Post by SHERLOCK HOLMES on Aug 9, 2011 17:14:32 GMT -5
Hi, my name is Emmalynn and this is my First (yay) character. I found this site through pointless Googling. Something you should know about me is when walking down stairs, I like to jump half of the way.
Sherlock Holmes
| Middle Class |
| Middle Class |
Canon: Sherlock Holmes
Custom Title: The world's only Consulting Detective
PHYSICAL
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Orientation: Asexual
Appearance: Perhaps it is something in the way Holmes carries himself that causes almost anyone he meets to think of him as an “arrogant sod”. Sherlock walks tall, with a straight back and his head held high, which undoubtedly adds to the image of insolence. He pays little attention to what people say when they talk to him, instead focusing on little details. But this frequently shows, especially if the person is exceptionally dull.
The detective has a fairly obvious care for self hygiene and cleanliness - despite, of course, the times Sherlock can be caught rummaging around in a rubbish bin for evidence.
His lean frame causes him to appear even taller than he is, and choice of classic coat, which has a tendency to ‘swish’ dramatically at every move he makes, give Sherlock an overall esoteric appearance to, say, a passer in the street.
Being a man of fine taste, Holmes tends to dress rather plainly, usually wearing some form of typically smart suit. Though he somehow manages to make even the converse sneakers seem somewhat classy.
Height: 6'2"
Weight/Body Type: Sherlock is very skinny, due to his frequently claimed excuse that ‘digestion slows [him] down’, and eating, of course, is unnecessary.
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Play By: Benedict Cumberbatch
PERSONALITY
General personality: Sherlock Holmes is definitely not a straightforward person. His personality differs very drastically with his mood. He can know anything and everything, yet still be clueless at points of crucial need. His thoughts could be intriguingly simple, or captivatingly complicated. His actions planned, but impulsive and preposterous… Sherlock Holmes is definitely not straightforward.
You can often tell a lot about one's personality as to how they react to certain things. For example, a person that wouldn't laugh at a hilarious comedy film may be slightly uptight, and not find many things amusing.
When stood in a high place, many people feel a slight irrational urge to jump. Just to simply jump, whether from a bridge attached to a bungee cord, or perhaps the top of a building, not attached to anything. Sherlock Holmes did not feel this urge. Sherlock Holmes was a rational man.
The personality of the detective changes with almost every mood. The thrill of a good case will tend to leave him with a slightly springy step, his excitement not unlike that of an eager child in a funfair queue. When given something to work with, his brain functions like a flawlessly-operating machine. The cogs whirring and grinding and fitting everything together. Powers of deduction put to perfect use for the game. The never-ceasing, always playing game.
Another case solved.
Unfortunately, this optimistic side of Holmes can turn with a curious amount of ease. With no case, nothing to work for, the great detective’s mind slows down. Boredom settles in, along with the dull throb of life. Boredom will often draw Sherlock back to the confinements of his experiment (whatever it may be at that point). Back to the syringes, more often than not.
Though vanity may show in some of his actions, he rarely solves anything for reward. Sherlock is perfectly content for the police to take public credit.
Being a rather callous being, Sherlock has little, if any, care for manners. Thus, a general first-glance depiction is likely to be "How rude".
Quotes, frequently used expressions:
“When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
“Elementary.”
“Dull.”
“Elementary.”
“Dull.”
Likes:
- Outsmarting people - nobody in particular.
- An interesting case.
- Solving an interesting case.
- His violin.
- Tea.
Dislikes:
- Mycroft Holmes.
- Moronic idiocy, and relatively, moronic idiots.
- People who outwardly express their disapproval of the use of recreational drugs.
- Lazy criminals.
- Ridiculously crap television.
- Pointless questions with obvious answers.
- Inferior people.
Strengths: His deeply analytical brain allows him to tell a stranger’s life story within four minutes and thirty-six seconds (depending on the weather, of course), and an aeroplane pilot by simply his thumb.
Sherlock is a master of both disguise and deception, and will often become slightly manipulative for leads on a case, as an example.
His use of mental connections to solve a case.
Weaknesses: Unfortunately the intensity of a case will have a certain tendency to keep a firm grasp on his attention, meaning that any useless or non-relating thoughts will often be banished from his high-capacity mind.
His determination to push his poor, abused body far past the edge of righteousness just because he ‘didn’t feel’ like sleeping for a few hours, resulting in passing out wherever he happens to be at the time his energy finally runs out.
It is quite easy for Sherlock to become obsessed with something. And once obsession kicks in, he will be almost unrelinquishing until success.
Though otherwise an extremely rational man, Sherlock holds a partially irrational fear of large stretches of open water.
BACKGROUND
Family: Mycroft Holmes - Brother
Siger Holmes - Father
Violet Holmes (née Sherrinford) - Mother
Education: Being originally home-schooled, Sherlock attended only one prestigious boarding school during the majority of the first half of his life. He never particularly agreed that it was the best way, but stayed until the age of eighteen only to fulfil his mother’s wishes.
Occupation/Job: Consulting Detective
Image: As recently stated, others look upon Sherlock Holmes with only thoughts of “arrogant sod” roaming their pitiful minds. Being a rather closed off being, Sherlock minds very little of this, and is seemingly unaffected by any comments thrown his way. He cares very mildly for his image, but in the same way manages to hold it in an air of vanity. Mistakes are not excused, and in the event of one he will often beat himself down rather harshly, usually classing it as ‘elementary’.
History: Sherlock was born in the county of Yorkshire, the youngest of the two sons of Siger Holmes and Violet Holmes (née Sherrinford). The family later moved their place of residence to the greater London area, for governmental matters unknown and uncared for to the smallest Holmes. Being only an infant at the time, he has no reason to uncover why the move was necessary, as that was always the eldest brother’s area of expertise.
Young Sherlock always seemed to look up to his big brother. As the boys’ father was never around to provide a suitable figure for the youngest, Mycroft Holmes took it upon himself to be just that. The first few years of Sherlock’s odd life were fairly… normal. Looking at the man nowadays one wouldn’t even think of such an oddity, but for an (albeit small) amount of time, the Holmes family were ordinary.
In the first years of primary school, Sherlock began to show rather obvious signs to those around him. It was noticed first by his brother, then his mother (though never by his busy father), before Sherlock was diagnosed with simple Attention-Deficit-Hyperactivity-Disorder. It was little to worry about, but due to the sever case his mother thought it best to draw the boy out of school, in pity of the poor teacher.
Time was spent as Violet attempted to make Sherlock interested in her home schooling. But as it was difficult for him to sit still for little more that ten minutes, or pay attention for even half as much, she restricted the things he would be taught to only the most necessary. She constantly persuaded him to look at all the details he would usually miss, in a strange attempt to balance the ADHD so that he would later attend boarding school, as Holmes family tradition.
His mother’s wishes soon came true when Sherlock began his first year at Eton boy’s school. All was well, at least as well as could be. The ADHD symptoms had become almost unapparent, in fact Sherlock had become an unusual case of the opposite, and often wondered if he really had it at all. By this point Sherlock had delved past the normal world in which he once lived, and through his eye was everything that others missed. Everything important.
But still, the youngest Holmes was peculiarly normal. Mycroft, older by seven years, had already left the school at the occurrence of an untimely event, and developed ties running deeply through the British Government - like his father.
But the death of the Holmes parents was about to destroy any normalcy Sherlock Holmes once possessed.
It was a murder, as he was to discover years down the line. An incident involving a mysterious rival, a spyglass, unwanted strings and a rather unfortunate use of The River Thames.
After the death of the brother’s parents, Sherlock concluded a rather morbid opinion on (metaphorical) strings. The right amount could prove to be useful. Too little, useless. And too many as equal as the latter. But strings were also complicated. Complicated, useless and in the end, dangerous. But where was the line? The line between too little and too much? Too few and too many? Or were the lines just blurred - confusing and complicated like the strings themselves.
Too many strings had to be cut loose. But the blurred, confusing and complicated lines were too hard to find. Surely no strings at all would settle this.
And so, the youngest Holmes cut all strings. Even those tightly bound to his older brother were severed, and tainted black for good measure.
After finishing school, when the last string to his mother faded away, Sherlock did nothing but fall. He stumbled into the world of drugs, severe depression and nothing else spare insanity‘s grasping hands. Holmes even contemplated the possible option of suicide, before deciding that inventing a way to both kill himself and truly baffle the police would take more effort than he was willing to give.
But then came the cases. Certain mysteries to which a certain unrelinquishingly bored man took a liking. And the thrill of the case… It was greater than anything the hopeless Holmes knew of. But that too, was addictive.
Whether it was a healthier obsession is unknown - uncared for. But working alongside the police - mindless buffoons - would require a clean-up. Was it worthy?
Eventually Sherlock chose the better of the two. He chose the game - a greater reality.
Time passed before the criminals of London grew lazy. The cases became simpler. Easy, even. The game became nonexistent.
Then, of course, action must have been made. Sherlock Holmes began his new life, in America.
THE SAMPLE
In Character Sample:
“In the eye of the beholder.” Is a rather curious, commonly quoted saying. Sherlock Holmes, a currently melancholy man, sat on the wood floor of his small flat. It could be say that the room was melancholy too, filled with the sad air of the man who had occupied it for the last five weeks. If melancholy were a solid object, perhaps the man would have already suffocated beneath the heavy pressure of it, sparing himself the bother. But it turned out that melancholy was just a mental state, as Mr. Holmes righteously knew.
Pale, thin fingers gently plucked at the strings of the violin propped beneath his neck. Producing a simple, melancholy tune to match the melancholy man. Because it all fit, as obvious as a jigsaw. The melancholy man, in the melancholy room with the melancholy melody. What a pitiful sight.
And how he detested it.
Face settling into one of a frown, Sherlock plucked hard on one of the strings. He hated strings. The only exception being those of his beloved violin. And even they often struggled to not annoy the detective.
“In the eye of the beholder” was a term often preceded by “Beauty is”. Holmes thought this to be a ridiculous quote. A level of attractiveness is unimportant, and it most certainly doesn’t change. But then again, a sociopath such as he rarely bothered to think on such things, so perhaps if he were to ponder the quote a little more, opinions would change.
But that would be unlikely.
As the sound of the final note echoed into the dark room, Sherlock breathed a deep, shuddering sigh. How dare the criminal classes of London be so lazy. It was becoming increasingly difficult to find a suitable case for his whirring mind. The sprockets of his analytical brain beginning to rust. And he could feel them, slowly slowly wasting away. Like he, sat on the floor of his melancholy flat.
With no other thoughts to consider, Sherlock began to think on the previous conversation he had had with his brother. Though it could hardly be classed at a conversation. Mycroft had merely talked at him for approximately twelve minutes before leaving, obviously feeling he had no effect whatsoever on the youngest Holmes.
“And what say you on the matter, Sherlock?” Seven years older, but so different in comparison. He was a man of the power, as proven by his appearance. Mycroft Holmes leaned to one side, shifting his weight to the other leg. He had been stood there for quite some time, and was unable to locate anywhere to sit in the flat.
“You can’t stay here forever, and you full well know that.” The eldest brother did not wait for a response, knowing he wouldn’t gain one. Sherlock had rarely moved from his position on the floor for around three weeks. Mycroft knew, of course, what was wrong. And even Sherlock knew that Mycroft knew. His younger brother’s mind needed a game. A challenge. But there was no longer one to give.
“If London isn’t supplying enough interest for you, brother, then perhaps elsewhere would prove better? You know I can easily supply accommodation.” Those pale green eyes didn’t move from the wall. Mycroft couldn’t even recall Sherlock blinking since he arrived. Shuffling a little, Sherlock observed that Mycroft was obviously growing impatient, in want of a response. Anything. Even if his brother was to suddenly stand, before promptly collapsing, Mycroft would be pleased. Because at least he would have moved.
After what seemed like quite some time, though both Holmes boys knew it had been scarcely any time at all, Mycroft turned his back. The look on his face clearly stating to Sherlock that the promise to his mother was not to be broken, and the eldest Holmes would do all that he could for his brother.
Sherlock only moved when the footsteps had long since faded away.
In the time between then and the current, Sherlock had gone to enough bother to acquire a world map, and even contemplate anywhere he would like to be. Though staring at multi-coloured blobs of country hardly helped, and Holmes found himself once again scowling at the far wall.
With another sigh, though this perhaps a little less dramatic, Sherlock lay down the violin with such tenderness one would apply when dealing with an infant. With his other hand, he picked up the object lying to the left. It was just a simple handgun, and as the great detective considered the weight of it in his hands, he pictured the working motions of the device.
Sherlock had just one shot.
Closing his eyes, and with what could be arguably the largest smile on his face for months (or was it still a frown), Holmes allowed his hand to fit the weapon. Finger ready on the trigger, he raised up the gun to what he assumed would be an adequate shooting position.
Barely noticing that he had squeezed the trigger, a loud bang exploded from the weapon. It really was an awfully noisy gun.
Opening one pale eye slowly, Sherlock glanced toward the opposing wall. As expected, the bullet had at least hit some sort of target. The slightly battered map now bore a bullet mark, just a little to the left of the shape of England.
The gun had decided, then. And Sherlock was to oblige willingly, as agreed.
Holmes’ life was to begin once again, in America.
