The Nobel Prize 2011
Note: Yes, I am geek. I watched the announcement. I love Nobel-week.
Summary: Sherlock watches a live feed from Sweden the 5 of October 2011
***
”Sherlock?” John looked very suspicious at Sherlock, who was sitting on the back of a chair - feet on the seat - staring at his computer which was placed on the desk in front of him, “What are you doing?”
“Schy-schy-schy!” Sherlock hushed and waved with both hands to silence John; make him disappear.
“I though you said we were in a hurry?” John tried again.
“Sccccccccch!” Sherlock ordered and maximised the sound on the computer, not taking his eyes off the screen. John walked up behind him to see what on earth could be so important.
On the screen - streamed from one of the most posh pressrooms John had ever seen - three very boring-looking men seated themselves behind a modest row of microphones. Kungliga Vetenskapsakademin it said on each side of the table, John had no idea what that meant.
Then the man in the middle started to speak in a language John didn’t understand (honestly, he couldn’t even place it) and since there was no subtitles he glanced at Sherlock to see whatwas going on. John had never seen Sherlock this exited, not even when the police brought him serial killers. This was a completely different kind of excitement; almost a childish one.
“Why do they persist on speaking Swedish?” Sherlock muttered under his breath until, instead of the three men, a power point-slide with the picture of a man with a name underneath was shown.
Daniel Shechtman, John had never heard of him.
Sherlock, on the other hand, jumped up like a spring, raising his arms over his head as if his favourite team had just scored a goal, yelling: “YES!”
“Sherlock…?”
“Sccchy!” Sherlock got seated again as the men at the table started to speak English, probably repeating what had already been said in what apparently had been Swedish. John gave Sherlock a glare; they were watching the announcement of the Nobel Prize in chemistry.
John had real trouble listening to the committee’s motivation - “for the discovery of quasicrystals” - not because the second man’s accent made him sound like a cartoon character, but because Sherlock was not able to sit still in his excitement. Though, when the third man started to dumb-down the discovery for the wider audience with cut-out papers in bright colours on a whiteboard, Sherlock closed the computer without pardon.
“Well earned,” Sherlock stated, getting up with a wide smile on his face, “I was sure they’d give it to some borderline medicine discovery this year since last year’s prize was so theoretical. But this…this! It almost gives me hope for the Scandinavian population.”
“You care about this?”
“The Scandinavians? No, not much.”
“The Nobel Prize,” John clarified.
“Of course I do, who doesn’t?”
“Most of the world?” John tried.
“Most of the world is painfully stupid; the few people in it that aren’t should be rewarded,” Sherlock said, still a bit too excited to stay in the same place for very long, “I’ve read this man’s work John, he persisted even when everyone told him he was wrong and because he didn’t give up he revolutionised the way we look at crystals. It deserves acknowledgment!”
“If you say so.”
“Not just I, the Swedes too,” Sherlock pointed out and then took a deep breath through his nose to calm down, “Should we get going? I want to come home early and re-read some of Shechtman’s articles.”
“If you say so Sherlock,” John could nothing but smile, even when Sherlock spent the whole cab ride trying to explain to him what exactly was so ground-breaking with quasicrystals.
***
A/N: When the Nobel Prize in Literature was announced just minutes ago, the entire room had Sherlock’s reaction to the news :) Can’t see Sherlock caring that much for Tomas Tranströmer though, but what do I know, maybe he likes poetry?
Summary: Sherlock watches a live feed from Sweden the 5 of October 2011
***
”Sherlock?” John looked very suspicious at Sherlock, who was sitting on the back of a chair - feet on the seat - staring at his computer which was placed on the desk in front of him, “What are you doing?”
“Schy-schy-schy!” Sherlock hushed and waved with both hands to silence John; make him disappear.
“I though you said we were in a hurry?” John tried again.
“Sccccccccch!” Sherlock ordered and maximised the sound on the computer, not taking his eyes off the screen. John walked up behind him to see what on earth could be so important.
On the screen - streamed from one of the most posh pressrooms John had ever seen - three very boring-looking men seated themselves behind a modest row of microphones. Kungliga Vetenskapsakademin it said on each side of the table, John had no idea what that meant.
Then the man in the middle started to speak in a language John didn’t understand (honestly, he couldn’t even place it) and since there was no subtitles he glanced at Sherlock to see whatwas going on. John had never seen Sherlock this exited, not even when the police brought him serial killers. This was a completely different kind of excitement; almost a childish one.
“Why do they persist on speaking Swedish?” Sherlock muttered under his breath until, instead of the three men, a power point-slide with the picture of a man with a name underneath was shown.
Daniel Shechtman, John had never heard of him.
Sherlock, on the other hand, jumped up like a spring, raising his arms over his head as if his favourite team had just scored a goal, yelling: “YES!”
“Sherlock…?”
“Sccchy!” Sherlock got seated again as the men at the table started to speak English, probably repeating what had already been said in what apparently had been Swedish. John gave Sherlock a glare; they were watching the announcement of the Nobel Prize in chemistry.
John had real trouble listening to the committee’s motivation - “for the discovery of quasicrystals” - not because the second man’s accent made him sound like a cartoon character, but because Sherlock was not able to sit still in his excitement. Though, when the third man started to dumb-down the discovery for the wider audience with cut-out papers in bright colours on a whiteboard, Sherlock closed the computer without pardon.
“Well earned,” Sherlock stated, getting up with a wide smile on his face, “I was sure they’d give it to some borderline medicine discovery this year since last year’s prize was so theoretical. But this…this! It almost gives me hope for the Scandinavian population.”
“You care about this?”
“The Scandinavians? No, not much.”
“The Nobel Prize,” John clarified.
“Of course I do, who doesn’t?”
“Most of the world?” John tried.
“Most of the world is painfully stupid; the few people in it that aren’t should be rewarded,” Sherlock said, still a bit too excited to stay in the same place for very long, “I’ve read this man’s work John, he persisted even when everyone told him he was wrong and because he didn’t give up he revolutionised the way we look at crystals. It deserves acknowledgment!”
“If you say so.”
“Not just I, the Swedes too,” Sherlock pointed out and then took a deep breath through his nose to calm down, “Should we get going? I want to come home early and re-read some of Shechtman’s articles.”
“If you say so Sherlock,” John could nothing but smile, even when Sherlock spent the whole cab ride trying to explain to him what exactly was so ground-breaking with quasicrystals.
***
A/N: When the Nobel Prize in Literature was announced just minutes ago, the entire room had Sherlock’s reaction to the news :) Can’t see Sherlock caring that much for Tomas Tranströmer though, but what do I know, maybe he likes poetry?