Intricate Analysis

Clean. This man was quite clean, didn’t seem like his fingers had touched anything, in spite of running them across the countertop surface. Nothing was misplaced, though he seemed the type to pick something and hide it for days on end, for giggles and his own amusement.

Unattached.

His suit was tailor-made, shoes shined with the determination of a diamond-polisher, though Sherlock seriously doubted that this man did it himself. 

He didn’t trust the man, coming from his bedroom. Nothing of material value resided in there, but this man was someone who didn’t place wealth through dollar signs. His wealth and glee came from the disheartened expressions of others, especially if it was obviously wreaked upon themselves in the first place. There were tell-tale signs of Sherlock’s more private mind lying everywhere, and normally, he would be okay with this.

Normal people did not observe. They did not know how to put things together.

This man did.

“I take it you’re not here on business?”

The trickster wrinkled his nose. “Business? How dull. No. This is all pleasure my dear I assure you. A social call if you will…” He dralwed sighing lightly. “You were about to have some tea..would you permit me darling? I was rather hoping I could tempt you with a cup and some…conversation….I’ll admit to being terribly cruious about you…there are absourlutely delicous rumours you know.”

Snapping his fingers a tray of tea and some choclate digestives appeared beside the chair and sofa. Taking up residence in the closets chair he set about putting together a cup for the detetcive. “Cream?” He murmrued, tone taking on a posioned surgar lilt.

“No. Nothing for me.”

Sherlock watched, eyes narrowing as the man sat down. How peculiar. He didn’t even try to protect himself. In environments which one is new, their eyes scatter, uncertain of what surrounds them or what they could possibly do in a dangerous situation. This man seemed at peace with not knowing. He thrived on chaos. In a world so predictable, of course he would. Sherlock understood that completely. 

He steepled his fingers, looking over them.

“You’re not a very patient man.”

He continued to watch, still assessing.

“An impulsive person such as yourself needs entertainment. Constantly. Conversation with me will not do it for you.”

This was all that needed to be said. A man like this would never get enough. It wasn’t enough to simply knock or call, he had to get attention through leaving the door open. He had to walk out of someone’s most personal living area. He had to spy. 

“If this is a…social visit…make it so. I have little patience for conventional games.”

“Pot and kettle darling.” He replied fixing his own cup and taking a sip carefully. “From what I hear, patience isn’t exactly your virtue either….in fact…I hear you rather abhor the dull everyday trudging on of the world…and I must say..it’s why you caught me eye…made me..curious….I must confess I cannot abide boredom…the stale every day drivel most occupy themselves with…it’s…tedious.” He wrinkled his nose as he snapped his fingers again and the tea set disappeared.

Leaning back in his seat he smiled, a slow, poisoned sugar smile. “But you do like games don’t you? You adore the thrill of it..the puzzle..the rush of proving your so clever you can solve what ordinary people simply gaze over, unseeing…and the more…complex…more..challenging the more alive you feel…you’d do anything wouldn’t you darling? To make it stop…the boredom..the way the world draggs it’s heels behind you?”

In spite of his interest, Sherlock refrained from showing any enthusiasm. Gaze steady, he said,

“And I’m supposed to be your saviour for your boredom? Is one really so talentless to provide his own amusement?”

Children invented games. This man was bouncing off the walls in his multiple mind chambers, stringing together schemes, watching the dominoes fall. Eyeing the tea tray, he replayed it simply appearing.

Appearing.

He leaned forward, intensifying.

“Most interesting…these common people, tell you rumours. You know just as well as I do that it’s a stupid idea to believe them so readily…”

He paused, then a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“…tell me, what games do you have, Mr…?”

(Source: thesherlockholmes221b)

burnwithmedarling:

thesherlockholmes221b:

burnwithmedarling:

thesherlockholmes221b:

It was only two in the afternoon. He didn’t need to look at the clock to observe it. Obvious, from the way the sunlight stretched underneath the curtains, and the angle at which the light came.

He had decided to fall asleep three hours earlier, mostly because he forgot to for the past few days. There was a case afoot, and he couldn’t miss a single waking second of it, not when there was so much to figure out and do.

Putting the kettle on, he stretched the cupboards open, looking for some tea. The majority of them were bare, save for maybe a line of sugar spilled a few weeks earlier and not bothered to be cleaned up. He turned the stove off, leaving the kettle for future use when they actually had tea.

It drove Watson up the wall, who was more accustomed to meticulous cleanliness. Sherlock was fine with mess. Mess left him a path of stories to follow, knowing where everyone went in the flat and when and for what reason. One could also argue that a clean home left fewer distractions for him, pointing him directly to what he needed to know.

The hat on the sofa indicated a late night for his roommate, that he didn’t bother to turn the lights on, that he was tired, and slept in an extra hour or two, and that it was a chilly walk home. John normally did not wear hats, so it was a surprise whenever Sherlock would see one lying around.

There was something else, too.

Temperature. Someone left the door open downstairs. He was not okay with this, hearing the traffic of the outside world, knowing people were able to enter and leave at their will, instead of texting or knocking beforehand. He called down the stairwell.

“Step up, please, and close the door after you. The heating bill is expensive enough as it is.”

“Mmmm apologies darling.” Came the smooth, amused purr, drifiting in from the
doorway of the consulting detective’s room. Leaning agasintn the doorjam, dark eyes curious and heavy lidded Jim titled his head as he regarded the man. “…In my rush to come take a look about it must have sliped my mind….terribly sorry my dear.” He affected an apologtic look before pushing away from woodwork and strolling lesieruly into the kitchen, fingers trailing lightly over the assrotment of equiment and bits and bobs lying about on the various surfaces.

“I suppose I ought to have called ahead, I hope you don’t mind my popping in but…I do so love surprises….don’t you? And it’s always nice to have something to…spice up the day.” A slow smile curled his lips. “So you’re the one and only Sherlock Holmes….I must say…I thought you’d be taller.” The grin that took over was more a slash off too white teeth then any other expresion, tinged a with sort of manic mirth.

So this was him. He certianly looked interesting. Tall, strangely beautiful and far too dramatic. All in all very alluring. And supposedly he had quite the mind on him, and a hatred of boredom, now that was the real draw. If the man was as good as the rumors said and as unstable too, oh what fun they could have….

Clean. This man was quite clean, didn’t seem like his fingers had touched anything, in spite of running them across the countertop surface. Nothing was misplaced, though he seemed the type to pick something and hide it for days on end, for giggles and his own amusement.

Unattached.

His suit was tailor-made, shoes shined with the determination of a diamond-polisher, though Sherlock seriously doubted that this man did it himself. 

He didn’t trust the man, coming from his bedroom. Nothing of material value resided in there, but this man was someone who didn’t place wealth through dollar signs. His wealth and glee came from the disheartened expressions of others, especially if it was obviously wreaked upon themselves in the first place. There were tell-tale signs of Sherlock’s more private mind lying everywhere, and normally, he would be okay with this.

Normal people did not observe. They did not know how to put things together.

This man did.

“I take it you’re not here on business?”

The trickster wrinkled his nose. “Business? How dull. No. This is all pleasure my dear I assure you. A social call if you will…” He dralwed sighing lightly. “You were about to have some tea..would you permit me darling? I was rather hoping I could tempt you with a cup and some…conversation….I’ll admit to being terribly cruious about you…there are absourlutely delicous rumours you know.”

Snapping his fingers a tray of tea and some choclate digestives appeared beside the chair and sofa. Taking up residence in the closets chair he set about putting together a cup for the detetcive. “Cream?” He murmrued, tone taking on a posioned surgar lilt.

“No. Nothing for me.”

Sherlock watched, eyes narrowing as the man sat down. How peculiar. He didn’t even try to protect himself. In environments which one is new, their eyes scatter, uncertain of what surrounds them or what they could possibly do in a dangerous situation. This man seemed at peace with not knowing. He thrived on chaos. In a world so predictable, of course he would. Sherlock understood that completely. 

He steepled his fingers, looking over them.

“You’re not a very patient man.”

He continued to watch, still assessing.

“An impulsive person such as yourself needs entertainment. Constantly. Conversation with me will not do it for you.”

This was all that needed to be said. A man like this would never get enough. It wasn’t enough to simply knock or call, he had to get attention through leaving the door open. He had to walk out of someone’s most personal living area. He had to spy. 

“If this is a…social visit…make it so. I have little patience for conventional games.”

Come on in, I suppose…

burnwithmedarling:

thesherlockholmes221b:

It was only two in the afternoon. He didn’t need to look at the clock to observe it. Obvious, from the way the sunlight stretched underneath the curtains, and the angle at which the light came.

He had decided to fall asleep three hours earlier, mostly because he forgot to for the past few days. There was a case afoot, and he couldn’t miss a single waking second of it, not when there was so much to figure out and do.

Putting the kettle on, he stretched the cupboards open, looking for some tea. The majority of them were bare, save for maybe a line of sugar spilled a few weeks earlier and not bothered to be cleaned up. He turned the stove off, leaving the kettle for future use when they actually had tea.

It drove Watson up the wall, who was more accustomed to meticulous cleanliness. Sherlock was fine with mess. Mess left him a path of stories to follow, knowing where everyone went in the flat and when and for what reason. One could also argue that a clean home left fewer distractions for him, pointing him directly to what he needed to know.

The hat on the sofa indicated a late night for his roommate, that he didn’t bother to turn the lights on, that he was tired, and slept in an extra hour or two, and that it was a chilly walk home. John normally did not wear hats, so it was a surprise whenever Sherlock would see one lying around.

There was something else, too.

Temperature. Someone left the door open downstairs. He was not okay with this, hearing the traffic of the outside world, knowing people were able to enter and leave at their will, instead of texting or knocking beforehand. He called down the stairwell.

“Step up, please, and close the door after you. The heating bill is expensive enough as it is.”

“Mmmm apologies darling.” Came the smooth, amused purr, drifiting in from the
doorway of the consulting detective’s room. Leaning agasintn the doorjam, dark eyes curious and heavy lidded Jim titled his head as he regarded the man. “…In my rush to come take a look about it must have sliped my mind….terribly sorry my dear.” He affected an apologtic look before pushing away from woodwork and strolling lesieruly into the kitchen, fingers trailing lightly over the assrotment of equiment and bits and bobs lying about on the various surfaces.

“I suppose I ought to have called ahead, I hope you don’t mind my popping in but…I do so love surprises….don’t you? And it’s always nice to have something to…spice up the day.” A slow smile curled his lips. “So you’re the one and only Sherlock Holmes….I must say…I thought you’d be taller.” The grin that took over was more a slash off too white teeth then any other expresion, tinged a with sort of manic mirth.

So this was him. He certianly looked interesting. Tall, strangely beautiful and far too dramatic. All in all very alluring. And supposedly he had quite the mind on him, and a hatred of boredom, now that was the real draw. If the man was as good as the rumors said and as unstable too, oh what fun they could have….

Clean. This man was quite clean, didn’t seem like his fingers had touched anything, in spite of running them across the countertop surface. Nothing was misplaced, though he seemed the type to pick something and hide it for days on end, for giggles and his own amusement.

Unattached.

His suit was tailor-made, shoes shined with the determination of a diamond-polisher, though Sherlock seriously doubted that this man did it himself. 

He didn’t trust the man, coming from his bedroom. Nothing of material value resided in there, but this man was someone who didn’t place wealth through dollar signs. His wealth and glee came from the disheartened expressions of others, especially if it was obviously wreaked upon themselves in the first place. There were tell-tale signs of Sherlock’s more private mind lying everywhere, and normally, he would be okay with this.

Normal people did not observe. They did not know how to put things together.

This man did.

“I take it you’re not here on business?”

It was only two in the afternoon. He didn’t need to look at the clock to observe it. Obvious, from the way the sunlight stretched underneath the curtains, and the angle at which the light came.

He had decided to fall asleep three hours earlier, mostly because he forgot to for the past few days. There was a case afoot, and he couldn’t miss a single waking second of it, not when there was so much to figure out and do.

Putting the kettle on, he stretched the cupboards open, looking for some tea. The majority of them were bare, save for maybe a line of sugar spilled a few weeks earlier and not bothered to be cleaned up. He turned the stove off, leaving the kettle for future use when they actually had tea.

It drove Watson up the wall, who was more accustomed to meticulous cleanliness. Sherlock was fine with mess. Mess left him a path of stories to follow, knowing where everyone went in the flat and when and for what reason. One could also argue that a clean home left fewer distractions for him, pointing him directly to what he needed to know.

The hat on the sofa indicated a late night for his roommate, that he didn’t bother to turn the lights on, that he was tired, and slept in an extra hour or two, and that it was a chilly walk home. John normally did not wear hats, so it was a surprise whenever Sherlock would see one lying around.

There was something else, too.

Temperature. Someone left the door open downstairs. He was not okay with this, hearing the traffic of the outside world, knowing people were able to enter and leave at their will, instead of texting or knocking beforehand. He called down the stairwell.

“Step up, please, and close the door after you. The heating bill is expensive enough as it is.”

OOC:

It’s been over a week since I’ve last posted anything. If anyone has been jonesin’ for some Roleplaying with Sherlock (and, let’s face it, I know you’ve dreamed of the notion…), please contact me. 

Thanks.

OOC: I’m going to be busy for the next couple of days, but if anyone has any ideas/stories to bounce, please send me a message on here or contact me through Skype.

Stay cool.

the-wholockian-in-the-impala:

leezzee:

mykittyisbeautiful:

sherlockianchild:

the-other-n:

gallifreyan-teenage-werewolf-21:

siriusly-blonde:

221b-chemical-tardis-street:

timeywimeyconsultinghufflepuff:

thecriminalinacrown:

Every single one of you.

(Source: nao-anon)

grey-not-gray asked: Can I ask what rp group you are apart of?

OOC: I don’t think we have a specific name, but there are a few other people in this group, like mollythepathologist, thejimoriarty221b, thejohnwatson221b, aurora221b, and theelizaholmes221b, among others. My apologies if I left out anyone. We have an abundance of fun.