It was just another boring day for 221B Baker Street, that is if you consider dying twice in the same day by being hit by a bus while chasing a siamese cat down the street after it stole your prized experiment and that said experiment killing you once you got back to it three hours later boring. Which was of course what 221B Baker Street's practically permanent resident Sherlock Holmes had thought on this very same day. He was always getting bored, but what would you expect from a man who had walked the Earth for nearly two hundred years? Sitting in his arm chair was the deathless detective Sherlock Holmes who was born in the year 1854 on the sixth of January. Mr. Holmes had seen time pass almost instantaneously, or at least, looking back it seemed to him to be that way. He had been through so much that it was hard to think of his humble beginnings in the nineteenth century had indeed been over one hundred and fifty years ago, yet as quickly as the clock had turned days seemed to drag on longer and longer each day. The more people he met and the more things he experienced, the more they all felt the same. Actually, not the same per say, but worthless experiences none the less. The only thing that brought him any sensation worth something was the thrill of cracking a case or solving a mystery, but even that was becoming duller as the years went on. Being a consulting detective, while an original job nonetheless, seemed to become useless as technology caught up with his highly complex mind. But even after decades of mystery solving there was one case that Sherlock was almost certain he would never be able to solve, the Case of his Immortality. Being immortal, while it had it's perks, was absolutely dreadful. While he had been able to expand his knowledge further and further as the years went on and see how fast humanity had evolved in just under one hundred sixty years, he also had to watch as his friends and family, as few as he had, had came into his life only to die after he had somehow learned to care for them. That topped off with having to move to a new city every few decades or so to avoid suspicion from the people around him was very irritable. He had been lucky to have confided in Mrs. Hudson when he did, he was sick of travelling and wanted somewhere to call his own. He didn't know why but he didn't think he could part with Baker's Street, it was his and his alone. That is unless Mrs. Hudson ever did find a tenant to rent the flat upstairs, even still they wouldn't last long, no one ever did with Sherlock being the way he is. Sherlock stood up out of his chair, 'No more sulking' Sherlock thought to himself 'sulking is useless! "But isn't everything?" a voice in his head answered. Sherlock shook his head making his thoughts disappear, but still he had this itch inside of him, he needed to do something! But with no cases, nothing to experiment with, and nobody to talk to, well nobody except for the skull on the mantelpiece or Mrs. Hudson and her Ladies Club downstairs, Sherlock had little choices. But he soon narrowed his options into three,
1) Get a cheap thrill out of falling back into your drug habits (ie. heroin and/or cigarettes)
2) Go search for danger and get a thrill out of dying for a third time that day (something he'd rather not experience thank you very much)
Or 3) Continue his useless experiments on death as research for his immortality crisis at the morgue.
After thinking for a few moments Sherlock sighed as he knew he had to go with the third option. As meaningless as he thought his search for answers and mortality was he couldn't give up, if he did that would mean he had one more thing in his life that would be pointless. That and the other two options were just horrid, he didn't want to die again today and falling back into his drug habits after months of rehab would just be stupid, it had taken him years to get out of his addiction, why should he fall back into his old weaknesses now? Grabbing his coat and scarf he made his way out the door yelling to Mrs. Hudson that he'd be out for a few hours as he came down the stairs. As Sherlock hailed a cab he fumbled around his pockets for his phone. He had texts to make, he was going to the morgue after all, you couldn't just show up unannounced! Well that is if you aren't dead … which Sherlock wasn't, at least not at the moment anyways.
Hello casual readers! Trying something new for once, writing fanfiction rather than just reading it! This is just an idea for now, tell me what you think and I might write now. Highly inspired by the tv show "Forever" but will go on in it's own direction, also a big fan of the other famous immortal story "Highlander" but I doubt my story will be similar to the movie. Also, I give credit where credit's due and will admit that this is inspired by another young fanfiction writer's idea. I got this from "Etimire T's" Sherlock Prompts Ideas that was published to the site a few months ago. Etimire is a highly skilled writer and I suggest you go check out a few of the stories on their profile page.
But until next time, your friendly neighborhood super writer will have to bid you adieu.
Signed, Rowell Riggs