An Observation

Murder Aficionado

Note:
Do know that all chapters are automatically recognised to be in third-persons view, unless stated otherwise in the beginning of any chapter.

Thank you for appreciating my short writing.

Your author,
Q

~ ~ ~

Sherlock paced the room with an ever-existing sense of emergency. He steepled the tips of his fingers to his prominent chin while carrying the look of pure concentration - and as he paced, you can hear the crisp sounds of tough leather shoes tapping away against the dull oak floors. Having just bounded off the old couch as if his bottom had been set on fire, he immediately started pacing thereafter. Goodness knows for whatever reason too. His hair was unkempt, with the right side of his hair standing up like the quills of a porcupine and the left, drooping and seemingly forlorn. With his bath robe billowing behind him, he continued his rather annoying habit of pacing, which had the blasted effect of getting anyone to subconsciously poise themselves precariously on the edge of their seats, causing for a stiff spine and an unhealthy blood stem in the legs.

John, whom was sitting right across from Sherlock's pacing, let the newspaper flop to reveal his irritated expression.

"God Sherlock, would you please stop with the pacing? It's painful to hear your elephant footsteps."

The sharp corners of his cupid's bow lips curl a little.

"Can't bear the constant reminder of my presence?"

"What? Look, I was- alright, no. No. Just- let me guess. You're bored."

"THREE WEEKS, JOHN."

John set aside his newspaper in an attempt to show that he was taking this seriously now. Sherlock was getting out of order, and heck, that will get John's full and undivided attention any day. John sat up a little straighter, sporting a stiff posture and pursing his lips.

"Why, bloody hell, what am I supposed to do? You received tons of cases from Lestrade, and picked up none of them! Then now you turn to me, telling me you're bored- "

"THOSE WERE BABY GAMES, JOHN. I NEED THRILLING CASES. EXCITING ONES. I. NEED. MURDER."

"OH FOR GOD'S SAKE SHERLOCK, GRANTED THAT MURDER CASES ARE OF YOUR PREFERENCE, YOU CAN'T EXPECT BLOODY MURDER EVERY DAY. THE PEOPLE WILL GO ABSOLUTELY NUTS!"

The detective with his child-like demeanor grumbled his loudest yet, and sunk himself into the couch. He forcefully laid on his side while back-facing the wall, folding his arms tightly with his face scrunched up in utter frustration. John sighed, returning to his papers. When Sherlock wanted others to know of his displeasure, he could truly become a little tyke.

It was silence for the next few hours and, knowing Sherlock, he was bound to start again.

Give it a few minutes and - cue the second scene.

"John ..."

John sighed. Gracious, was he on a roll today with all his sighing.

"... Yes, Sherlock."

"Bored."

"Yes Sherlock, given that you have become a broken record and repeated that multiple times, I know that."

"John ..."

John sets his snaps his head up, and gave Sherlock a look of frustration.

"Sherlock, no."