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PLAYER
[journal]
enticements
[age]
21. (14/06/1989)
[previous characters]
N/A
CHARACTER
[series]
BBC's Sherlock
[full name]
Sherlock Holmes
[age]
Thirty-three (both physically and mentally)
[gender]
Male (both physically and mentally)
[canon point]
End of the Great Game (series finale)
[reference]
Here!
[personality]
'Sherlock' is a modern adaptation of the original canon book series, Sherlock Holmes. As such, Sherlock largely stays true to his original counterpart, the only real difference being that it's all set in the modern day. For instance, Sherlock is well up to date with all things technical, he uses nicotine patches instead of smoking a pipe and he watches 'crap telly' (which he didn't do before John came into his life, might I just add).
Anderson: According to someone, the murderer has the case. And we find it in the hands of our favourite psychopath.
Sherlock: I'm not a psychopath, Anderson, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.
- Sherlock corrects Anderson, 'A Study In Pink'.
Sherlock defines himself by using medical jargon. He calls himself a high functioning sociopath (a term no longer used, as it's now grouped in with ASPD - Antisocial Personality Disorder - which suggests [under my own speculation] that Sherlock is simply spouting labels to see if anyone catches him out. They didn't), which isn't necessarily a true diagnosis. It would be more accurate to say that he's either suffering from aspergers syndrome (given his acute obsession with puzzles, but not with people, and the way he watches others whilst feeling detached himself), Savant syndrome or even a slew of different definitions all rolling up into one thing to make Sherlock who he is. Suffice to say that it's not so simple as to place him into one category; people are much more complicated than that, and the diagnosis of sociopath is most likely something to throw people off of him, to stop them looking closely at something he doesn't want them to. It also gives him the benefit of being treated differently. If it is something like autism, he might still feel, but he'll be unsure at what his emotions actually mean; either way, he's unsure about his own feelings and is likely more comfortable ignoring them all together, which makes him come across as almost robotic in his actions and his 'emotions'.
Moriarty: If you don't stop prying, I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you.
Holmes: I have been reliably informed that I don't have one.
Moriarty: Oh, but we both know that's not quite true.
- Sherlock and Moriarty, The Great Game.
It seems that Sherlock has a limited emotional range. He feels excitement, pleasure and adrenaline, but it really takes John being tied up in explosives to see that somewhere in that cold, too-small heart, there's the smallest grasp at something close to companionship. Moriarty rightfully guesses that John is his heart - something Sherlock might not have seen before that moment, or at least, something he hadn't really considered before he'd been presented with the possibility. It's very telling that, as soon as Sherlock can, he strips John of his coat laced with explosives, adamantly asking if John's all right several times over - for someone so repeatedly level-headed in the midst of several crisis to show his nerves physically affecting him is quite a feat (if you watch closely, he starts waving his gun around in a fit of adrenaline, talking warily, and his hands are actually shaking!).
Sherlock: All right? Are you all right?
John: Sherlo- Sherlock, I'm fine.
- Sherlock panicking whilst he pulls John's coat off in 'The Great Game'.
His intelligence has always set him apart from everyone else (and I think that whilst this paragraph is mostly filled with speculation, it all works out until we meet the present day Sherlock Holmes). This means that he's always been regarded as 'odd', and it's a part he's literally fallen into. At a very young age, Sherlock learnt that he wasn't like everyone else, and he learnt that he had to make certain allowances to become like them. He learnt to fake smiles, he learnt that crying was an emotional response that lead others to feel sympathy for you, and he learnt that being intelligent wasn't necessarily a good thing. He built himself from the ground up, because that's what he had to do to be considered 'normal', and for a long while, he was content pretending. This is why he's so good at falling into someone else's shoes, faked or otherwise, because he's had a lot of practise pretending to be everyone other than himself. Being a genius certainly has its drawbacks, and to be a genius in the first place means that other things have to balance out the brilliance of the mind. For every excellent quality Sherlock has, he has a flaw to counter it.
Sherlock Holmes is nothing short of amazing. He has an eidetic memory, which is rare in of itself, and as a result of this, he can run through the various and erratic stages of his mind, often coming up with disjointed thoughts that eventually fit the big picture. He's always thinking, always above everyone else, always faster and always following something that seems improbable or even completely random to other people. To himself, his thoughts make perfect, logical sense, and he can't quite understand why people have such trouble keeping up with him. Because his mind is so much faster than the average person, he has to dumb himself down and explain things at every step, which is obviously irritating for him so he often ignores questions and concentrates on his own. It's obvious that he's not used to having a partner, and it does take him a while to get used to the idea of sharing thoughts aloud when he would usually just keep them to himself and start running off somewhere.
Being so intelligent can have some major problems, and Sherlock can't really cope at all when he's not got something to keep his brain working. He literally falls short, content to laze around on the couch wearing nothing other than his pyjamas until a new case falls into his lap. He won't go out searching for one, people have to come to him. He's been known to do a lot of strange things when cases are limited, such as experiment on decapitated heads, hit corpses with riding crops, put eyeballs in the microwave and he's even shot the wall, claiming that '(the wall) had it coming'. Whenever he's in one of his moods, it's usually best to leave him be, as no one can really get through to him. He sometimes goes for days on end without speaking a word, and it's also not a stretch to see him picking up his violin to cure his continuous boredom.
John: Who are you? What do you do?
Sherlock: I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world - I invented the job.
John: What does that mean?
Sherlock: It means when the police are out of their depth - which is always - they consult me.
- Their first proper conversation in the back of a taxi, 'A Study In Pink'.
Sherlock is arrogant. There's no denying it, he has a definite sense of self, and he knows that he's smarter than most everyone around him. He doesn't necessarily go out of his way to prove just how intelligent he is, but he does, when the moment calls for it, berate and belittle those who fail to grasp his line of reasoning. He's different from everyone else in an obvious way; he sees things others don't pick up on, he can make conclusions about people he's never even met from the size of their shoes and he can assume elaborate stories from looking at a simple mobile phone. Because of all of these abilities, he knows that he's unique and that he's brilliant - the police haven't got a single hope in hell of solving the crimes Sherlock solves, and especially not at the rate he's been able to solve them. Sherlock is more than aware of how much the police need him, and that only adds to his excessive ego. Because he sees and regards himself so highly, he can and often will come across as cold. Sherlock is, by default, a cold and is often likened to a machine in the way that he pushes people out of his equations and concentrates, instead, on the puzzle at the heart of it all. He doesn't care for the people involved, only the problem and how it might be solved, and he does this without feeling any empathy for whoever's caught up within the middle of his games. As a result of all of this, he can appear to be stand-offish and unemotional at things that would move even the hardened of criminals; Sherlock is interesting because he understands emotions on a clinical, text-book level, but he doesn't quite grasp their meaning or what they are. He understands that love is a powerful and dangerous emotion, plagued by dopamine and other endorphins released in the brain, and it often leads to some of the most heinous crimes he's ever had the pleasure of solving. He also understands that hatred, whilst considered a powerful emotion, usually lays dormant until something more motivational, such as love, becomes involved. People, to Sherlock, are complicated creatures, so he feels the need to de-construct them down into strong emotions, which are easier to understand than meddling with the ones in between.
John: So why is he doing this then? Playing this game with you? Do you think he wants to be caught?
Sherlock: I think he wants to be distracted.
John: Well, I hope you'll be very happy together.
Sherlock: ...sorry, what?
John: There are lives at stake, Sherlock! Actual human lives! Just so I know, do you care about that at all?
Sherlock: Would caring about them help to save them?
John: No.
Sherlock: Then I'll continue not to make that mistake.
John: And you find that easy, do you?
Sherlock: Yes, very. Is that news to you?
John: No... no.
Sherlock: ... I've disappointed you.
John: It's good. It's a good deduction, yes.
Sherlock: Don't make people into heroes, John: heroes don't exist, and if they did I wouldn't be one of them.
- One of John and Sherlock's first real arguments from 'The Great Game'.
On a personal level, Sherlock is difficult. He's difficult to get to know, he's difficult to talk to, he's difficult to read and he's most definitely difficult to understand. He has no sense of depravity, he believes that everything in the flat is his to use as he pleases (including John's things, such as his laptop and his phone) and he hasn't quite grasped the concept of sharing. He doesn't go out of his way for anyone other than himself, he has no qualms with finishing off the milk and then letting John find out that morning that it's gone, he has no problems with making John go to the local supermarket to get their shopping. He's also not adverse to lying back and letting John bring said shopping up the stairs, through the flat, and then stack it into the kitchen all on his own either. He is, as Mycroft puts it, hellish to live with; he has no real sleeping pattern to speak of, he eats very rarely, he's been known to pick his violin up at three in the morning and scrape against the strings in annoyance, and most importantly, he's been known to do drugs.
Lestrade: And I didn't break into your flat.
Sherlock: Well, what do you call this, then?!
Lestrade: It's a drugs bust!
John: Seriously? This guy? A junkie? Have you met him?
Sherlock: John.
John: I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, and you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational.
Sherlock: John, you probably want to shut up. Now.
John: Yeah, but come on. [Eyes Sherlock] No.
Sherlock: What?
John: You?
Sherlock: Shut up! [Turns to Lestrade] I'm not your sniffer dog.
Lestrade: No, Anderson's my sniffer dog.
Sherlock: Wh- And-? Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?!
Anderson: Oh, I volunteered.
Lestrade: They all did. They're not, strictly speaking, on the drugs squad, but they're very keen.
- Sherlock, John and Lestrade talking about Sherlock's habits, 'A Study In Pink'.
Sherlock: Oh, so, what, you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?
Lestrade: It stops being pretend if they find anything.
Sherlock: I am clean.
Lestrade: Is your flat? All of it?
Sherlock: I don't even smoke.
- Sherlock and Lestrade continued, 'A Study In Pink'.
Sherlock has had past experience with the use of narcotics. Going by the original canon, Sherlock likely injected cocaine. Whilst cocaine isn't really injected much at all in this day and age, have we ever really known Sherlock to go by the norm of society? It largely depends on the type of high he's searching for, and injected cocaine gives him everything he wants (the high, the adrenaline - though instead of making him rush around, it gears his brain up so that he can think as he does on a case. It's been stated that he feels as though his mind rots when it's left to think on nothing, so cocaine is a way to alleviate that symptom). It also correlates to his thrill-seeking behaviour; those that have been addicted to cocaine show more signs of seeking out pleasure (like we see with Sherlock quite often), and one is never really rid of the effects of cocaine. Because of the high it gave the brain, it remembers and it wants that high back - this is why, after withdrawing from cocaine, people often go back to the drug, and why Lestrade doesn't necessarily believe that Sherlock's clean. It should also be noted that when Sherlock steers the conversation from his flat being cleaned, he shows obvious signs of avoidance - he refuses to answer the question, and instead, pushes it into another direction entirely.
Sherlock Holmes, in conclusion is a man that few would like to deal with. He's irritating, he's unusual, he's rude, he's arrogant and he's self-obsessed. But he's also brilliant, and when pushed, he can be shockingly loyal - especially to John, which is odd given Sherlock's general outlook on people. Their friendship is unlikely, insane, nonsensical and completely out of this world. And that's why it suits them both down to the ground.
[orientation]
Sherlock Holmes is asexual. He has never really been interested in sex as a rule - he's more mentally stimulated than he is physically. Sex to him, is more like an intelligent form of banter, debate or a case that is as impossible as one can be. He has never shown a particular interest in either sex, and if it is an interest that he shows, it is because of their intelligence rather than their physical attributes. Sherlock has an almost disdain for the fairer sex, actively manipulating his way into getting what he wants by using fake charm and fake smiles.
Sherlock himself has stated that he finds women to be completely out of his range of intrigue (by saying 'not my area' - to him, they are complex creatures that he doesn't have the time to fathom. It wouldn't be far fetched to assume that Sherlock Holmes is somewhat sexist, and it occasionally shows through when he is talking with women who he believes are below his level of intelligence (which is most, if not all of them). But then, he's also keen to talk to men who are idiotic too, so perhaps he believes that idiocy knows no sex/
Either way, Sherlock remains uninterested in sex, be it from any gender, because he's much more taken by puzzles and intriguing developments.
[appearance]
The first thing you notice about Sherlock Holmes are his eyes. They're a gorgeous bright blue with flecks of green - but there's no warmth behind them. He stares with a cold and calculating gaze, the sociopathic side of him giving no emotion away whatsoever (largely because he has none to speak of). Just like all sociopaths, Sherlock has the famous sociopathic stare; he blinks less than most other people, because he's constantly watching for any emotional clues that might be given away via facial expression or body language. He doesn't understand the emotion in peoples voice, nor does he understand the emotional cues people give off when waiting for sympathy. He has to rely on those quick and clever eyes of his, and he relies on them very heavily.
He has black, messy hair and his face isn't exactly the conventional 'handsome'. He is, actually, odd-looking by anyone's standards, and yet, he grows on you the more you see him. He wears overly fashionable clothes, making a point to look his best with long swish coats and expensive suits. To Sherlock, image is everything. He needs to look professional when meeting new people, and he needs to look ordinary enough to blend in and be able to hide in plain sight.
[wish]
Sherlock has a mod-approved rain check!
[requested house]
IKI HOUSEHOLD (if only because Sherlock truly is a genius and would offer plenty of debate!)
[misc notes]
The first thing to note about Sherlock Holmes is his intelligence. There's a reason he's known as the best literary figure throughout history; his logical mind is nothing to scoff at. He has the power to recall images without a single fault, he can recall words and how they're pronounced whilst simultaneously running through a dictionary in several different languages and he can link up logical facts from obvious clues scattered around the crime scene, and this is all within the confines of his own mind. Furthermore, he has the ability to observe things with an obsessive amount of detail; for instance, he's able to see and understand whether someone's left handed by taking a quick sweeping glance through their apartment, he can determine whether someone is lying by a series of mental cues he's trained himself to take notice of, and he can catch people out by listening to the phrases they've chosen to use.
Sherlock holds the ability to slip into people's personalities as though they were a new wardrobe. He can change his mannerisms completely, the name Sherlock Holmes completely disappears in lieu of this new character. It's definitely a skill worth mentioning, as he really does change everything about him, from the way that he walks to the formidable air that seems to follow his every step. He can push out certain believable flaws, allowing him to act as though he's awkward or uncomfortable. He constructs a storyline within his head based upon the people he's talking with, and he can create everything up from the ground, such as his characters likes and dislikes, little quirks and the things that make them enthusiastic. He can (and will) drop these masks without any notice, becoming his stoic and expressionless self once he holds the information he set out to gain.
He has extremely steady hands, thanks to the more scientific side of Sherlock. He needs his hands to be as steady as possible, especially when working with dangerous chemicals and using pipettes to drop an exact amount of liquid into a certain other chemical. As a result of meticulously forcing his hands to be steady, when holding a gun, his aim is near perfect. He's also studied a special type of martial arts called 'Bartitsu'. The general idea is that you assess your enemies strengths and use them against them, whilst simultaneously using the element of surprise.
Sherlock Holmes has always had a gift with music. When he was a child, he picked up the violin and had found that playing was second nature to him; he's a modern day virtuoso, able to play anything by ear with skilled musicians fingers. The most interesting thing about Sherlock is that he could hear something playing in the background and only subconsciously take it in, and the next time he picks his violin up, he could be playing it with intricate additions of his own.
Not only can Sherlock use the language of music, he's very apt at multiple languages, though he's mostly keen and more accurate on the languages spoken in Europe.
At the end of his extensive list of amazing abilities is his innate knowledge of all things technical. He can touch type, he can somehow use the phone networks to text an entire room of people, and he's intelligent enough to be able to crack computer passwords with ease.
SAMPLES
[sample 1#]
[prose log]
[OOC note: This isn't necessarily something that is canon. This was based on an idea, where John is kidnapped by a murderer/rapist, and it has been RPed out privately between myself and a friend. Considering this was written no more than three weeks ago, I think it's one of the more up to date pieces of writing I've written, and I feel it works for this game and its premise. I hope that's okay.]
It was interesting the way time seemed to slow as Sherlock eyed every breath John struggled to take; shallow and cold, his breath was fogging up in gentle, short bursts. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it would be so easy to put him out of his misery. To take his hand, link their fingers together and slam the knife down into his chest. To end the pain firing from each nerve every time he sucked in a faint breath. To be merciful.
But it was an almost unconscious thought, one that Sherlock didn't listen to - there was so much here, locked inside that stupidly idiotic brain of his - smart and wonderful and normal and excellent. Too much to go to waste on a night like that one. Too much to end so quickly and bluntly.
Sherlock wasn't done with John. Sherlock won't ever be done with John. And he knew that night that no one else was dying, because John would have the best medical team in the whole of London patching him together. There was something to be said for being unemotional; moments like these, where Sherlock imagined emotions would run riot kept him calm and with enough thought capacity to consider his next move. John needed to feel the calm Sherlock felt; it was cold, numb, normal. He could remember noticing the faint burning of his heart, the way it hammered against his ribcage for recognition. Recognition Sherlock didn't know how to give.
He couldn't let his thoughts roam, but if he could, he knew that he'd be thinking about what he'd said. Moriarty. It might have clicked just then, if he wasn't too busy trying to keep his thoughts on anyone, everyone but Moriarty. John was more important than him, at least for that moment. He pushed his mind towards being helpful, bringing up every medical text he'd ever read in every other book, pages of diagrams flashed up before his mind's eye and then disappeared again with their irrelevance, until finally, he settled on something helpful.
He kept his hand pinned down upon John's chest, holding his weight, swallowing thickly. He couldn't move, because movement meant more blood cooling at the base of his hand. Eyes narrowed and he stared unblinkingly at John and at that smile. He felt himself smile in return, a silent moment of spoken reassurance held between two friends - because now, thinking back, Sherlock's sure that that's what John is.
But then John began to cough, with blood spattering onto the floor next to Sherlock, and it was a moment cold horror, trickling down through his veins.
It was noted several times over in his head, 'he has internal bleeding'. It was repeated and repeated and repeated until the words felt like they'd lost all meaning. Even then, it went round and round, forcing Sherlock to realise that could do nothing other than sit and watch as his friend lapsed into a state of unconsciousness. Leaving Sherlock to be the responsible one. Why was it so easy to relieve someone of their life, but so difficult to ensure someone keep theirs?
His thoughts were interrupted by sirens. Sirens that were loud and clear, and they ripped through the brutal silence of the night easily. There should be more of a disturbance, Sherlock thought, something loud with people panicking and glasses breaking, because this was anything but ordinary. Because John being unconscious wasn't ordinary. But nothing had changed. Nothing would change. Everything would continue to be the same whether John takes another breath or not. That might be what made him boil with hatred. Nothing changing. Like nothing had happened. Like John hadn't been stabbed, like blood wasn't pooling out of his mouth, like stray drops weren't falling from the corners of his lips, with everything much too red and everything covered in wet and thick crimson.
The paramedics were loud. They shouted commands, and Sherlock had to be pulled back from John as his hands dripped with his blood. They thought he'd stabbed him, but Sherlock wasted no time in setting them straight. The flashing lights were distracting, and Sherlock was thinking thinking thinking, loud repetitive alarms be damned. He watched detachedly as several men rushed around and eventually dragged John onto a stretcher. He watched as they pushed him into the back of the ambulance, and Sherlock instantly followed them on, sitting down beside John despite the anxious stare he received from every member of the emergency aid team.
The silence wasn't awkward to him. It was just silence. How could a silence be anything other than a deafening void of sound?
"Royal Brompton," he said, and he wouldn't be told any differently. The Royal Brompton in Harefield NHS is the only hospital Sherlock would allow John to be sent to, even if it was further.
He was stable. Sherlock couldn't stop watching John and his heart monitor with a gaze that was completely unwavering.
[sample 2#]
[link]
Romance Dressingroom.
[journal]
enticements
[age]
21. (14/06/1989)
[previous characters]
N/A
CHARACTER
[series]
BBC's Sherlock
[full name]
Sherlock Holmes
[age]
Thirty-three (both physically and mentally)
[gender]
Male (both physically and mentally)
[canon point]
End of the Great Game (series finale)
[reference]
Here!
[personality]
'Sherlock' is a modern adaptation of the original canon book series, Sherlock Holmes. As such, Sherlock largely stays true to his original counterpart, the only real difference being that it's all set in the modern day. For instance, Sherlock is well up to date with all things technical, he uses nicotine patches instead of smoking a pipe and he watches 'crap telly' (which he didn't do before John came into his life, might I just add).
Anderson: According to someone, the murderer has the case. And we find it in the hands of our favourite psychopath.
Sherlock: I'm not a psychopath, Anderson, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.
- Sherlock corrects Anderson, 'A Study In Pink'.
Sherlock defines himself by using medical jargon. He calls himself a high functioning sociopath (a term no longer used, as it's now grouped in with ASPD - Antisocial Personality Disorder - which suggests [under my own speculation] that Sherlock is simply spouting labels to see if anyone catches him out. They didn't), which isn't necessarily a true diagnosis. It would be more accurate to say that he's either suffering from aspergers syndrome (given his acute obsession with puzzles, but not with people, and the way he watches others whilst feeling detached himself), Savant syndrome or even a slew of different definitions all rolling up into one thing to make Sherlock who he is. Suffice to say that it's not so simple as to place him into one category; people are much more complicated than that, and the diagnosis of sociopath is most likely something to throw people off of him, to stop them looking closely at something he doesn't want them to. It also gives him the benefit of being treated differently. If it is something like autism, he might still feel, but he'll be unsure at what his emotions actually mean; either way, he's unsure about his own feelings and is likely more comfortable ignoring them all together, which makes him come across as almost robotic in his actions and his 'emotions'.
Moriarty: If you don't stop prying, I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you.
Holmes: I have been reliably informed that I don't have one.
Moriarty: Oh, but we both know that's not quite true.
- Sherlock and Moriarty, The Great Game.
It seems that Sherlock has a limited emotional range. He feels excitement, pleasure and adrenaline, but it really takes John being tied up in explosives to see that somewhere in that cold, too-small heart, there's the smallest grasp at something close to companionship. Moriarty rightfully guesses that John is his heart - something Sherlock might not have seen before that moment, or at least, something he hadn't really considered before he'd been presented with the possibility. It's very telling that, as soon as Sherlock can, he strips John of his coat laced with explosives, adamantly asking if John's all right several times over - for someone so repeatedly level-headed in the midst of several crisis to show his nerves physically affecting him is quite a feat (if you watch closely, he starts waving his gun around in a fit of adrenaline, talking warily, and his hands are actually shaking!).
Sherlock: All right? Are you all right?
John: Sherlo- Sherlock, I'm fine.
- Sherlock panicking whilst he pulls John's coat off in 'The Great Game'.
His intelligence has always set him apart from everyone else (and I think that whilst this paragraph is mostly filled with speculation, it all works out until we meet the present day Sherlock Holmes). This means that he's always been regarded as 'odd', and it's a part he's literally fallen into. At a very young age, Sherlock learnt that he wasn't like everyone else, and he learnt that he had to make certain allowances to become like them. He learnt to fake smiles, he learnt that crying was an emotional response that lead others to feel sympathy for you, and he learnt that being intelligent wasn't necessarily a good thing. He built himself from the ground up, because that's what he had to do to be considered 'normal', and for a long while, he was content pretending. This is why he's so good at falling into someone else's shoes, faked or otherwise, because he's had a lot of practise pretending to be everyone other than himself. Being a genius certainly has its drawbacks, and to be a genius in the first place means that other things have to balance out the brilliance of the mind. For every excellent quality Sherlock has, he has a flaw to counter it.
Sherlock Holmes is nothing short of amazing. He has an eidetic memory, which is rare in of itself, and as a result of this, he can run through the various and erratic stages of his mind, often coming up with disjointed thoughts that eventually fit the big picture. He's always thinking, always above everyone else, always faster and always following something that seems improbable or even completely random to other people. To himself, his thoughts make perfect, logical sense, and he can't quite understand why people have such trouble keeping up with him. Because his mind is so much faster than the average person, he has to dumb himself down and explain things at every step, which is obviously irritating for him so he often ignores questions and concentrates on his own. It's obvious that he's not used to having a partner, and it does take him a while to get used to the idea of sharing thoughts aloud when he would usually just keep them to himself and start running off somewhere.
Being so intelligent can have some major problems, and Sherlock can't really cope at all when he's not got something to keep his brain working. He literally falls short, content to laze around on the couch wearing nothing other than his pyjamas until a new case falls into his lap. He won't go out searching for one, people have to come to him. He's been known to do a lot of strange things when cases are limited, such as experiment on decapitated heads, hit corpses with riding crops, put eyeballs in the microwave and he's even shot the wall, claiming that '(the wall) had it coming'. Whenever he's in one of his moods, it's usually best to leave him be, as no one can really get through to him. He sometimes goes for days on end without speaking a word, and it's also not a stretch to see him picking up his violin to cure his continuous boredom.
John: Who are you? What do you do?
Sherlock: I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world - I invented the job.
John: What does that mean?
Sherlock: It means when the police are out of their depth - which is always - they consult me.
- Their first proper conversation in the back of a taxi, 'A Study In Pink'.
Sherlock is arrogant. There's no denying it, he has a definite sense of self, and he knows that he's smarter than most everyone around him. He doesn't necessarily go out of his way to prove just how intelligent he is, but he does, when the moment calls for it, berate and belittle those who fail to grasp his line of reasoning. He's different from everyone else in an obvious way; he sees things others don't pick up on, he can make conclusions about people he's never even met from the size of their shoes and he can assume elaborate stories from looking at a simple mobile phone. Because of all of these abilities, he knows that he's unique and that he's brilliant - the police haven't got a single hope in hell of solving the crimes Sherlock solves, and especially not at the rate he's been able to solve them. Sherlock is more than aware of how much the police need him, and that only adds to his excessive ego. Because he sees and regards himself so highly, he can and often will come across as cold. Sherlock is, by default, a cold and is often likened to a machine in the way that he pushes people out of his equations and concentrates, instead, on the puzzle at the heart of it all. He doesn't care for the people involved, only the problem and how it might be solved, and he does this without feeling any empathy for whoever's caught up within the middle of his games. As a result of all of this, he can appear to be stand-offish and unemotional at things that would move even the hardened of criminals; Sherlock is interesting because he understands emotions on a clinical, text-book level, but he doesn't quite grasp their meaning or what they are. He understands that love is a powerful and dangerous emotion, plagued by dopamine and other endorphins released in the brain, and it often leads to some of the most heinous crimes he's ever had the pleasure of solving. He also understands that hatred, whilst considered a powerful emotion, usually lays dormant until something more motivational, such as love, becomes involved. People, to Sherlock, are complicated creatures, so he feels the need to de-construct them down into strong emotions, which are easier to understand than meddling with the ones in between.
John: So why is he doing this then? Playing this game with you? Do you think he wants to be caught?
Sherlock: I think he wants to be distracted.
John: Well, I hope you'll be very happy together.
Sherlock: ...sorry, what?
John: There are lives at stake, Sherlock! Actual human lives! Just so I know, do you care about that at all?
Sherlock: Would caring about them help to save them?
John: No.
Sherlock: Then I'll continue not to make that mistake.
John: And you find that easy, do you?
Sherlock: Yes, very. Is that news to you?
John: No... no.
Sherlock: ... I've disappointed you.
John: It's good. It's a good deduction, yes.
Sherlock: Don't make people into heroes, John: heroes don't exist, and if they did I wouldn't be one of them.
- One of John and Sherlock's first real arguments from 'The Great Game'.
On a personal level, Sherlock is difficult. He's difficult to get to know, he's difficult to talk to, he's difficult to read and he's most definitely difficult to understand. He has no sense of depravity, he believes that everything in the flat is his to use as he pleases (including John's things, such as his laptop and his phone) and he hasn't quite grasped the concept of sharing. He doesn't go out of his way for anyone other than himself, he has no qualms with finishing off the milk and then letting John find out that morning that it's gone, he has no problems with making John go to the local supermarket to get their shopping. He's also not adverse to lying back and letting John bring said shopping up the stairs, through the flat, and then stack it into the kitchen all on his own either. He is, as Mycroft puts it, hellish to live with; he has no real sleeping pattern to speak of, he eats very rarely, he's been known to pick his violin up at three in the morning and scrape against the strings in annoyance, and most importantly, he's been known to do drugs.
Lestrade: And I didn't break into your flat.
Sherlock: Well, what do you call this, then?!
Lestrade: It's a drugs bust!
John: Seriously? This guy? A junkie? Have you met him?
Sherlock: John.
John: I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, and you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational.
Sherlock: John, you probably want to shut up. Now.
John: Yeah, but come on. [Eyes Sherlock] No.
Sherlock: What?
John: You?
Sherlock: Shut up! [Turns to Lestrade] I'm not your sniffer dog.
Lestrade: No, Anderson's my sniffer dog.
Sherlock: Wh- And-? Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?!
Anderson: Oh, I volunteered.
Lestrade: They all did. They're not, strictly speaking, on the drugs squad, but they're very keen.
- Sherlock, John and Lestrade talking about Sherlock's habits, 'A Study In Pink'.
Sherlock: Oh, so, what, you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?
Lestrade: It stops being pretend if they find anything.
Sherlock: I am clean.
Lestrade: Is your flat? All of it?
Sherlock: I don't even smoke.
- Sherlock and Lestrade continued, 'A Study In Pink'.
Sherlock has had past experience with the use of narcotics. Going by the original canon, Sherlock likely injected cocaine. Whilst cocaine isn't really injected much at all in this day and age, have we ever really known Sherlock to go by the norm of society? It largely depends on the type of high he's searching for, and injected cocaine gives him everything he wants (the high, the adrenaline - though instead of making him rush around, it gears his brain up so that he can think as he does on a case. It's been stated that he feels as though his mind rots when it's left to think on nothing, so cocaine is a way to alleviate that symptom). It also correlates to his thrill-seeking behaviour; those that have been addicted to cocaine show more signs of seeking out pleasure (like we see with Sherlock quite often), and one is never really rid of the effects of cocaine. Because of the high it gave the brain, it remembers and it wants that high back - this is why, after withdrawing from cocaine, people often go back to the drug, and why Lestrade doesn't necessarily believe that Sherlock's clean. It should also be noted that when Sherlock steers the conversation from his flat being cleaned, he shows obvious signs of avoidance - he refuses to answer the question, and instead, pushes it into another direction entirely.
Sherlock Holmes, in conclusion is a man that few would like to deal with. He's irritating, he's unusual, he's rude, he's arrogant and he's self-obsessed. But he's also brilliant, and when pushed, he can be shockingly loyal - especially to John, which is odd given Sherlock's general outlook on people. Their friendship is unlikely, insane, nonsensical and completely out of this world. And that's why it suits them both down to the ground.
[orientation]
Sherlock Holmes is asexual. He has never really been interested in sex as a rule - he's more mentally stimulated than he is physically. Sex to him, is more like an intelligent form of banter, debate or a case that is as impossible as one can be. He has never shown a particular interest in either sex, and if it is an interest that he shows, it is because of their intelligence rather than their physical attributes. Sherlock has an almost disdain for the fairer sex, actively manipulating his way into getting what he wants by using fake charm and fake smiles.
Sherlock himself has stated that he finds women to be completely out of his range of intrigue (by saying 'not my area' - to him, they are complex creatures that he doesn't have the time to fathom. It wouldn't be far fetched to assume that Sherlock Holmes is somewhat sexist, and it occasionally shows through when he is talking with women who he believes are below his level of intelligence (which is most, if not all of them). But then, he's also keen to talk to men who are idiotic too, so perhaps he believes that idiocy knows no sex/
Either way, Sherlock remains uninterested in sex, be it from any gender, because he's much more taken by puzzles and intriguing developments.
[appearance]
The first thing you notice about Sherlock Holmes are his eyes. They're a gorgeous bright blue with flecks of green - but there's no warmth behind them. He stares with a cold and calculating gaze, the sociopathic side of him giving no emotion away whatsoever (largely because he has none to speak of). Just like all sociopaths, Sherlock has the famous sociopathic stare; he blinks less than most other people, because he's constantly watching for any emotional clues that might be given away via facial expression or body language. He doesn't understand the emotion in peoples voice, nor does he understand the emotional cues people give off when waiting for sympathy. He has to rely on those quick and clever eyes of his, and he relies on them very heavily.
He has black, messy hair and his face isn't exactly the conventional 'handsome'. He is, actually, odd-looking by anyone's standards, and yet, he grows on you the more you see him. He wears overly fashionable clothes, making a point to look his best with long swish coats and expensive suits. To Sherlock, image is everything. He needs to look professional when meeting new people, and he needs to look ordinary enough to blend in and be able to hide in plain sight.
[wish]
Sherlock has a mod-approved rain check!
[requested house]
IKI HOUSEHOLD (if only because Sherlock truly is a genius and would offer plenty of debate!)
[misc notes]
The first thing to note about Sherlock Holmes is his intelligence. There's a reason he's known as the best literary figure throughout history; his logical mind is nothing to scoff at. He has the power to recall images without a single fault, he can recall words and how they're pronounced whilst simultaneously running through a dictionary in several different languages and he can link up logical facts from obvious clues scattered around the crime scene, and this is all within the confines of his own mind. Furthermore, he has the ability to observe things with an obsessive amount of detail; for instance, he's able to see and understand whether someone's left handed by taking a quick sweeping glance through their apartment, he can determine whether someone is lying by a series of mental cues he's trained himself to take notice of, and he can catch people out by listening to the phrases they've chosen to use.
Sherlock holds the ability to slip into people's personalities as though they were a new wardrobe. He can change his mannerisms completely, the name Sherlock Holmes completely disappears in lieu of this new character. It's definitely a skill worth mentioning, as he really does change everything about him, from the way that he walks to the formidable air that seems to follow his every step. He can push out certain believable flaws, allowing him to act as though he's awkward or uncomfortable. He constructs a storyline within his head based upon the people he's talking with, and he can create everything up from the ground, such as his characters likes and dislikes, little quirks and the things that make them enthusiastic. He can (and will) drop these masks without any notice, becoming his stoic and expressionless self once he holds the information he set out to gain.
He has extremely steady hands, thanks to the more scientific side of Sherlock. He needs his hands to be as steady as possible, especially when working with dangerous chemicals and using pipettes to drop an exact amount of liquid into a certain other chemical. As a result of meticulously forcing his hands to be steady, when holding a gun, his aim is near perfect. He's also studied a special type of martial arts called 'Bartitsu'. The general idea is that you assess your enemies strengths and use them against them, whilst simultaneously using the element of surprise.
Sherlock Holmes has always had a gift with music. When he was a child, he picked up the violin and had found that playing was second nature to him; he's a modern day virtuoso, able to play anything by ear with skilled musicians fingers. The most interesting thing about Sherlock is that he could hear something playing in the background and only subconsciously take it in, and the next time he picks his violin up, he could be playing it with intricate additions of his own.
Not only can Sherlock use the language of music, he's very apt at multiple languages, though he's mostly keen and more accurate on the languages spoken in Europe.
At the end of his extensive list of amazing abilities is his innate knowledge of all things technical. He can touch type, he can somehow use the phone networks to text an entire room of people, and he's intelligent enough to be able to crack computer passwords with ease.
SAMPLES
[sample 1#]
[prose log]
[OOC note: This isn't necessarily something that is canon. This was based on an idea, where John is kidnapped by a murderer/rapist, and it has been RPed out privately between myself and a friend. Considering this was written no more than three weeks ago, I think it's one of the more up to date pieces of writing I've written, and I feel it works for this game and its premise. I hope that's okay.]
It was interesting the way time seemed to slow as Sherlock eyed every breath John struggled to take; shallow and cold, his breath was fogging up in gentle, short bursts. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it would be so easy to put him out of his misery. To take his hand, link their fingers together and slam the knife down into his chest. To end the pain firing from each nerve every time he sucked in a faint breath. To be merciful.
But it was an almost unconscious thought, one that Sherlock didn't listen to - there was so much here, locked inside that stupidly idiotic brain of his - smart and wonderful and normal and excellent. Too much to go to waste on a night like that one. Too much to end so quickly and bluntly.
Sherlock wasn't done with John. Sherlock won't ever be done with John. And he knew that night that no one else was dying, because John would have the best medical team in the whole of London patching him together. There was something to be said for being unemotional; moments like these, where Sherlock imagined emotions would run riot kept him calm and with enough thought capacity to consider his next move. John needed to feel the calm Sherlock felt; it was cold, numb, normal. He could remember noticing the faint burning of his heart, the way it hammered against his ribcage for recognition. Recognition Sherlock didn't know how to give.
He couldn't let his thoughts roam, but if he could, he knew that he'd be thinking about what he'd said. Moriarty. It might have clicked just then, if he wasn't too busy trying to keep his thoughts on anyone, everyone but Moriarty. John was more important than him, at least for that moment. He pushed his mind towards being helpful, bringing up every medical text he'd ever read in every other book, pages of diagrams flashed up before his mind's eye and then disappeared again with their irrelevance, until finally, he settled on something helpful.
He kept his hand pinned down upon John's chest, holding his weight, swallowing thickly. He couldn't move, because movement meant more blood cooling at the base of his hand. Eyes narrowed and he stared unblinkingly at John and at that smile. He felt himself smile in return, a silent moment of spoken reassurance held between two friends - because now, thinking back, Sherlock's sure that that's what John is.
But then John began to cough, with blood spattering onto the floor next to Sherlock, and it was a moment cold horror, trickling down through his veins.
It was noted several times over in his head, 'he has internal bleeding'. It was repeated and repeated and repeated until the words felt like they'd lost all meaning. Even then, it went round and round, forcing Sherlock to realise that could do nothing other than sit and watch as his friend lapsed into a state of unconsciousness. Leaving Sherlock to be the responsible one. Why was it so easy to relieve someone of their life, but so difficult to ensure someone keep theirs?
His thoughts were interrupted by sirens. Sirens that were loud and clear, and they ripped through the brutal silence of the night easily. There should be more of a disturbance, Sherlock thought, something loud with people panicking and glasses breaking, because this was anything but ordinary. Because John being unconscious wasn't ordinary. But nothing had changed. Nothing would change. Everything would continue to be the same whether John takes another breath or not. That might be what made him boil with hatred. Nothing changing. Like nothing had happened. Like John hadn't been stabbed, like blood wasn't pooling out of his mouth, like stray drops weren't falling from the corners of his lips, with everything much too red and everything covered in wet and thick crimson.
The paramedics were loud. They shouted commands, and Sherlock had to be pulled back from John as his hands dripped with his blood. They thought he'd stabbed him, but Sherlock wasted no time in setting them straight. The flashing lights were distracting, and Sherlock was thinking thinking thinking, loud repetitive alarms be damned. He watched detachedly as several men rushed around and eventually dragged John onto a stretcher. He watched as they pushed him into the back of the ambulance, and Sherlock instantly followed them on, sitting down beside John despite the anxious stare he received from every member of the emergency aid team.
The silence wasn't awkward to him. It was just silence. How could a silence be anything other than a deafening void of sound?
"Royal Brompton," he said, and he wouldn't be told any differently. The Royal Brompton in Harefield NHS is the only hospital Sherlock would allow John to be sent to, even if it was further.
He was stable. Sherlock couldn't stop watching John and his heart monitor with a gaze that was completely unwavering.
[sample 2#]
[link]
Romance Dressingroom.