"Tell me, Watson, what is the main purpose of the human existence?" Sherlock Holmes broke the silence of the sitting room, as he was in his beige dressing gown, hair all awry, and was stretched out on the settee, in the most aloof of manners. I glanced at my friend across from my chair, who gave me a weary look of curiosity, in which I returned a smile.
"That is a question I am bound to say is a curious one. We all have our purposes, Holmes." He gave a slight frown, as he turned on his back and rubbed his hands in a thoughtful manner, and relieved a suppressed sigh.
"Our purposes, Watson, are entirely tedious." He breathed, in quite an exhausted tone.
"Tedious? Are you getting weary of your role in society, dear fellow?" I replied, assuming Holmes was in one of his depressed moods.
He gave a little titter of a laugh.
"You have undeniably struck truth, my friend. My ever winding road of crime-solving becomes more and more tiresome. Though, I admit, I do find thrill in what I do. But there comes a time in ones life, where I think my purpose in life, is but a trifle."
By the word trifle, I blinked in concern.
"Trifle, Holmes, Trifle? You think your unique and brilliant role in the community is but a trifle? Holmes, you should realize your talent is rare. In your career, you have assisted everyone who has come to you for help. You have saved lives and rid the world of the malicious spider, Professor Moriarty, who sat in his web of crime and anarchy, waiting to strike wherever he chose. You went straight to the centre of the web, and cut him at the source. You really don't give yourself enough credit."
From what I could observe, Holmes gave a smirk.
"Oh, Watson. To me, my job does seem like a trifle. Scotland Yard would do well enough without me getting involved in certain investigations. Though I use my rare methods of deducing and close observing, which come to use and to some extent, success, I really do wonder what it would be like to live my life like my brother, Mycrofts. At least he has privacy, which is more than I can say for myself."
I gave a disputatious sigh.
"Holmes, you're talking nonsense. You are a benefit to society. A brilliant logical man who, unlike your brother, puts your rare skills and methods, to use and this has become a paradigm in your successful career, therefore bringing you recognition and fame throughout England."
Holmes gave an agitated sigh and put his hand to his forehead.
"My dear, Watson. Fame and recognition are not important in my career. I do not crave popularity with the public. Crime is what is important in my career, which suits my specialty. But I do have days where I wish had a different purpose in this grim world." He said as his arm lazily fell over the side of the settee.
I became tired of reasoning with him, so I answered.
"I'm not arguing with you, Holmes. I will always know, even if you don't, that your purpose is of important value on this Earth."
He sat up, in the reclined position, smoothed his hair back, which had fell amongst his eyes, and gave an amused smirk .
"You know, Watson, you have a stubborn quality which I cannot deny I will ever tire of."
I glared at him, waiting for him to add some snide remark, as he looked at me with a sly twinkling - eyed smile.
"I can deduce by your expression, that you think I'm mocking you."
I leant my arm on the arm of the chair and replied with a pleasant tone.
"Not in the least, dear fellow. But you were about to say something to me, deducing by your compressed smile, finger tapping, and fixed gaze. Am I correct?"
He gave a humoured blink "Watson, you are indeed a brilliant observer. Yes. What I was about to comment on was your positive outlook on life. As I have known you over a very, very long period of time, I have become to pick up your attitudes; which are refreshingly wonderful to observe. Not a day, have I seen you in a black mood. You may not know this, Watson, but your constant optimism of the world really does astonish me." He sat up straight and added as he explored his tired, emerald eyes about the room
"221 B would be a complete bore of a room, if not for your uplifting ways."
I beamed a smile towards my friend, who I could tell so far, he was in the blackest of moods. I was pleased he was glad of my optimism, as it seemed to keep his brain satisfied, to know there is vibrancy in life, which he seems to assume life lacks much of. Although Sherlock Holmes has his dark, grim moods, he will always have days where he will go against his negative theories of life, go against his disillusioned attitude of his career and become an exhilarated blood-hound who's scent would never fail him when on the scent of a killer, blackmailer or even just a common criminal.
"Well, at least I have a purpose in life." I grinned, grabbing my pipe.
Holmes cackled a little and fell back against the settee, as he closed his eyes in exhausted manner.
"A valued purpose, my dear friend. The purpose of keeping me sane."
I looked at him, observing how relaxed he became, and quite amused of the jest, but aware that something behind that comment, which was an implied compliment, which I was greatly appreciative of.
"The human existence truly gets to your core, does it not, Holmes?"
"You can say that, Watson, you can say that." Said he, in a mumble, before he fell asleep against his pillow, completely drained of his idleness and overworked mind.