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

RE The Dedeuction of Human Emotions Dreamer- and Elise I'm perfectly fine with that Sherlock had heard the foot steps outside of the door, and the 'click' of the dead bolt sliding back into place. But the sounds seemed to be in the background of her thoughts, like having something in your peripheral vision. You know its there but it doesn't quite register. Yet when Joan walks into the room Sherlock's eyes slide slowly over in her direction. What happened next was inevitable, but it didn't make Sherlock any less irritated. The currents being yanked open and fresh air in the room completely distorted the atmosphere. Her train of thought was now broken, or at least pushed aside, putting a peevish frown on Sherlock's face. Damn it Joan. I was in the middle of something here. Aren't you the one always going on about 'social courtesies' and such? Sherlock gets up off the sofa, holding the cigarette between her lips as she shakes out her clothing and preens. Once was she was satisfied and the thin grey robe was back in place the cigarette goes between her fingers. The women with chaotically curly hair waits until the Doctor was done ranting, her lean body still as a statue. Your the one that wants it out, not me. Only logical you do it. She remarked, looking more and more like a petulant 5-year old having its toy being taken away, back-talking just to get the last word. When Joan did take the cigarette and go to dispense it properly, Sherlock's eyes follow her. She marked the state of her clothing, shoes and Joan's physique. More or less an average day, many patients. That was also clear by the hour she had gotten back. But for once Sherlock kept silent and sprawled herself on the couch again, taking up almost all of it with her long legs. She did this just to irritate her flat-mate even more, since Joan was tired and wanted to rest. But Joan would have to sit in a chair, or move Sherlock's feet to sit down. At this moment a thought popped into her skull Watson would have to touch her in moving her legs. The notion almost made Sherlock pull her body up to make room for the other woman. This issued a mental roll of the eyes, why should she be afraid of being touched? Joan wasn't going to harm her. So with this mentality Sherlock settled down and relaxed, back molding into the cushions. She looks over to the 'case wall' where anything for the Scotland Yard would be posted. Alas. . . Nothing. They hadn't gotten anything for a whole week. How long would this hateful dry spell last? And calls from Mycroft had been sparse. He had nothing either, but even if he did happen to call. . . Sherlock wouldn't take the case. Oh yes, play cat and mouse with the subject for awhile but in the end refuse to help, even if she did solve it. Seeing the look on her big brother's face was just to precious to deny herself. But none of that would do right now, since she wasn't getting any calls it wouldn't be probable to waste time dwelling on notional situations. Sherlock glances towards the kitchen, looking at the tubes, beakers, Bunsen burner, and microscope on the table. She could always experiment with potassium permanganate and glycerol and truly gas everyone out of the flat. But for how ever amusing that would be to Sherlock, one glance at Joan told her that the Doctor wouldn't take a favorable shine to the idea. She let out a groan and stuffed her face into the cushions of the sofa and continued to rack her brain for something to do. Rubix Cube? No. God no.