This is a somewhat humorous scene; the more emotional stuff is yet to come.
"Did you like it?" I ask this with a level of trepidation.
All I really want is Sherlock's consent.
He's wrapped in his paper. "Ummmm…no!"
"Why not?" I blink. "I thought you'd be flattered."
"Flattered? Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds, what's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things."
I wince. "Now, hang on a minute. I didn't mean that—"
"Oh, you meant 'spectacularly ignorant' in a nice way—look, it doesn't matter to me who's prime minister or who's sleeping with who—"
"Or that the earth goes around the sun," I offer sardonically.
"Oh, not that again," Sherlock mutters. "It's not important!"
Those bloody grey eyes are swallowing me.
I struggle to reply. "Not important? It's primary school stuff, how can you not know that?"
He sits up from the couch, eyes blazing. "If I did, I deleted it."
"What—deleted it?"
"Listen!" He pokes his temple. "This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful, really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters, do you see?"
I don't see.
"But it's the solar system!"
"What does that matter? If we went round the moon or the sun, or 'round and round the garden like a teddy bear,' it wouldn't make any difference! All that matters to me is the work!"
I'll say it again, he's a prat.
"Without that," growls Sherlock, "my brain rots. Put that in your blog—or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world."
He curls into a ball, facing away. My heart twinges. I get up, fling on my jacket.
"Where are you going?" calls Sherlock.
It's really none of his business.
"Out. I need some air."
I won't even ask...
-Spark Writer-