Hi. My name is (y/n) (y/l/n). I'm a sociopath. I live in America and have lived there all my life. I'm friends with Lestrade. He works for Scotland Yard. He came to visit America and we ran into each other. He is my only friend.
Lately, my work as a Detective has made me move to London to help with a case. If all goes well, then I will stay. I don't mind. I never have. Whenever someone asks me about my past, which is often, I tell them the fake one. I hate my true past. My parents, how should I put it, died when I was 8. I was alone with nowhere to go until I turned 18. I somehow kept my house and I locked myself in my room. That's how I became what I am today. A 'freak'. That's what everyone says. Everyone except my friend. He says that I'm like someone else he knows so he doesn't think that way. He says that I'm more human when it comes to people that the other person. He never gave me a name, or a gender for that matter. But I know who he is talking about. She lock Holmes. I have read about him in the paper.
Today I am going to London. I'm on the plane right now, deducting the people around me. The man next to me is a lawyer. He has a wife and two kids, ages 5 and 3. He is having an affair and Noone knows about it. He is 30 years old and has been married for 10 years. I can get all that just by a glance. I sit there listening to music while looking around.
An hour later we land. Finally. I exit the plane and head to the baggage claim and grab my blue and black suitcase. I don't have a lot of possessions so I don't have to unpack much. I head over and see Lestrade with two men next to him. One is short, a little shorter than me, and the other is tall.
"Ah, (y/n). It's good to see you old friend." Lestrade said giving me a hug. I hug back.
"Same here. You must be John Watson." I say facing the shorter man. "A retired army doctor. Was released because of a wound, which is why you need the cane. You are partners with Sherlock Holmes here and a roommate. Your Sherlock's only friend." I said. He stared at me, mouth wide. I turn to the taller man. "You must be Sherlock Holmes. 33 years old, a sociopath just like me. You play the violin, and really well I might add. You are a Consulting detective, which you up yourself, and solve crimes when Scotland Yard can't. Did I miss anything or get anything wrong?" I finish, looking between the two men. John stared at me with wide eyes and looked between me and Sherlock. Sherlock just looked amused.
"No my dear. You didn't miss anything. Well done. My turn. You are 32 years old and have been on your own since you were young. Your brother took you in but you never socialized. Once you turned 18, you became a detective and solved everything very quickly. Because you never socialized, you became a sociopath. Did I miss anything?" He asked, deducting my fake past. Why did I feel sad? It's what I want people to know, not the truth.
"Not quite. I'm 30 years old and I play the guitar. I taught myself just like you did with the violin." I responded. He nodded.
"See. I told you that she was like you Sherlock." Lestrade said, taking my suitcase. We all followed him out to the cab that was waiting for us in silence. The cab ride was silent for most of the time. John was still staring at me with wide eyes.
"It's not polite to stare Watson." I said, not looking at him. He turned his vision back to Sherlock and they started talking about something. I don't remember because I tuned them out. I felt a tap on my shoulder and I looked to see Sherlock inches from my face. My face was blank and he leaded back with a slight hint of a blush on his cheeks.
"We're here." He said before getting out. I did so too and got out behind him.
