Brilliance

Chapter 2

Photo above is what I imagined as Sherlock's house, carry on.

"I'm a puppet on a string,
Tracy island,
Time travelling diamond,
Could've shaped heartaches,
Come to find ya,
Fall in some velvet morning
Years too la-"

The music stopped abruptly as Sherlock shut off his six o'clock alarm and slowly got out of bed. He hadn't slept much the previous night; too much to think about.

Rubbing his eyes, Sherlock made his way to the bathroom and turned on the shower as he did every morning. He stared into the mirror, and his reflection stared back, black curls hung messily around his pale face and the bags under his eyes stood out far too much for his liking. Sherlock constantly thought about his faults; he hated the way his cheekbones dominated the rest of his features, how his body looked even skinnier paired with his height, how his usually green eyes could change to a pale blue, then to a golden-brown and back to green again-- they were a bright turquoise this morning-- but most of all, Sherlock hated the shimmering white scars on his forearms and thighs left there from his battle with depression as a teenager. He shook away those horrid memories and got undressed. Stepping into the shower, the hot water immediately relaxed his muscles and woke him up at the same time. But it ended as soon as it had started when the water decided to cut off completely. From that point on, he knew it was going to be a dreadfully long day.

✖

After Sherlock had attempted to get the rest of the soap out of his hair, and doing so quite unsuccessfully, he decided it was time to arrange a meeting with Mr. Watson. He strode up the spiralling staircase and into his study. He found his laptop at exactly the same place he had left it the previous evening, and began searching through the multiple comments left on the ad for his new assistant. Many of them were left from women in their early 20's telling how much they "loved his writing" and "would be honoured if he considered them", but Sherlock had already set his mind to a particular candidate; if all went well with John Watson, maybe he wouldn't care so much about Mrs. Hudson's retirement. Yes, she was a family friend, but she was a bit too motherly at times and god knows Sherlock already had enough mothering from Mrs. Holmes. He scrolled through dozens and dozens of applicants, not really paying much attention to them, and finally found John's comment. He dialled the number in front of him on his mobile and waited impatiently as it rang.

"Hello, Mr. Watson?" Sherlock spoke when he heard the click of the phone being answered.

"Speaking, and who is this?" John's voice was soft, but his tone was slightly edgy.

"Sherlock Holmes," he began, "I'm calling to ask about your application for a position with me and I'd like to arrange an interview if that would be alri-"

"Look, if this is some bloody joke, I don't have time for it." John snapped, cutting Sherlock off in the process.

"Mr. Watson, I assure you this isn't a joke." Sherlock was losing his patience.

"Oh... Er... Alright..." John was suddenly flustered and stuttering when a loud crash sounded in the background.

"Is this a bad time?" Sherlock asked.

"No no, not at all, Mr. Holmes!" John almost yelled, "Um, do you think we could arrange that interview for--er--now?" There was another crash.

"Well, I have quite a bit to do this morning," Sherlock lied, "But should I get a period of availability, I'll let you know. Do you have a cellphone? I prefer texting."

"Oh, um yeah... Do you have somewhere to write it down?"

"I'm fairly certain I can remember." Sherlock said smugly and stored John's number in his mind palace.

The call ended and Sherlock had his doubts. Sure, John seemed like a nice enough bloke, but he also seemed tense and on edge during that phone call. He's probably a fan, Sherlock thought, maybe he was just nervous because he was talking to you. That theory would have to suffice for now, meanwhile, Sherlock had to continue his writing.