In the upstairs room and a quaint little place, sat a man. Well dressed, his eyes pierced the rooms as if they knew where each speck of disturbed dust would fall. With his violin sitting in his lap he plucked away at it. The songs that came out of the violin always reflected his state of mind, and right now the sounds were happy tune though it had sadness buried inside it. You would have seen the same thing in his eyes if they were showing or had ever shown any emotion. He was torn. Torn between the desire to be left in peace and the need of the company of his old friend, who had moved abroad.
Eventually he decided that this wasn't going to work and he wasn't going to bring in enough money for the rent, so he put an ad in the papers asking for a flat mate who wasn't bothered by violin playing and not speaking for days on end
Several people had answered the ad, though he found them less than satisfactory. None of them had the right….well whatever it was. So, in turn, all were rejected and not in the kindest of ways. One loud and pretentious man was kicked down the stairs. He could not stand pretentious, even though he knew he was as well. The hypocrisy amused him.
There was one more person who has scheduled to meet with him that day. Waiting to be disappointed he sat in his chair and let the land lady get the door. The man who walked in was slightly shorter than himself, and had a rather large nose and an eye patch. He also wore a strange hat and didn't look as though he didn't belong in the clothes he was wearing. He came in and sat with out invitation, Right across from the man who's ad he answered and looked him right in the eyes.
Sherlock, being the man he was, saw several things at once. The man across from him wasn't wearing clothes that belonged to him. The eye patch was not necessary nor was his hair as gray as it looked in the moment. "Take off that ridiculous patch. You look like an idiot and there's no reason for it.". Cold. Truthful. Absolutely no tact. Typical Sherlock.
The man replied with a thick Irish accent and a gravelly voice "True is fake, I really only wear them for first impressions. And hiding from those I do not want to see me." Suddenly the eye patch was off, along with the ridiculous nose. Now sitting before Sherlock was a man who needed a shave had to working eyes and a regular nose. But it was his eyes that really caught Sherlock's attention. There lied a direct mirror, a reflection of his own eyes. There was the cleverness, the piercing gaze, and the place where emotions should have been. The only difference was the large amount of mischief that sat nestled in those eyes. This was someone you would expect sarcastic comments and theatrics from. There was something beyond showoff there. What he would do would be put on a production. A show that would be seen for thousands of miles.
"Who are you?" asked Sherlock, narrowing his eyes. "I'll let you figure that one out." The accent and the roughness gone from his voice. "I'll give you one hint though, you already know me. You've known me your whole life and you didn't even know it." There was that light. That little bit of mischief.