So this is my new story. Decided to go with BBC's Sherlock! Cause who doesn't love those dashing cheekbones and stunning eyes? Or Jim's dark yet perky personality? As I mentioned in my last story I can see little to no RED on the computer screen. I apologize before-hand if I missed anything concerning spelling. This is a slash between JIM M./OC/SHERLOCK. Just not quite sure who yet ;) I also wanted to raise Schizophrenia awareness and made my OC schizophrenic. I wanted to bring something interesting to the table while also shining light on a mental disease that is mostly perceived as horribly bad in the media and is often misunderstood by the general public.
I really hope you take the time to review as you know I do love them quite a lot, and also fav/follow! I do not own anything BBC Sherlock or any of the characters or storyline. But my OC Adele, her family, and story is mine and mine alone. RATED FOR GRAPHIC SCENE/THOUGHTS/LANGUAGE/AND MAYBE LEMON (idk yet) dont like? Don't read pls! Now, onward to the world of Sherlock! Enjoy!
Thoughts will be written as italics.
Flashback will be written in bold.
STORY TAKES PLACE IN THE BEGINNING OF SEASON 1
Plain Simple and Everything But! CH.1
She'd been sitting outside for nearly an hour, chain smoking her cigarettes from her second pack that day, though she only sucked them down half way before stomping them out. Sherlock had only been outside once to puff on his own glorious smoke, and not once did she fully acknowledge him. She only turned to see who'd come out, then looked away and went back to staring into the street. Likewise, Sherlock was not very interested in her either. The moment Mrs. Hudson introduced her, Sherlock had deduced everything about her. Like John, she was a pool of unimportant information.
American, awkward and unsure –third child and over shadowed by her overachiever siblings-, socially undeveloped – clearly not miss popular-, from her soft build to thin limbs she was obviously not a sportsman, hair freshly dyed black –originally brunette-, and a bookworm. Nothing about her screamed 'I-have-talent-and-ambition' or 'I-have-a-smashing-personality'. She was almost like Molly's double, except less smart.
"Who're you staring at?" John asked from his recliner forcing Sherlock to roll his eyes and huff out a heavy sigh.
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Uhm, no. No it isn't." John responded, his lips pursing as his jaw jutted forward in that common way it did when he was annoyed with his flatmate.
"That girl…from downstairs." Sherlock snapped his fingers rapidly, rolling them along, trying to jog his memory. Pointless things were so hard to recall.
"You mean Adele Banks?" John finished lifting his brow. "You think she's attractive?" After all he thought so too after meeting her.
"Yes, her. And God no." Sherlock swiftly turned to meet John who looked confused. "Well…what about her?"
"That's it! Nothing! There's absolutely nothing 'about' her!" The consulting detective scowled. "It's a nuisance to have her in the building." John folded his paper neatly in his lap, Sherlock seriously needed a new case. He'd been driving him up the wall, fraying all of his worn-to-nearly-nothing nerves.
"How can she be a nuisance? Adele doesn't bother anyone. She's a nice neighbor." It was true, Adele was a quiet lady who lived a quaint life. She was nothing but polite when she spoke to John on the rare occasion. But Sherlock didn't see it that way, she was like a vegetable with legs –if that made any sense-. It bothered him to know that she was just a breathing bag of flesh and bone, her head as blank as a canvas.
"Look, Adele doesn't go out of her way to bother you, and since that clearly bothers you why don't you pop in on her and say 'hi'." John said, trying to get his friend out and about. He expected Sherlock to object, to say that that was absolutely mundane and utterly pointless. However, to John's surprise Sherlock thought for a moment, then nodded.
"That's an excellent idea!"
"Really?"
"Of course! I can…socialize..?" The consulting detective scrunched his face up awkwardly, flipping his scarf over his shoulder to have a go at this 'socialization'
"Oh…well. Cheers."
Adele Banks
"Good morning." I turned, glancing up as I did to see my upstairs neighbor. What was his name? He had such glorious cheek bones, that I had to resist the urge to touch them.
"Good…morning?" I replied, blinking once or twice and then went back to watch the cars pass me by. The cars were so different from the ones in America, from the seating arrangement to the overall design.
"Are you enjoying London?" Sherlock pressed, batting away his annoyance. Of course she was, it was all over her ditzy face. He scanned her body language, nothing had changed. She was boring, boring, boring.
"Mm-hm." I pushed another cigarette to my mouth, later on I'd have to get more. "It's different." Shoving his hands in his trench coat he resisted the urge to openly sigh. I was aware of the 'well-duh' look on his face.
"Are you trying to bum a cigarette?" Catching Sherlock slightly off guard I stared up at him. "I'm sorry…what?"
"Bum a cigarette, you know to get a smoke by being friendly?" The man scrunched up his face.
"Of course not." Even if he was burning to have a cigarette he would not have asked her, she smoked clove cigarettes, or Kreteks as they were called in some places. A choice she made to undoubtedly make herself seem much more unique.
"Then what are you here for? I don't date." I asked still staring at that man who looked like he had lost all patience. Was that all women assumed? Even the stupid ones?
"No of course you don't date. Because nobody would subject themselves to such a dull and unappealing woman such as yourself. You've never even had a solid relationship outside of your family, and even that is shaky. Mum and dad are busy fawning over your brother and sister while trying to make it seem like you're worth mentioning at gatherings when you've absolutely achieved nothing and never will. You will be stuck working at a dead end job, living in a dead end apartment, and within the next thirty years you'll own several cats. Which is why you moved to London, it is nothing more than a fashion statement to you so that you can brag to your family back home about how well you're getting on. You think smoking Kreteks makes you appear unique when you're not and although you've realized this you can't bring yourself to stop because you feel like you're feeding the angst void within. "
I shrugged, popping another 'kretek' into my mouth.
"Not cats. I'm really allergic. Maybe dogs or venomous snakes." By now I was used to people's forward rudeness. I had no real defense except to coolly breeze by it, taking it in stride as the man shoved off the pavement and stomped back upstairs.
Which reminded me, it was getting dark, and the street lamps were slowly coming to life, my signal to hop back into 221B, and casting one last nervous glance over the streets I skittered inside.
"Prolixin, to keep the creepies away."
"Lexapro so I don't get the frownies."
"Lithium so I don't fall off my rocker."
"And Depakote! So I don't do the silly willies."
Of course I felt pretty 'silly willy' citing my mom's mantra to get me to take my meds when I was a little kid. Even though I knew now what they were for I still felt the need to do it no matter how ridiculous it was. I was glad it was Saturday. Prolixlin kind of made me sluggish. I shuffled around the dark, lighting a candle as I moved to the sole chair in the sitting area. My whole wall was filled to the brim with books upon books, ranging from fantasy, to sci-fi, to anything else I could possibly read, including encyclopedias.
"You sure do love to read." John had said, helping me stack the books in neat orderly fashion. "It's a bit of an obsession." I admitted, "TV isn't really my thing." He smiled regardless "Probably best, lots of rubbish on the telly these days."
I couldn't help but agree, with all those people on the inside roaming around, waiting to snatch you when you least expected it and radios, how did nobody even question if aliens or the government were listening in on them? Monitoring every single thing they said?… I shook my head, Prolixlin should be kicking in any second now.
Leaning over I tossed back the small drawer in the end table, pressed the small green pager's button, waited for it to beep and then hastily tossed it back into the drawer. A few moments went by and the pager beeped a few times, signaling that the folks back home had received my message.
Sighing I pushed the heavy dictionary open and began to read. I was most comfortable this way. Alone. Not because I didn't want friends –because I really did- or because I was afraid of people –because I wasn't-. But because people were afraid of me and avoided me as soon as they found out about the big 'S' word that I was forced to carry with me for the rest of my life.
'S' as in Schizophrenia. I was diagnosed with it as a kid, around six I think. While the disease itself is rare and not really understood, it's even less understood in children. People assume I'm a deranged maniac out to hack them to little pieces, or that I am overcome by what I believe are 'demons' and do things I am in no control of.
I will admit that I do hear voices, see things that aren't there, and every once in a while have a really bad relapse where shit hits the fan, but as long as I take the meds I am okay. I function like a normal human being that has needs and wants and dreams. But it was too late for me back home, everyone was cautious around me or sympathetic. I wanted a clean start, to live in a place where people didn't automatically dub me as a psycho.
Which is why I came to London. I've always wanted to travel anyway, and what better place to go than to London? There was so much to see and do, so much history and culture. I loved my new apartment, and Mrs. Hudson was a sweet old lady who checked on me often, inviting me to tea on most days. I'd never even had tea before! I loved my job at the bookstore down the block. John was a nice guy, very friendly. I wasn't sure about his flatmate though. Seemed like a prick to me. Everything was going great, I just hoped that past events didn't re-occur.
Or else major mom will come and get you and lock you away. *scratch* *scratch*
Go away 'Q', you're not real.
