February 5, 2010
I have decided to start this diary because it has come to my attention that I need to evaluate myself. I need to know more about myself so that I may take the correct actions regarding certain events. I need to determine which action will be the most beneficial to get my desired result. But in order to do that, I need to know what it is that I desire. This I do not know, because it is not my habit to while away the time on self-reflection. I must objectively examine my psyche and give an in-depth evaluation. Mycroft, if you're reading this, YOU ARE DEAD. If any reporters are reading this, stop now; I have an overprotective elder brother who owns the government. John, if you're reading this (which I doubt you are), it must be because you cannot find me and my life's in danger. In that case, skip to the last entry and read this backwards, stopping once you find the pertinent material.
Right, so now it's just me, no one else is reading this (unless they have a death wish). Where can I start? Part of my problem regarding the current situation is that I am a romantic at heart. No really! I have evidence.
When I was a child I wanted to be a pirate. As a student at university, I had the potential to be a renowned philosopher or a recognized scientist, but I chose to be a consulting detective instead. In fact, I invented the job. What do philosophers do? How do they make money? How does their job fulfill them? I don't know.
I know that scientists run tests in the pursuit of discovery. However, I also know that for reliable results, they run the same experiment over and over again, and other scientists must be able to replicate it. Furthermore, each experiment requires a control, and only one variable can be altered per trial run, and at least three trials must be run for each alteration of the independent variable. Tedious work to do for some random employer. Not to mention the fact that I would need beg the government for funding. And I never beg.
When I run experiments as a consulting detective, I have full autonomy and an immediate purpose. They could be the difference between catching the killer or not, between life and death. And as for philosophy, I don't just theorize about ethics or the nature of things; I make high stakes decisions about right wrong. I take my philosophy and apply it to my work, my life. In this way, any flaws in my philosophy will be revealed and I can correct it. I chose a career that makes me happy.
Granted, I am faced with death, brutality, and lies on each case I work, but I am fulfilled. I am mentally challenged and take pride in my accomplishment, at the same time satisfying my yearly "contribution to society" which society demands. How many working adults can make that claim? So whenever Sally Donovan makes allegations that I "get off on it", I think "I do! And why shouldn't I?"
Perhaps my second problem is that I am selfish. Self-interested. Most people are. It's kind of impossible not to be. Who better to look our for my own self interests than? Who knows my own self-interests better than me? Perhaps Mycroft may help me from time to time. John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade have their bouts of altruism towards me every now and then. However, their altruism is limited, and I don't want to owe anyone anything.
So I'm the one who looks out for me; I'm self-interested. I look out for myself. Sure, I don't always eat or sleep, but that ties into my romantic philosophy. It's cool. It makes me more interesting. This also ties into my love of my work. I'm a workaholic. My work fulfills my need; I'm married to my work. I play the violin—but only for my own enjoyment, not to please others.
Perhaps you do not believe me. How is it possible for food, sex, sleep, and all the rest to be just transport? It is easier to understand if you have an obsession. I'll use reading fanfiction as an example. Haven't you ever read well past your bedtime, and even skipped dinner or lunch, stepping away from the computer only to relieve yourself? Well, my obsession is my work. I am proud of what I do, and I pour myself wholly into it. I just can't stop until I've finished. This isn't to say that I never enjoy eating; just that John can't bribe me to stop working by making me pancakes. If John puts the plate of pancakes right next to me, if he doesn't force them on me, I might snag a few bites as I work. If however, John were to try to force feed me—well, John isn't making that mistake again.
During a case I ignore almost all my basic needs. I stay hydrated because a bloke can take a leak anywhere, but most meals are skipped in favor of infrequent snacks—if, and only if the case extends beyond 2 days. The catnaps begin after 24 hours to prevent mental impairment. However, even in my dreams I am impatient to spring back into my work. It is only after the case has been solved that John and I have a proper meal by ordering takeout. I shower, brush my teeth, and consider various experiments I could do to hone my skills.
Therefore, I think it is somewhat understandable that after exiting the morgue—still contemplating the details I'd gathered from the body—that I was somewhat unprepared when Molly Hooper asked me out on a date.