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[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Mundane.

This is positively ridiculous.  I don't want to go anywhere! I am perfectly content at 221B.  

On the one hand, there's no one there.  Literally, there's nobody. I can sit and think for days on end and no one will pester me with eating or watching telly or 'help me with this completely obvious problem that I'm too dull to work out for myself.' 

On the other? It also means John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly and Mycroft aren't about.  And who else will keep me entertained.  They might be average, but I'm used to having them around. And what will become of them, if I'm not around?

Comments

[hisdearblogger]

Are you saying that having three meals is gluttony?

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

For me? Yes.

[hisdearblogger]

[ John makes a face. ]

How can you say that?

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

[He speaks the next phrase rather slowly, as if speaking to someone dimwitted. Which, maybe John is, on occasion.]

Because... it's... true.

[hisdearblogger]

[ John repeats in the same fashion as Sherlock. ]

No... it's... not.

[ Frowning again. ]

You're being too harsh with your body. It's not healthy.

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

It's served me this long...

[He doesn't care.]

[hisdearblogger]

[ John lets out a heavy sigh because being a doctor he can't help but care about these sort of things. ]

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

[He tilts his head slightly while studying John.]

Is this... one of those... sentimentality things?

[hisdearblogger]

[ There's another sigh, softer this time, before the doctor nods. ]

Yes, it is.

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Ah. And would it make you less sentimental if I ate more?

[He doubts it, let's see if John can tell where this is going, though.]

[hisdearblogger]

Probably not.

[ Meaning, even if Sherlock ate three meals a day, John would still worry about him at times. ]

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Well, at least it wouldn't make you more sentimental.

[John might be learning.]

[hisdearblogger]

[ Another roll of the eyes because even if John took the time to explain himself he highly doubts Sherlock would understand it. ]

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

[There's a reason why Sherlock needs his blogger.]

What now?

[hisdearblogger]

[ Sounding more tired as he grabs his jacket and puts it on, heading for the door. ]

Nothing, Sherlock.

[ Pausing long enough to ask: ]

Do you need me to get you anything from the store?

[highfunctioning_sociopath]

Borax. And I don't mean Boric Acid or laundry detergent, but actual borax.

[Yup, over Sherlock's head.]

[hisdearblogger]

[ A blink and then another accompanying a blank stare before John nods slowly and heads out the door. ]

I'll... see what I can do.