You're An Idiot, Sherlock Holmes (OC x Sherlock)

Asperger's

I couldn't believe it. The great Sherlock Holmes, the least cynical person I know, is suddenly incredulously questioning what he saw on the moor.

"You want me to prove it, yes?" Sherlock said, evening out his breathing. "We're looking for a dog, yes? A great big dog; that's your brilliant theory -Cherchez le Chien!- Good. Excellent. Yes. Where shall we start?" He looked around frantically before his eyes landed on two people at a table having a meal after giving us concerned looks two seconds before. He pointed to them not so discreetly. "How about them! The sentimental widow and her son; the unemployed fisherman. The answer's yes."

"Yes?" I asked, eyebrow flying up. 

He rapidly deduced, "She's got a West Highland Terrier called Whisky- not what we're looking for."

"For Christ's sake, Sher-"

"Look at his jumper: hardly worn. Clearly, he's uncomfortable in it." I looked back at the man and woman and noticed how stiff the man was in his seat like if he moved an inch he'll implode. "Maybe because of the material or likely the hideous pattern -suggests it's probably a Christmas gift. 

"So, he wants into his mother's good books. Why?  Almost certainly money. He's treating her to a meal. His portion is small. That means he wants to impress her but he's trying to economize on his own food."

"Or, y'know. He's just not hungry," I said airily. 

"No. Small plate: starter. He's practically licked it clean. She's nearly finished her pavlova. If she treated him she'd let him have as much as he wanted. He's hungry and well-off- you can tell by his cuffs and shoes." 

In a fake American accent, obviously trying to impersonate me, he said, " 'How do you know she's his mother?' Who else would give him a present like that? Well, it could be an aunt or older sister, but mother's more likely. He was a fisherman- the scarring on the back of his hands is distinctive: fish hooks. They're quite old, suggesting he's been unemployed for quite some time. Not much industry in this part of the world so he's turned to his widowed mother for help." Once more in his impersonation of me, he continued saying rapidly, " 'Widowed?' Yes, obviously.

"She's got a man's wedding ring on a chain around her neck. Clearly her late husband's and too big for her finger. She's well dressed, but her jewelry is cheap. She could afford better, but she's kept it. Sentimental. 

"Now, the dog. There are tiny hairs all over her leg, making her too friendly," at this point Sherlock made a contorting expression when saying "friendly" and my concerns for him slowly grew. "-but none above the knees- suggesting it's a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact, it is a West Highland Terrier called Whisky. 'How the hell did you know that Sherlock?' " 

I scoffed at his third use of my accent. 

"because they were on the same train as us, and I heard her call its name. That's not cheating. It's listening. I use my senses, Jane -unlike some people- so you see, I am fine. In fact, I've never been better so just leave me alone!" I let out a melancholy sigh at the last few words and I got up to my feet. 

"Okay," I said simply, hiding the ridiculous morose I sensed in myself. "Fine. Why would you listen to me anyway, I'm just your friend." 

I nonchalantly shrugged and Sherlock spat, "I don't have friends. I don't need friends. I don't need anyone, especially friends," with a disgusted look at the thought of the word.

"No, I guess not." Giving him a wounded look, I made slow heavy steps to our room. "I wonder why." 

Out of the common area, I changed my mind and decided to go outside for a breath of fresh air.