A/N: I wrote this story based off of my own anger (even though it's not as severe as Sherlock's). It just sort of evolved into this. Hopefully, there will be less angst and more happiness in the next chapter. Also, this is slightly AU-ish, so the boys will meet in a different way. By the way, I apologize ahead of time for the slightly vulgar swear word written down in the 7th paragraph and it won't happen again.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock: Matt Geiss, Steven Moffat, and BBC do. But if I did, I'd insert a character that coincidentally(not) looked like me in the show so that Sherlock and I could become genius best buds.
I am so angry with the world right now. Why does it have to be filled with such idiots and imbeciles?! Can't they all just die in a dark corner all by themselves or leave me the hell alone?! Everybody I know is so boring, so tasteless, so monotonous at everything. I grew up to be a misanthropic person and I continue to be so to this day.
Humans are stupid, ignorant pigs who often set your hopes up and disappoint you in the end. I don't know why I am part of their species, but I am certainly not one of them. I say this because my previous boyfriend Jim just broke up with me and moved out of my flat. Apparently, he said that I was arrogant, cold, and that I never paid enough attention to him. What a load of bullcrap!
I am not arrogant, I am a genius! I am not cold, I am an individualist! I am not ignorant, I am busy! I tried explaining all these things to him, but he just waved it off and continued making a list of what was wrong with me out loud. I hate it when humans do that. They just complain about nothing, accuse you of not being good enough, and stick to that as their excuse. As much as I hate admitting that I have cheesy human feelings, it really puts me down in the dumps and I feel homicidal yet self-destructive.
I get these intense feelings of angst and feel so angry at humanity that I can barely speak. When I am extremely angry, this tends to happen a lot. I'll just stop what I am doing and think about how much I wish I could annihilate all of my problems or kill the person who made me feel that way. I have a photographic memory, which is both a blessing and a curse brought unto me.
Whenever I am angry at or I encounter a person, I begin to think of all the things that he or she said in the past. Then I associate those things with what he or she is saying now. I think about how angry they made me feel, how stupid they are, and how ugly or annoying their voice is. It causes me to turn away from the idiot and seethe silently in anger, wishing I could punch the lights out of them.
The reason I cannot do so is because I would get fired from my job and nobody else would want to hire me as their consulting detective. They would all think that I had anger problems or was a drug addict just like other places did before this company I work for hired me. They did so very reluctantly because humans are like that, you know, what with doubting everything before they freaking do it. Nevertheless, I was hired with the conditions that I be nice to everybody, I be patient, I step out of the way when I am told, blah, blah, blah.
Sometimes, on the very rare occasion that I feel so angry that I can't sleep, I lie awake at night and think these deplorable thoughts that make me hate myself the next day. I think about how lonely I am in this son of a bitch world, how I wish there were somebody to support my back besides my snotty brother Mycroft, and how horrible I feel all around. I get so depressed and despondent that I do not speak the whole time. I only wallow in my self-pity and think about jumping out a window.
I remember one night when I had a rough day at work and I lay down in my double bed. I couldn't help but get all soft-headed and weak again. I began to think, much to my inner disgust, about how much I wished I had an acquaintance. I saw people walking down the street with their friends often, but that day after work, I started to observe them for the first time. I sat on a bench and noticed them laughing, telling jokes, punching each other in the ribs, ordering coffee together, finishing each other's sentences, holding hands, cuddling...jealousy hit me square in the chest and made my heart grow bleak.
I had secretly longed to be like one of those people for a long time and I had never known until that moment. I will never fully appreciate human nature, but it would but nice if I had someone to confide in, I thought. Jim was never really that person. We never talked, touched, or observed like the people with friends did. Hell, we never even had our first kiss. I didn't often think of him as my boyfriend: just another individual who took up room in the flat.
Thinking about how lonely I was really struck me that night in ways that I could never have predicted. I thought about myself for once, and how it could have been my fault that I was so hateful. Normally I pawned off the fault of a situation on somebody else, but when I was told that nobody would ever love me, I thought about why that might be so.
Every time I spoke to somebody, they were annoyed. I used to think they were just pussies, but that night I thought it was because of a certain tone I used. Every time I got angry with somebody, they were afraid. I used to think they were just dramatizing the event, but that night I thought it was because I became an unrecognizable monster in their eyes despite that they were strangers anyways. Every time I used nicotine patches or failed to be "nice" that day, they were disappointed. I used to think they were just a bunch of blithering idiots in general, but that night I thought it was because I failed to do what was best for the situation.
All of those were liable reasons as to why nobody would ever, in fact, love me. It was not because they were jealous of what I had thought was my greatness. It was because I was the most rude, arrogant, curmudgeonly, misanthropic, complicated, hateful, self-righteous, cynical, immature, stoic, and cold-blooded person that anybody, including myself, had ever known. For the first time in a while, a silent tear ran down my cheek. Instead of wiping it away, I allowed it to fall, leaving a trail of wet saltiness. It reminded me of me: an isolated enzyme with no structured path for following, trembling in its wake.
I did not dare to look at the pillow next to my head, for fear of its emptiness shattering my very soul. ...That is, if I even had one. All I knew was that it would destroy something inside of me, like most people said happened when you were melancholy and depressed. I wished that there was a chance to redeem myself in a way by not entirely having to change my character. I wished I could get off my lazy arse and find myself a friend to laugh, tell jokes, punch ribs, order coffee, finish sentences, hold hands, and cuddle with. However, there was just one problem with that: who the hell would want to be friends with me?