HOME | DD

Description
A/N: Really enjoyed writing John's Last Blog, so I decided to keep up the Sherlock-ness and write one from Sherlock's POV I used to be a fan of fluff, but recently, I have started to like brutally honest romance, so this one is brutal to the point of Sherlock. I am also considering a Moriaty one and an Irene Adler one too.... Would you guys be interested in reading either of those? Message me

**************

I will not mince my words. If you want a mushy, fluffy, soppy love story, go somewhere else. I am not a poet or a romantic, I am not a novelist, an artist, a love-song writer, and I will not spin you Shakespearean romances and tragedies, and fill your heads with cotton-wool clouds. I am a logician, a scientist. I am a genius. I see things as they are, not as how I want them to be. So if you cannot deal with that, I advise you go elsewhere. I believe "Romeo and Juliet" is on at the Globe at the moment.

My work is my life. Friends, family, lovers... are irrelevant, and on frequent occasion, dangerous. The Science of Deduction is far more reliable, and will never let you down, though you may have to break a few hearts along the way. These things happen. I would rather study a C6760H10447N1743O2010S32 molecule, or the presence of Claustridium Tetani in a dead body than the workings of the average human brain, though the technicalities of psychology can, on occasion, be useful to my field of work.

But disruptions always happen. Somebody always plays their music from the stereo in their car, or sneezes across the street, Mrs. Hudson will burst in with a loudly clattering cup of tea, or the neighbours downstairs will start to shout at each other again. This particular disruption was far more troublesome. This particular disruption was a lifelong disruption. And his name was John Watson.

I was not interested in John at first. He was a nobody. A blank. A vacant expression, and an equally vacant brain. He had this funny way of looking at me... He always accused me of giving his "the Look", but I always saw him staring in that vacant way, as though he didn't understand what I was saying, when I know perfectly well that if he just thought, for a split second, then he could reach the same conclusions as me. Why can't people just think? That stupid expression he does... the downturned mouth, the squinty eyes, the frown. He is not like me. He seems just like one of them.

He was just one of "them" at first. There used to be two very clear spheres in this world; me and everybody else. I was not interested in their sphere. I could not understand the niggling little stupidities of a "social life", the concept of friendship, or love. They could not understand anything else. Not science, not maths, only human feelings, human emotions. But as I learned more about this nobody, who just wouldn't leave me alone, this imbecile, this blank waste of blogging space, this John, for the first time in my life, I was forced to re-evaluate.

I had to build a new sphere for John. For the first time in my life, I had found someone who could move within my sphere, and I him. He had crossed the chasm between me and the rest of the human population, our lives interlinked, like the circles of a Venn diagram. And I was vulnerable. That is how Moriaty got to me in the end. I started to care, and when you care, you are weak.

Alone protects me. Friends protect you.

I tried to pull away. I have not yet told John that I am alive. It seemed the sensible option after all. People are too stupid, too irrational to place your trust in. You never know what they are thinking. But I hadn't expected the pain when I had to leave.
I don't have friends. And that is why I felt perplexed by how I missed that stupid blank face when I went down for breakfast, or that ridiculous expression when he is pretending to think, but I know he is not really thinking. I even miss the sound of his feet scraping along the floorboards, the sharp tap and screeching drag of his psychosymatic limp.

It infuriates me to feel. It is so much easier to lose myself in deduction, to become a thinking machine, a robot, to ignore the chemicals and hormones rushing around my bloodstream, and not have to face the fact that I, too, am human. I cannot understand why I miss the idiot, the imbelile who just won't think, who leaves his toothbrush in the showertray and still complains about the mess (surely a severed head is nothing in comparison with that?), and I do not know why I miss a fool who won't understand when the evidence is right in front of him. I hate it when I do not know things, and feeling is the only science that I am a complete amateur at.

When I was five years old, I got reading my first book on biology from my Uncle's lab. "Sometimes," the book read, "if a suitable partner is found, with favourable genetic traits and strong physicality, the hormones dopamine, testosterone, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin are released into the blood stream by the hypothalamus to ensure the mating and bonding process."

This is not love. This is not love. This is not love.

This is science.

:D (Big Grin) — Description
A/N: Really enjoyed writing John's Last Blog, so I decided to keep up the Sherlock-ness and write one from Sherlock's POV I used to be a fan of fluff, but recently, I have started to like brutally honest romance, so this one is brutal to the point of Sherlock. I am also considering a Moriaty one and an Irene Adler one too.... Would you guys be interested in reading either of those? Message me

**************

I will not mince my words. If you want a mushy, fluffy, soppy love story, go somewhere else. I am not a poet or a romantic, I am not a novelist, an artist, a love-song writer, and I will not spin you Shakespearean romances and tragedies, and fill your heads with cotton-wool clouds. I am a logician, a scientist. I am a genius. I see things as they are, not as how I want them to be. So if you cannot deal with that, I advise you go elsewhere. I believe "Romeo and Juliet" is on at the Globe at the moment.

My work is my life. Friends, family, lovers... are irrelevant, and on frequent occasion, dangerous. The Science of Deduction is far more reliable, and will never let you down, though you may have to break a few hearts along the way. These things happen. I would rather study a C6760H10447N1743O2010S32 molecule, or the presence of Claustridium Tetani in a dead body than the workings of the average human brain, though the technicalities of psychology can, on occasion, be useful to my field of work.

But disruptions always happen. Somebody always plays their music from the stereo in their car, or sneezes across the street, Mrs. Hudson will burst in with a loudly clattering cup of tea, or the neighbours downstairs will start to shout at each other again. This particular disruption was far more troublesome. This particular disruption was a lifelong disruption. And his name was John Watson.

I was not interested in John at first. He was a nobody. A blank. A vacant expression, and an equally vacant brain. He had this funny way of looking at me... He always accused me of giving his "the Look", but I always saw him staring in that vacant way, as though he didn't understand what I was saying, when I know perfectly well that if he just thought, for a split second, then he could reach the same conclusions as me. Why can't people just think? That stupid expression he does... the downturned mouth, the squinty eyes, the frown. He is not like me. He seems just like one of them.

He was just one of "them" at first. There used to be two very clear spheres in this world; me and everybody else. I was not interested in their sphere. I could not understand the niggling little stupidities of a "social life", the concept of friendship, or love. They could not understand anything else. Not science, not maths, only human feelings, human emotions. But as I learned more about this nobody, who just wouldn't leave me alone, this imbecile, this blank waste of blogging space, this John, for the first time in my life, I was forced to re-evaluate.

I had to build a new sphere for John. For the first time in my life, I had found someone who could move within my sphere, and I him. He had crossed the chasm between me and the rest of the human population, our lives interlinked, like the circles of a Venn diagram. And I was vulnerable. That is how Moriaty got to me in the end. I started to care, and when you care, you are weak.

Alone protects me. Friends protect you.

I tried to pull away. I have not yet told John that I am alive. It seemed the sensible option after all. People are too stupid, too irrational to place your trust in. You never know what they are thinking. But I hadn't expected the pain when I had to leave.
I don't have friends. And that is why I felt perplexed by how I missed that stupid blank face when I went down for breakfast, or that ridiculous expression when he is pretending to think, but I know he is not really thinking. I even miss the sound of his feet scraping along the floorboards, the sharp tap and screeching drag of his psychosymatic limp.

It infuriates me to feel. It is so much easier to lose myself in deduction, to become a thinking machine, a robot, to ignore the chemicals and hormones rushing around my bloodstream, and not have to face the fact that I, too, am human. I cannot understand why I miss the idiot, the imbelile who just won't think, who leaves his toothbrush in the showertray and still complains about the mess (surely a severed head is nothing in comparison with that?), and I do not know why I miss a fool who won't understand when the evidence is right in front of him. I hate it when I do not know things, and feeling is the only science that I am a complete amateur at.

When I was five years old, I got reading my first book on biology from my Uncle's lab. "Sometimes," the book read, "if a suitable partner is found, with favourable genetic traits and strong physicality, the hormones dopamine, testosterone, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin are released into the blood stream by the hypothalamus to ensure the mating and bonding process."

This is not love. This is not love. This is not love.

This is science.