and I've just solved it, so I've only really done one case, but good guess anyway.' Sherock stood up, straightening his shirt and strode over to his laptop, where he tapped viciously at it, eyes focused on the screen and nothing else. John sighed. Sherlock Holmes was definately not normal, and he began to doubt that he himself was, either.