I. 4 November, 2013
Terror alert has been raised to critical.
II.
One of the great comforts in my life is that no matter how old we get, Sherlock remains the same as ever. He is my one constant in a world of uncertainty. That is why I allow him talk me into playing childish games. I suppose one might call it ... nostalgia.
IV.
"Upsy, can't handle a broken heart. How very telling."
"Don't be smart."
"That takes me back, 'Don't be smart, Sherlock. I'm the smart one.' "
"I am the smart one."
"I used to think I was an idiot."
"Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on, 'til we met other children."
"Oh yes, that was a mistake."
II.
It was true that I thought that Sherlock was an idiot. His mind was always so linear. It is all cause and effect, effect and cause. Despite my tutelage, he was unable to learn how to think in parallel. He found it virtually impossible to process more than one thought at the same time. Even now, when he concentrates hard on one problem, he doesn't notice the world around him. He is totally unaware of his environment. I remember how much fun it was to give him problems to deduce only so that I could watch him drop his milk glass when a revelation struck him, humorous. Despite this deficiency, he is able to make great leaps of logic cutting straight to the heart of a problem and then solving backwards from the answer.
This is why he is so useful. He does in leaps and jumps what takes me long hours of parallel calculations to solve. And he can find answers in the absence of complete sets of data. I need data to function. How can I lay down layers of information to build up a clear picture of what will happen, without data? There would be gaps. How painful. It takes time and good intelligence to get the information needed to complete an accurate picture of the world. That is why I insist on the best information sources. At this time, the British government still has a lead in that area. Thank goodness for the surveillance state!
III. Tell Anthea to check for strange comings and goings at the foreign embassies. Remember to send security updates to the prime minister daily. Investigate whether clogging of nuclear reactor cooling plant is due to sabotage. And have Anthea send a car for the parents when they get into town, if they don't misplace their ticket, again.
IV.
"Oh yes... 'friends'. Of course you go in for that sort of thing now."
"And you don't...ever?"
"If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish."
"Yes, but I've been away for two years."
"So."
"Oh, I don't know, I thought that you might have found yourself a...goldfish."
"Change the subject...now!"
II.
Sherlock is gloating. Odd that he should gloat about having friends now? Although he has Inspector Lestrade and Miss Hooper to fall back on, John Watson openly attacked him. According to the footage that I reviewed last night, he had done so, repeatedly. And yet, Sherlock continues to lecture me on friendship. I may lack experience when it comes to having friends, however In the game of deductions, I always win.
IV.
"But you've missed his isolation ..."
"I don't see it..."
Sherlock places an ugly knit cap on his head. It doesn't suit him.
"... Anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?"
"Not at all, Maybe he just doesn't mind being different, doesn't necessarily have to be isolated."
"Exactly."
"I'm sorry?"
"He's different. so what? Why would he mind? quite right. Why would anyone mind?"
"I'm not lonely, Sherlock."
"How would you know?"
II.
Tou·ché!
It is a bit humbling. Sherlock so rarely wins an argument with me. In another time I would have countered him with a list of problems associated with emotions. Caring isn't an advantage. I've seen it time and again. However, lately I have been wondering if there is not something to be gained from ...companionship.
It isn't a new thought for me. After all, even the beasts find mates. Even the simplest find some kind of satisfaction from companionship. Huddling together for warmth and that sort of thing. And children raised with only cold reason and no touch will die they say. I am not unaware of physical desire. I am no virgin. Lack of experience in such matters is a handicap that is too easily exploited. Look at how Irene Adler manipulated Sherlock. Such tricks would not work on me.
But Irene Adler is a prime example of why I avoid relationships. She is intelligent, but deadly, like an asp or a viper. One would not willingly clasp such a thing to one's breast. Gone are the days when reading of the intelligent men of the Renaissance could stir my blood. No one that I have ever met with an iota of true intelligence is to be trusted. And to cling to a lesser mortal, a goldfish, is as pointless an exercise as sleeping with a blanket or a stuffed bear.
And yet, it is impossible to ignore the change that has come over Sherlock. How he has turned from an apathetic drug-using cynic into someone who has... what is it exactly? I suppose one would call it 'hope'. He has hope that tomorrow will be worth living. In fact, one could almost call him an optimist. The way he so fervently argues in favor of friendships when the person whom he had "died" for, the very one for whom he had lived a pseudonymous existence for two years, has rejected him. He still believes that John Watson will return to him despite all evidence to the contrary, and if truth be told, I believe it too.
Because John Watson is an exceptional man, exceptional in his loyalty. He has always loyally stood by others, from his mother during her divorce, to his dishonored commanding officer, to Sherlock in his disgrace. Even I can not help being moved by him. So much so, that when Sherlock asked me if I had ever considered it, I panicked. I was afraid that somehow he would read my mind.
He can never know that when I close my eyes at night, I can't help but imagine large, strong hands upon my cheek, and the tickle of pale mustache hairs beside my lips.