"All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no express-"
"Could you turn that off, please?" The detective's pale blue eyes were trained on the slightly tinted window of the cab. They seemed vacant, distantly searching as the world flew by in a blur of colors. Sherlock released a soft sigh, purposely inaudible - though, there was no one else in the cab.
"And I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very, very mad world mad world..."
The music continued to drone on with its sullen tone and soft piano playing in the background. Had the cabby even acknowledged his request? Sherlock's eyes - hollow and clouded like the stormy grey sky that hung over London - remained fixed on the world outside, viewing everything around him through a glass window.
'Mad world...' the man echoed. Although his mouth moved, no words came out. Sherlock shook his head, adjusting the collar of his coat so it stood up around his slender neck.
"Stop the cab. I'm getting off here." The car jerked to an abrupt halt, flinging the detective forward. 'He's not deaf, after all,' Sherlock thought bitterly as he removed his face from the back of the driver's seat. Without another word, he exited the vehicle, slamming the door behind him a bit too loudly.
Sherlock almost felt uncomfortable walking down the busy streets of London without a single person recognizing him. He supposed it made sense, seeing that he'd failed to discover an interesting case in a few days - which was far too much time for both him and the media. Nothing felt the same since John's wedding.
John. John Watson, off on his honeymoon with a wonderful woman who is very deserving of such a brilliant man. Were they enjoying themselves? It was such a ridiculous question, though he asked himself every time. Sherlock wasn't always spot on with his hypotheses on human nature.
He listened in silence as his pointed leather dress shoes tapped against the slippery cobblestone of the sidewalk. The noise seemed to echo all around him.
'All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces.' The song began to play in his thoughts. Sherlock shook his head in attempt to rid himself of the lyrics. Familiar faces? He'd seen none these past few days.
Sherlock often pondered whether or not he should have left the wedding as early as he did. It was going against the norm for humans, after all. They socialized, and pressed forward. They moved on with their lives. In fact, everyone seemed to have a grand time moving on. It was amazing how quickly the past could be forgotten.
The man caught a familiar café out of the corner of his eye. Its usual red tarp looked a deep crimson in the gloomy weather. Although he'd past his home, the man's feet continued to carry him onward.
Sherlock never though that a wedding would ever make him realize that his brother was right. It was such a mad world they lived in.
