It's been too easy, too easy, playing at normal and ordinary and boring. He's been doing it for so long that he's started to feel as if he might actually succumb to this. Is this what Sherlock feels like? Is this what having a goldfish is really like? Does it invade your mind and suck out every worthwhile thought and plan. It's why he's so grateful for the thrill of delight when he sees a familiar face, tapping his fingers in Beethoven's favourite song as he approaches, a sly smirk upon his lips.
"Well, well," he hums. "Would you look at what the cat brought in? All the bad apples are turning up in the same orchard," he sing-songs.
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It's been too easy, too easy, playing at normal and ordinary and boring. He's been doing it for so long that he's started to feel as if he might actually succumb to this. Is this what Sherlock feels like? Is this what having a goldfish is really like? Does it invade your mind and suck out every worthwhile thought and plan. It's why he's so grateful for the thrill of delight when he sees a familiar face, tapping his fingers in Beethoven's favourite song as he approaches, a sly smirk upon his lips.
"Well, well," he hums. "Would you look at what the cat brought in? All the bad apples are turning up in the same orchard," he sing-songs.