[Sherlock Holmes]
[Don't make people into heroes John. Heroes don't exist and if they did I wouldn't be one of them.][]
Nickname/s: NA
Age: 30
Sexuality: Straight, although acts more asexual
Occupation: Consulting detective
Accommodation: 221 B Baker Street
Personality: Sherlock Holmes is a man who could be said to be out of touch with reality. He's often lost in his own world, his own thoughts, and unaware of simple things, such as that the Earth revolves around the sun. He sees no need for trivial knowledge, and only fills is mind with what will someday likely be useful to him.
A master of deduction (or rather, abductive reasoning), he can figure out great amounts of information from the smallest detail. Insensitive, usually somewhat cold, he really only shows compassion to clients who still have a chance to regain what they've lost, or lose it all.
He mocks the police, holding respect for only a select number of their ranks. He cares more about crimes than the people, although as already stated, he can care about them, in certain situations. He isn't sociable, he's rude, inconsiderate, and doesn't often tell people the whole truth or everything he knows, often toying with them to see if they can figure it out themselves.
Sherlock is capable of feeling great pain and emotions, but that isn't often. There are topics that hit him hard, and his past is one he'd rather not think of, because of this, while still being lost in it at times.
He can be eccentric, proclaiming cases as "the game", and showing more enjoyment out of cases and banter during than without. He also likes his longcoat, calling it "dashing", and preferring to keep it because of that feeling that it gives him. He likes a mix of refined clothing with non-refined at times, such as waistcoat, button-up shirt, dress pants, and then motorcycle boots instead of the shoes to match.
Following his heartbreak (see below) he sees himself as broken, or fixed, it fluctuates on any given day.
Other Attributes: Sherlock is skilled in combat, holding skill in boxing, some martial arts, singlestick, fencing, and marksmanship. His fields of expertise include psychology, body language, chemistry, botany (poisons, primarily), entomology (primarily poisonous insects), and that's about it. He is also skilled in the art of disguise, able to change his appearance easily enough with makeup, changes to his hair and clothing, and to change his accent as he sees the need.
History:Sherlock was born as the second child in the Holmes family; his brother, Mycroft, was his senior by seven years. They had a childish rivalry as they grew up, covering pretty much any topic, and it never really had to make much sense to other people.
As they grew, they competed academically, always trying to one-up each other (however, this was harder, due to the age gap. When Sherlock was in first grade, his marks were compared to Mycroft's from his time there seven years ago, and so on). Their mother hated their rivalries, but their father didn't seem to care.
As it became time for Mycroft to leave home, Sherlock was both pleased to have him gone, and sad to be losing his rival. When that time came for him, he went out into the world, choosing to attend university, but only paying attention to what would interest him. He never actually graduated, but took away knowledge in the areas he needed.
He did some traveling, ending up in Japan where he witnessed a buraku doctor solving a case no other doctors could. It shook him a little, and made him realize that he could be an outsider to society, since he didn't particularly care for it.
Sherlock spent the next handful of years traveling and learning from people in other countries. He developed his skills in his various fields, such as disguise, fencing, and so on from these travels, and added to his knowledge with firsthand experience.
Five years ago he encountered a woman named McKenzie Williams during a case. The two began a relationship, and for the first time in Sherlock's life, he really was happy. In the years to come he would believe that he pushed the relationship too hard, because she left him in the middle of the night, leaving only a lighter behind, which he still uses to smoke (when he can, since it's much harder nowadays in London).
After this, he fell to drug use, using morphine, cocaine, marijuana, anything he could to find a distraction, to help him think, even. He slowed on his usage when he met DI Stanley Hopkins, who wanted to learn. Sherlock found this to be good for him, and gave up his drugs during this time as he taught Hopkins what he could.
When John Watson became Sherlock's flatmate, he felt all needs to use drugs vanish once again; he found Watson to be what he needed. He was a distraction. He was someone he could help to learn, someone who he could find another Hopkins in, albeit in a more permanent position.
(That's all I've got, not sure where else to go)
RP Example: (I'm just pulling this from a Sherlock Holmes story I did for a creative writing class)
“Ok, then what do you want to know?” Sherlock questioned.
“Your lighter.” John said simply.
Sherlock knew what he wanted to ask. He didn’t bother with trying to give him the run-around. He didn’t try to do anything. Instead, he reached down to a small table beside his chair, where he had his fags, an ashtray, and the lighter. He had smoked a little earlier that night. He looked at the silver lighter in his hand, and passed it along to John.
“The initials are ‘M’ ‘W’.” John said, “You told me it was your brother’s. I figured it was a lie, now this confirms it.”
Sherlock only nodded.
“Why are you so interested in the lighter?” Sherlock asked.
“You didn’t tell me about it, so I figured it was something important. I really don’t want to pry…but…from spending close to two weeks with you, I almost need to.”
“I understand.” Sherlock said, “I’ve given you a need to know the truth, to learn through deduction or other methods. You can’t deduce any farther than it isn’t my brother, Mycroft. So…you need to ask me.”
“What’s the name? Who is this person? Why do you have the lighter?”
“…Her name is McKenzie Williams.” He said softly, “She meant a lot to me…she still does. I’m not the emotional type…but she made me a better man. And then…and then she left my company. I didn’t want to let it happen, I did everything I could to stop it, but I think that must have only made things worse. I’m not good when it comes to the matters of the heart, you see. She had that lighter as a gift for a birthday. She wasn’t a smoker, if you’re wondering, she just had it, and I used it. When I awoke and found her gone, I found that the lighter had been left behind, since I had been using it the night before. That was two years ago…and I still have it as a reminder of her.”
“That’s terrible…” John said, “Have you contacted her since?”
“I wanted to…but didn’t. Haven’t.” Sherlock said, visibly shaking, “I just can’t. I can’t even do it to return this lighter. I feel…I feel that if I would, then I would be losing the only piece of her that I have left.”
“That’s why you were looking for a breast pocket the day we moved in.” John said, “You wanted to keep it by your heart.”
“Of course.” Sherlock said, “I’m not a sentimental man…but such a gesture is all I can think to do now. All I think would be appropriate now.” Sherlock Holmes, the man that John had known as a force of nature, someone who would solve the unsolvable, someone who had shown very little emotion in this spectrum…he was on the verge of tears.
“Sherlock…”
“No matter.” Sherlock said, reaching up and drying his eyes with the back of his hand. He held his hand out to John, “Please.”
John put the lighter back into Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock felt his breast pocket on his dressing gown, placing it inside, instead of on the table where he would need it.
“Do you want my advice?”
“You’re a doctor, I’m a psychologist.” Sherlock said.
“Not really…” John said, “But, do you?”
“You ever been married?” Sherlock looked at him, and then shook his head, “No, of course not.”
“I really hope you just read me.”
“I did.”
“Good, it wasn’t an insult.”
“Of course not.”
“Holmes…do you need to talk about it some more?”
Sherlock rose from his chair, “I don’t talk about my love life. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have one. Just please; let us drop this subject for the time. I’m going to bed.”
“You’d do better to talk about it, you know. It isn’t healthy to leave stuff like this trapped inside. You need to get it out, Holmes!”
“I thank you for your kindness, John.” Sherlock said, walking to his bedroom, “But I’m fine.”
“You say that a lot.”
“I know I do.”
“Sherlock…one day you might want to do the math on all the ‘I’m fine’’s.”
“Goodnight, Watson.” Sherlock said, disappearing into his bedroom, closing the door behind him, leaving John Watson to sit alone, contemplating his friend’s emotional wellbeing.
He had learned something, though. Mr. Sherlock Holmes was indeed a human, a man like any other. A man who could love, who could feel pain, just like any other man, any other person, could.
John had a faint smile at this realization.
“Goodnight, Holmes.”
Your Name: Grey
