Chapter 2
I moved in the next day, taking the room to the far end of the apartment. On the first day I discovered that the sitting room had a couple large windows which Holmes kept covered up for one reason or another. When I opened them, the rooms instantly brightened up, much to Holmes's headache, as he awoke to the sun drifting through his door. For the first day or two, I was too busy to worry about Holmes and he wasn't too much of a talker even afterwards. Sometimes he wouldn't speak at all, just lie on his bed or be off in the laboratory. I would have thought he was addicted to some drug if I hadn't known what kind of a person he was. His expression was like a dreamy, vacant one, which would have made me think he was into more then cigarettes (which he spent a lot of time smoking outside). His hands were often covered with chemicals but he was very gentle with everything.
Other then those points and others to come later, I had decided one more thing on my roommate: Sherlock Holmes was a complete and utter jerk. Every meeting that we had ended with a cold muttering coming from his mouth, he didn't have anything nice to say and yet he would always voice it. It took all my power not to strangle him. He was defiantly not looking for a friend as he had told me. Sometimes he would complain about the smallest thing, as if I, the 'female', was suppose to be at his every whim as he was this super genius.
I figured out quickly that he wasn't studying medicine, but some other science that I couldn't pinpoint. Whenever his door was closed he was working on something, what I could never tell. If I even bumped into the door, a cold voice would tell me to go away. Even though he was smart, he had no knowledge of popular culture or anything else that he found 'useless'. When I told him about Harry Potter and the fantastic books of R.W. Rowling, he had this to say:
"Now that I do know it I will try my best to forget it."
"What?" I replied in both annoyance and a bit of anger at this cold reply.
"Fools retain information they don't need," Holmes said with a smirk, as if he was implying that I was the fool, "It crowds out the information that they really need. Meanwhile the skillful man will retain the information that will help him in his work, giving him all the more power to what he does. Now if you are finished bothering me with such useless information, I'm late for class..."
That was another thing about Holmes; he would be constantly late to class and just skip all morning class. He would never be up before ten as he told me before, but would be in bed before ten pm. But his crankiness would persist all day. In the end I decided to make a list to try to determine who my roommate really was:
Knowledge of Popular Literature: Nothing Knowledge of Astronomy: Nothing Knowledge of Politics: Some Knowledge of Plant Life: All the poisonous plants known to man, possibly some not known. Knowledge of Geology: Somewhat but not a whole lot. Knowledge of Chemistry: Genius Knowledge of Anatomy: Some Plays the violin (Plays well but not to any of my requests, often his playing reflecting his mood). Great boxer (The one thing we truly have in common, as I was into kickboxing back home) and fencer. Knowledge of Law: Some Knowledge of how to be polite: Absolutely NOTHING!
As soon as I had finished my list, I threw it into the fire. I had come
no closer to figuring out how the mind of Sherlock Holmes worked then when I had started and while I thought of Holmes as this cold and rude being from the black lagoon, he did have quiet a few visitors. Not only did he have a lot of them, but each one was different from the next. One day it would be a well- off looking lady, the next it would be an older man that looked like he had worked all his life. One of the many visitors was a rat like young man with dark eyes, by the name of Mr. Lestrade, who I discovered was studying law. Who ever it was, I wasn't allowed to enter the sitting room when Holmes was with his 'guests'. He wouldn't let me listen in on any conversation and never apologized for anything he did. This only fueled me to figure out what business Holmes was in. But I never asked as the time never came up too.
After a month of living with the jerk, I woke up one morning to find Holmes had actually got up at a normal hour, if you could call it 'up'. His head lay on the kitchen table, arms stretched out and half filled coffee mug in his hand. When I lifted on of the limp arms, it limply fell to the table as I released it. I shook my head with a sigh, getting some tea for myself and to settle down at the other end of the table to read the newspaper. One article caught my attention almost immediately and I somehow laughed at it pompousness and rather cold words. It reminded me of someone... "Something actually funny in the news this morning?" Holmes asked, raising his head to look at me "Has the world finally come to an end, because I believe that will the time that there is any good news in this world..."
"Just an article this morning," I answered, "It seems like someone has too much time on their hands. Most likely someone with lots of money and time to examine the world without another thought to who it might be hurting." Holmes instantly snatched the paper from my hands and took a looked at the article.
"Well you wouldn't be too far off on the time thing of course I wouldn't bet on the money thing if I were you," he answered handing the paper back to me as he lay his head down on the table once again.
"How would you know that?"
"Because I wrote it," Holmes answered, his voice muffled by the table.
"You?" I asked surprised.
"Yes, my who career has been observation and deduction, the ideas I wrote in that article. Again I can't expect you to understand such a thing, since you are just the person who wouldn't pay attention to that sort of thing. People like you have a hard time opening their eyes." I frowned, rolling up the news paper and hitting him over the head with it in annoyance. He raised his head again, this time to glare at me.
"I wouldn't be to ready to judge a person's character Holmes," I said standing and moving just to get any from him, "You not exactly the great model for the human species either."
"And I don't pretend to be," he answered raising himself from the table as well, "But as a consulting detective, I believe I have a little more experience in the matter then you." I tilted my head a little to look at him.
"Consulting detective?"
"I help those stupid fellows from the government find the right sent when they've lost it. Lestrade, who I've seen you conversing with even after I asked you not to, is a student of law and an intern for the police force. He fancies himself a detective I guess although he isn't any of the sorts."
"What about all those other people?"
"They are sent by other agencies, mostly private detectives and what not. They are all in trouble and just want some help in their problem. I listen, tell them what to do, and then they pay me. I don't have to care or anything, just listen and speak the truth."
"So your saying that you can figure out a problem by just listening to a person tell it to you?" I asked, and then chuckled, "Sounds like you are like the original Sherlock Holmes, you know, the one from the books..."
"I am the only and original Sherlock Holmes," he answered coldly turning walking into the sitting room, looking at me firmly and closely, "That Sherlock Holmes was created by Conan Doyle and portrayed by Jeremy Brett. He doesn't exist. And as for your other question, yes I can. You remember when I told you that you had just been coming from the tropics and you were astonished." I could hear the cheerfulness in his voice as I watched from the door way. He sat down in his chair, looking at me with eyes that told me that he already knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from me, just to make himself feel more important or something.
"You were told right?"
"No, I wasn't. I knew that you had come from the tropics by just looking at your person. First I figured out that you were a writer but you had an air of some military about you but you weren't military in you voice or actions. There for you had grown up around the military or a member of your family was military, possibly a parent. Your skin was tan, but from your wrists that were a lighter color I could tell it wasn't your original color. Your face suggested that you had, at sometime, been ill. You hold your shoulder stiffly as if you have injured it in the past. Then I asked myself, where could a young girl that has connections to the military and has that kind of tan get hurt? The tropics where I hear the Peace Corps are doing incredible work. So as you can see, I am not without Merit and know how to judge a person well, unlike some in this room." I watched how his eyes sparkled as he told me how he had figured me out. I guess I was astonished but I wasn't about to allow him the satisfaction (though by his look I could tell he already had it).
"What are you looking for an award?" I asked coldly, taking a sip from my tea, "Because I don't believe they give awards to conceited people..."
"You never know," he answered smirking, "Of course I could be famous if I wanted too, I don't think anyone has put such devotion to this topic as I have. I bet you can't name on man who could do the same things I co-"
"Someone is coming," I said quickly looking out the window, interrupting my companion as a way to shut him up, "and he stopping at our door." Holmes came to the window, looking down on the plainly-dressed man, who studied the number on our door then let out a sigh of relief. In his hand was a large blue envelope, and Holmes shrugged.
"A retired sergeant of the marines," Holmes said and I frowned once again. I punched his shoulder in annoyance of his cocky attitude turning to go get the door as I heard the bell ring. Holmes watched after me angrily as he rubbed his wounded shoulder. I opened the door for the man who stepped in.
"I have a message for Mister Sherlock Holmes," he said, marching over to Holmes and giving the letter to my roommate. At that moment I realized that could cut down Holmes's cold confidence and as the man turned to leave I caught him by the arm.
"Excuse me for asking, but what is your job?"
"Commissionaire, Miss," he answered, "My uniform is away for repair."
"And what were you during your service?"
"A sergeant, Miss," he stated, "Royal Marine Light Infantry." With a click of his heels he raised his hand in salute and left. Holmes smirked and quickly turned into his room. Most likely to get away from me, as I wanted to just wipe that smirk off his face with my fist.
I moved in the next day, taking the room to the far end of the apartment. On the first day I discovered that the sitting room had a couple large windows which Holmes kept covered up for one reason or another. When I opened them, the rooms instantly brightened up, much to Holmes's headache, as he awoke to the sun drifting through his door. For the first day or two, I was too busy to worry about Holmes and he wasn't too much of a talker even afterwards. Sometimes he wouldn't speak at all, just lie on his bed or be off in the laboratory. I would have thought he was addicted to some drug if I hadn't known what kind of a person he was. His expression was like a dreamy, vacant one, which would have made me think he was into more then cigarettes (which he spent a lot of time smoking outside). His hands were often covered with chemicals but he was very gentle with everything.
Other then those points and others to come later, I had decided one more thing on my roommate: Sherlock Holmes was a complete and utter jerk. Every meeting that we had ended with a cold muttering coming from his mouth, he didn't have anything nice to say and yet he would always voice it. It took all my power not to strangle him. He was defiantly not looking for a friend as he had told me. Sometimes he would complain about the smallest thing, as if I, the 'female', was suppose to be at his every whim as he was this super genius.
I figured out quickly that he wasn't studying medicine, but some other science that I couldn't pinpoint. Whenever his door was closed he was working on something, what I could never tell. If I even bumped into the door, a cold voice would tell me to go away. Even though he was smart, he had no knowledge of popular culture or anything else that he found 'useless'. When I told him about Harry Potter and the fantastic books of R.W. Rowling, he had this to say:
"Now that I do know it I will try my best to forget it."
"What?" I replied in both annoyance and a bit of anger at this cold reply.
"Fools retain information they don't need," Holmes said with a smirk, as if he was implying that I was the fool, "It crowds out the information that they really need. Meanwhile the skillful man will retain the information that will help him in his work, giving him all the more power to what he does. Now if you are finished bothering me with such useless information, I'm late for class..."
That was another thing about Holmes; he would be constantly late to class and just skip all morning class. He would never be up before ten as he told me before, but would be in bed before ten pm. But his crankiness would persist all day. In the end I decided to make a list to try to determine who my roommate really was:
Knowledge of Popular Literature: Nothing Knowledge of Astronomy: Nothing Knowledge of Politics: Some Knowledge of Plant Life: All the poisonous plants known to man, possibly some not known. Knowledge of Geology: Somewhat but not a whole lot. Knowledge of Chemistry: Genius Knowledge of Anatomy: Some Plays the violin (Plays well but not to any of my requests, often his playing reflecting his mood). Great boxer (The one thing we truly have in common, as I was into kickboxing back home) and fencer. Knowledge of Law: Some Knowledge of how to be polite: Absolutely NOTHING!
As soon as I had finished my list, I threw it into the fire. I had come
no closer to figuring out how the mind of Sherlock Holmes worked then when I had started and while I thought of Holmes as this cold and rude being from the black lagoon, he did have quiet a few visitors. Not only did he have a lot of them, but each one was different from the next. One day it would be a well- off looking lady, the next it would be an older man that looked like he had worked all his life. One of the many visitors was a rat like young man with dark eyes, by the name of Mr. Lestrade, who I discovered was studying law. Who ever it was, I wasn't allowed to enter the sitting room when Holmes was with his 'guests'. He wouldn't let me listen in on any conversation and never apologized for anything he did. This only fueled me to figure out what business Holmes was in. But I never asked as the time never came up too.
After a month of living with the jerk, I woke up one morning to find Holmes had actually got up at a normal hour, if you could call it 'up'. His head lay on the kitchen table, arms stretched out and half filled coffee mug in his hand. When I lifted on of the limp arms, it limply fell to the table as I released it. I shook my head with a sigh, getting some tea for myself and to settle down at the other end of the table to read the newspaper. One article caught my attention almost immediately and I somehow laughed at it pompousness and rather cold words. It reminded me of someone... "Something actually funny in the news this morning?" Holmes asked, raising his head to look at me "Has the world finally come to an end, because I believe that will the time that there is any good news in this world..."
"Just an article this morning," I answered, "It seems like someone has too much time on their hands. Most likely someone with lots of money and time to examine the world without another thought to who it might be hurting." Holmes instantly snatched the paper from my hands and took a looked at the article.
"Well you wouldn't be too far off on the time thing of course I wouldn't bet on the money thing if I were you," he answered handing the paper back to me as he lay his head down on the table once again.
"How would you know that?"
"Because I wrote it," Holmes answered, his voice muffled by the table.
"You?" I asked surprised.
"Yes, my who career has been observation and deduction, the ideas I wrote in that article. Again I can't expect you to understand such a thing, since you are just the person who wouldn't pay attention to that sort of thing. People like you have a hard time opening their eyes." I frowned, rolling up the news paper and hitting him over the head with it in annoyance. He raised his head again, this time to glare at me.
"I wouldn't be to ready to judge a person's character Holmes," I said standing and moving just to get any from him, "You not exactly the great model for the human species either."
"And I don't pretend to be," he answered raising himself from the table as well, "But as a consulting detective, I believe I have a little more experience in the matter then you." I tilted my head a little to look at him.
"Consulting detective?"
"I help those stupid fellows from the government find the right sent when they've lost it. Lestrade, who I've seen you conversing with even after I asked you not to, is a student of law and an intern for the police force. He fancies himself a detective I guess although he isn't any of the sorts."
"What about all those other people?"
"They are sent by other agencies, mostly private detectives and what not. They are all in trouble and just want some help in their problem. I listen, tell them what to do, and then they pay me. I don't have to care or anything, just listen and speak the truth."
"So your saying that you can figure out a problem by just listening to a person tell it to you?" I asked, and then chuckled, "Sounds like you are like the original Sherlock Holmes, you know, the one from the books..."
"I am the only and original Sherlock Holmes," he answered coldly turning walking into the sitting room, looking at me firmly and closely, "That Sherlock Holmes was created by Conan Doyle and portrayed by Jeremy Brett. He doesn't exist. And as for your other question, yes I can. You remember when I told you that you had just been coming from the tropics and you were astonished." I could hear the cheerfulness in his voice as I watched from the door way. He sat down in his chair, looking at me with eyes that told me that he already knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from me, just to make himself feel more important or something.
"You were told right?"
"No, I wasn't. I knew that you had come from the tropics by just looking at your person. First I figured out that you were a writer but you had an air of some military about you but you weren't military in you voice or actions. There for you had grown up around the military or a member of your family was military, possibly a parent. Your skin was tan, but from your wrists that were a lighter color I could tell it wasn't your original color. Your face suggested that you had, at sometime, been ill. You hold your shoulder stiffly as if you have injured it in the past. Then I asked myself, where could a young girl that has connections to the military and has that kind of tan get hurt? The tropics where I hear the Peace Corps are doing incredible work. So as you can see, I am not without Merit and know how to judge a person well, unlike some in this room." I watched how his eyes sparkled as he told me how he had figured me out. I guess I was astonished but I wasn't about to allow him the satisfaction (though by his look I could tell he already had it).
"What are you looking for an award?" I asked coldly, taking a sip from my tea, "Because I don't believe they give awards to conceited people..."
"You never know," he answered smirking, "Of course I could be famous if I wanted too, I don't think anyone has put such devotion to this topic as I have. I bet you can't name on man who could do the same things I co-"
"Someone is coming," I said quickly looking out the window, interrupting my companion as a way to shut him up, "and he stopping at our door." Holmes came to the window, looking down on the plainly-dressed man, who studied the number on our door then let out a sigh of relief. In his hand was a large blue envelope, and Holmes shrugged.
"A retired sergeant of the marines," Holmes said and I frowned once again. I punched his shoulder in annoyance of his cocky attitude turning to go get the door as I heard the bell ring. Holmes watched after me angrily as he rubbed his wounded shoulder. I opened the door for the man who stepped in.
"I have a message for Mister Sherlock Holmes," he said, marching over to Holmes and giving the letter to my roommate. At that moment I realized that could cut down Holmes's cold confidence and as the man turned to leave I caught him by the arm.
"Excuse me for asking, but what is your job?"
"Commissionaire, Miss," he answered, "My uniform is away for repair."
"And what were you during your service?"
"A sergeant, Miss," he stated, "Royal Marine Light Infantry." With a click of his heels he raised his hand in salute and left. Holmes smirked and quickly turned into his room. Most likely to get away from me, as I wanted to just wipe that smirk off his face with my fist.