To be honest I never planned on having anything to do with this fandom's fanfiction. I find that most people can't get Sherlock right. As I should have realised though my efforts were a waste and I ended up writing this after I read a fanfiction that rather annoyed me. Anyway let me know what you think and I hope I got Sherlock IC.
Summary: Sherlock is a brain and the rest of his body an appendix, or is it?
He was a high functioning sociopath; not a psychopath as was so frequently assumed by his behaviour. Then again, much was assumed about his character, not that he bothered to correct them. Why should he? What did it matter what clothes he wore, what music he listened to or what sexuality he has when there was so much more fascinating things they could be doing. That's what always surprises him about people. They go about their lives, their heads filled with the same chattering nothingness.
The look, but they do not see. The listen, but the do not hear. They touch, but they do not feel. They think he is shut off from the world, when really he is continuously overwhelmed by the chaos. It is they who are cut off from the world and each one a study in mediocrity. Why should he care if they die?
It is only in death that they come alive, each one telling a story of their deaths. It is only unfortunate that most seem to get to the point rather quickly. Then the boredom returns, the cure of the swift minded.
If he so wished it, his brother would hire him in an instant, but really, there was only so much time he could spend with his brother before a sense of inferiority set in.
And then along came John.
At the beginning he was quite willing to write him off as another mindless drone, a slave to society's whims, but John refused to be written off so quickly. Soon he found himself testing John, only to find that himself too quick to underestimate his new companion. While not close to his level, John was not incompetent as he had assumed almost everyone else to be. Never had he been ashamed to make this assumption, or of any of his actions really, but when John gave him that look he had never been so close to it in his life. When had John gotten so close?
John never assumed anything about him and never let anything get to him. Now as he stared into John's steady gaze, bombs wrapped firmly around his chest, he realised with a sdreadful sickening certainty that he never wanted a person dead so badly as he had never needed them to live.
He was flawed.
His perfect mind…
…His perfect science…
…They could never recover from such a taint. His almost unthinking eagerness to rid John of the explosives left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had found his one weakness.
'Are you alright?'
So what did you think? On a unrelated note I will be doing NANOWRIMO and I have composed a list of questions so that people can create their own character to go in the story. This list of questions will be up on my profile and if anyone wants to create a character, just send me a PM with the responses. Thanks.