Brain Battling
Here's an interesting derp for your Monday morning: I think that I can remain somewhat stable while I still am obsessing over something, as long as I'm aware of what's going on.
Yes, the derp is about me, but it's still interesting.
Okay, the last time I obsessed about something, I ended up writing NINE AND HALF stories of Person of Interest fan fiction. That died down by Christmas, and I really don't think I'll be able to finish #10, partially because I have only a few fragments of ideas left, and the motivation is basically gone.
Right now, I've been fighting the weirdness in my mind that has to do with Batch, as some of you may already know. My problem is that I don't like fighting my brain when it wants to wander. I used to do it all the time until I realized I simply needed an outlet for it, hence my writing, drawing, and posting on here. It's all an outlet for my over-active imagination and selectively creative nature.
But, I didn't want to latch onto something else that would occupy my time, and be basically counter productive. However, I have caved a little more each week for the past month, and you know what? It hasn't been bad. I'm still doing other stuff, (I just finished watching the first season of Hannibal last night. Whew, doggy! I'll post about that later.) And yet, I've started something that I swore I'd never start. I never wanted to add to the slush-pile that is Sherlock fan fiction, but I've kind of come up with a pretty cool idea that if Moffat ever got his head out of his - well, it's a decent idea that could plausibly work on the show. I'm writing a new Irene Adler into the story. She is an American, and the real Irene while the obnoxious and obvious one we've already seen has stolen her identity.
So, the impostor Irene has led her on a grand chase, refusing to stop using her name, and the real Irene decides to go after her herself, because there's life in danger and yaddie-yadda-yadda.
I know how this is going to end, but I have no idea if I'll finish it. Which means, this may be the only bit anyone will ever see:
“The woman is entirely self-serving,” Holmes said.
“She wouldn’t bat an eye if Irene was killed because of her,” Watson added.
“She may even welcome it. That way, she could assume the identity permanently.” Holmes continued to look thoughtfully at the wall, steepled fingers to his lips. “The death of a legal PA would not be something she’d think twice about.”
Holmes then looked at Irene, who wondered if there was another setting to his gaze besides “boring into head”. He stood and stepped towards her, but the aggression from earlier was gone. Or at least, he was not showing it.
“You speak like you’re educated, like a lawyer, but you’re not dressed like one, nor do you act with the confidence of one. That could be attributed to your discomfort at Lestrade’s leering expressions toward you - "
Lestrade straightened up a little, shook himself, and refocused on a point above Sherlock’s head.
“But I’d say that you deal with that more often than not on a general basis.
“You work for lawyers. Recovery from identity theft in less than eighteen months is almost miraculous under normal circumstances. But if you have a handful of lawyers at your disposal, things move more quickly. And judging by how recently your hair’s been cut, and the attention you pay to your makeup, you’d prefer to dress more expensively, but you can’t afford it. Not a lawyer. So, you make do with what you have, a flat iron that runs too hot, and is in all honesty, a dangerous fire hazard by any standards, and your best shoes that are wearing at the toes, the heels of which you’ve replaced twice already.”
Irene waited another few seconds to be sure he was finished before she said anything. “That really is a neat trick. How much do you charge for birthday parties?”
Lestrade snorted, and Watson lowered his eyes, and suddenly pretended to be very interested in a chair cushion.
“My job pays me enough. But, in case you weren’t listening, I’ve had my identity stolen, which tends to make your finances tight.” She shook Lestrade's hand. “Thank you for seeing me, Inspector. Any help would be appreciated.”
She went to the door when Holmes spoke again. “Fifty quid for twenty people. Ten for each one after.”
Irene stopped for a second, just before stepping through the doorway, and then continued, seeing herself out of the office and the police station.
That is the second time he tries to analyze her after they meet, because the first time he was about half wrong. It's also kind of fun trying to write those enormous pieces of dialogue that they give him.
Yeah, I don't know what I'm going to do. But I like it!
