John and I had been working all week with the Yard on another trafficking case and had finally solved it, far more successfully than the case involving the unfortunate Kratides family; our reward to ourselves was sixteen hours of sleep each. It ended up being only eight for me; I have difficulty sleeping much past dawn. While I waited for John to awaken, I was using his laptop to look up the flight speed of a South African Swallow—yes, I am aware that there is a related popular culture reference, but I actually needed to make the calculation before posting on one of the ornithology forums—when I found a file titled "Sherlock Holmes Strengths + Weaknesses".
Would you have been able to resist? I certainly could not.
Most of the list, I found quite accurate. Of course I am an expert on anatomy, particularly human and psittacid. Of course I am good at basic physics, simple engineering, and elementary electrical circuits. Of course I have extensive knowledge of Western classical music, encyclopedic knowledge of Turkish pop music of the past twenty-five years, and very limited knowledge of most other music—who introduced me to music, after all, and why should anyone be surprised that I share his tastes? Of course I know a great deal about the British and European governments and the various people within; again, with whom did I live for most of my life? Of course I have a map of London in my mind; of course I can identify buildings by their roofs and outdoor sculpture. Of course I am deeply familiar with criminal procedure and the rules on collection of evidence. Of course I am a tolerable programmer and a decent hacker. Of course I have to make an effort to follow the various human social norms one finds in London. Of course I can read six and type five languages fluently, and read eight more with the help of a dictionary, even though I only understand three spoken. Of course I enjoy reading and dislike film and television. Of course I am sometimes loud, and easily bored, and cross when short on sleep, and occasionally picky about my food, and extremely untidy.
But "suffers from Stockholm Syndrome"? Please. The present circumstance excepted, Mycroft does not hold me hostage. I do not empathize with Mycroft or view him as my source of life; I tolerate him because I must. My top three desires at this moment are John's life, Moriarty's death, and Mycroft's public humiliation, in that order; does that sound like Stockholm Syndrome?
So when John finally descended the staircase early in the afternoon, I immediately texted, *Stockholm Syndrome is a far rarer disorder than popular literature would have one believe, and in any case, I do not have it.*
"Are you on my laptop again? What's wrong with yours this time?"
*Just a kernel panic; I've rewritten the offending code and am still reinstalling.*
"And you wonder why I won't let you upgrade mine." He went to the kitchen and started making tea.
*Why do you think I have Stockholm Syndrome?*
He rubbed his eyes. "Sherlock, it's too early in the morning."
*It is 1:47 p.m. Shall I forward you the formal definition and note exactly how I do NOT meet each condition?*
"If that's the worst thing you've found while snooping on my laptop, be grateful."
no subject
John and I had been working all week with the Yard on another trafficking case and had finally solved it, far more successfully than the case involving the unfortunate Kratides family; our reward to ourselves was sixteen hours of sleep each. It ended up being only eight for me; I have difficulty sleeping much past dawn. While I waited for John to awaken, I was using his laptop to look up the flight speed of a South African Swallow—yes, I am aware that there is a related popular culture reference, but I actually needed to make the calculation before posting on one of the ornithology forums—when I found a file titled "Sherlock Holmes Strengths + Weaknesses".
Would you have been able to resist? I certainly could not.
Most of the list, I found quite accurate. Of course I am an expert on anatomy, particularly human and psittacid. Of course I am good at basic physics, simple engineering, and elementary electrical circuits. Of course I have extensive knowledge of Western classical music, encyclopedic knowledge of Turkish pop music of the past twenty-five years, and very limited knowledge of most other music—who introduced me to music, after all, and why should anyone be surprised that I share his tastes? Of course I know a great deal about the British and European governments and the various people within; again, with whom did I live for most of my life? Of course I have a map of London in my mind; of course I can identify buildings by their roofs and outdoor sculpture. Of course I am deeply familiar with criminal procedure and the rules on collection of evidence. Of course I am a tolerable programmer and a decent hacker. Of course I have to make an effort to follow the various human social norms one finds in London. Of course I can read six and type five languages fluently, and read eight more with the help of a dictionary, even though I only understand three spoken. Of course I enjoy reading and dislike film and television. Of course I am sometimes loud, and easily bored, and cross when short on sleep, and occasionally picky about my food, and extremely untidy.
But "suffers from Stockholm Syndrome"? Please. The present circumstance excepted, Mycroft does not hold me hostage. I do not empathize with Mycroft or view him as my source of life; I tolerate him because I must. My top three desires at this moment are John's life, Moriarty's death, and Mycroft's public humiliation, in that order; does that sound like Stockholm Syndrome?
So when John finally descended the staircase early in the afternoon, I immediately texted, *Stockholm Syndrome is a far rarer disorder than popular literature would have one believe, and in any case, I do not have it.*
"Are you on my laptop again? What's wrong with yours this time?"
*Just a kernel panic; I've rewritten the offending code and am still reinstalling.*
"And you wonder why I won't let you upgrade mine." He went to the kitchen and started making tea.
*Why do you think I have Stockholm Syndrome?*
He rubbed his eyes. "Sherlock, it's too early in the morning."
*It is 1:47 p.m. Shall I forward you the formal definition and note exactly how I do NOT meet each condition?*
"If that's the worst thing you've found while snooping on my laptop, be grateful."