You See But Do Not Observe

BORED

CHAPTER ONE : BORED

The gun fit comfortably in his hand, like an extension of his arm. It was easy to use. Pull the trigger, and he could blow up a vase, fatally wound a man, or in this case, make the pattern of a smile on the wall.

Bang! It went off again.

"Sherlock? Are you bored again?" John's voice echoed up the stairs loudly.

"Insufferably." Sherlock said.

"I got the groceries." John said then muttered, "Like you never do."

"I heard that. And if getting the groceries wasn't so god-forsakenly boring, I might consider getting them." Sherlock responded, and he shot at the wall again. The wallpaper was getting on his nerves.

"No you wouldn't. You're too lazy." John said.

Sherlock ignored him and fired another bullet.

"Do you mind? Mrs. Hudson is going to throw a fit." John said.

"I need my patches." Sherlock looked at him with what he hoped was a convincing expression.

"Cold turkey, remember?" John reminded him. "You burned all your patches."

"Why on earth did I do that?" Sherlock asked the ceiling.

"You were drunk. You had just solved the Hounds case and we went out to celebrate." John said.

"Why didn't you stop me?" Sherlock asked, infuriated at his own stupidity.

"Because I don't fancy living with a nicotine-addict." John replied.

"Please, John. I'm desperate. You have to help me." Sherlock said to him pleadingly.

John looked at Sherlock over his newspaper and folded it in half. "Fine. We're going out."

"To buy cigarettes?" Sherlock asked.

"Maybe." John said, tossing Sherlock his jacket and scarf.

Sherlock stood up, shrugging off his robe and slipping his arms through the jacket. "Very well." He tightened the scarf around his neck. "Let's go."

They walked down the stairs, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's complaints about massive holes in her wall. Sherlock walked out into the cold street, passing by a middle-aged man wearing a hat.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do. We are going to walk down the street, and you are going to try to find out as much about people as you possibly can." John said.

"No." Sherlock complained.

"Come on. It'll make you feel better." John pointed to a woman wearing absurdly high heels. "Her first."

Sherlock glanced over the woman, his eyes absorbing every minute detail.

"She's American for starters. She's trying to look the part of the big-city girl by wearing a ridiculous amount of makeup and those stilettoes, five or six inches at least. She also has a large dog, probably a running companion, and she plays tennis. I'd say she's from Virginia by her luggage and jacket, and she was not anticipating the confusion of the tube, so she is hailing a taxi instead." Sherlock said at rapid-fire speed.

"You never cease to impress. Now him." John gestured to a man walking past.

They made their way down the street, John pointing out two more people. Sherlock knew everything about them from the second he saw them. That was why he blocked most people out. He detested knowing about their silly little lives, so insignificant compared to the grand scheme of things.

"One more. Her." John craned his head toward a woman standing casually on the corner. Sherlock took one glance and turned back to John.

"Try to pick more interesting people, John." He said.

"What did you see?" John inquired.

"Nothing interesting." Sherlock replied.

"Tell me something."

Sherlock sighed, taking in the girl looking at the map. "She has just moved to London. Happy?"

John nodded, and they turned back around up the street.

The girl reading the map glanced up at them. She looked at the pair closely; the navy scarf, the black hair, the man named John. She folded the map and hitched her purse up on her shoulder. A small smile waltzed across her lips and she began to follow them.