Thread: The Deduction of Human Emotions (Dreamer- and Elise)

RE The Dedeuction of Human Emotions Dreamer- and Elise Sherlock listened to the muttering of Joan Watson from her place on the couch, saying nothing. But her mind was now racing with facts and information concerning the subject. Smoking did not necessarily mean one would get lung cancer, or that their lungs with 'turn back and shrink to the size of a raisin', as Watson had so eloquently put it. No, smoking could cause cancer almost anywhere in the body. And the chances of her dying of cancer caused from smoking, at the age she was, were slim. True if she did keep up the habit then those risks and rates would increase and cancer would be much more likely. But who said she wanted to grow old anyway? Loosing the ability to use her mind and memory was to much to pay for a few extra years of what. . . comfort, time, life ? She'd never kill herself, intentionally, but being faced with a grim prospect such as that made it seem like a god sent. Sherlock could always have someone else off her, but who? Most likely canadits would be Mycroftbut no, he'd probably be worse off by then, wouldn't he?, or Lystradehe's killed before, and has always looked like he'd gladly take a shot at Sherlock. Joan, Mrs. Hudson, and Anderson were completely out of the picture. Watson had the Messiah complex, she needed to save everyone, even from themselves. Mrs. Hudson would probably be gone by then, and Anderson was a slimy little weasel with a few complex's of his own. But no matter how much he hated the tall woman in the dark trench coat, he'd never be able to pull that trigger. Bloody hell , how did one go from smoking to the most likely candidates for a mercy killing? Sherlock's hands had gone to clutch at her head, pressing on her temples and cupping around the ears to try and shut out any potential sound. Just stop it, Stop It . It was to much, why wouldn't the racing thoughts just go away and let her alone? Simply because, they're what made Sherlock, Sherlock. All of this happened in the time span of Joan muttering in the kitchen while putting out the cigarette to coming back to the living room. Once she entered Sherlock was forced to move her hands and curl them up at her chest, dawning a somber look as her facial expression. Anything different and Joan would probably ask after her state of being, and while having some aspect of comfort, it was also disconcerting. Having someone care about Sherlock, to the point the other person was willing to but heads and subject themselves to sharped tounge ridicule was something new. True, big brother Mycroft cared and tried looking after his younger sibling but could never get anywhere. He knew it was practically pointless and gave up after a while. . . He never had enjoyed leg work. You forget one thing, dear heart, that even if one understands doesn't necessarily mean they have to comply . Which is the point, isn't it? Sherlock tells Joan, tone sharp and sarcastic, after she got up off the sofa and moved for the bathroom. Once the other woman was gone Sherlock's legs went right back up on the sofa and curled up underneath her. She should probably have a shower to, but since she wasn't going out there seemed to be no point. Then, contorting her body around, Sherlock went to reach for the black case that sat unharmed on the coffee table in front of the couch. She opened the gold claps one handed, and pulled out what was inside. Her violin was the one thing that she made sure to take care of. She ran the calloused tips of her fingers over the strings, plucking lightly to make the softest sound. In a moment Sherlock had lurched to her feet, positioning the Chin Rest comfortably in the crook of her neck and brought up the bow she held in her other hand, placing it against the strings. She started to play Bach's Sonata 2 in A minor, more somber then his Violin Concerto in A minor, while slower than his 1st Sonata. It fit her mood and Sherlock played while looking out of the open window, staring at all of the people passing below. Such normal lives did they lead, how dreadful. Then she supposed that right now she was doing the same. It wasn't to long till Joan came out of the shower, right in the middle of her favorite section. Sherlock could hear the slight rustle of the paper as the doctor made to look over the daily trivia. It was then that she soon shut all other noise out and concentrated on playing the piece properly and chasing other nagging thoughts out of her mind. So many useless things vied for attention now-a-days. All the commotion in her head might make it wise to start another distraction purge.