A Study In Frerard (Frerard/Petekey/Sherlock AU)

There's A Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered Honey...

There's A Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered Honey, You Just Haven't Thought Of It Yet

As he spoke, his gaze shifted away from the conversation, refusing the eye contact of anyone. Never looking someone in the eye, like a guilty child, trying to hide the truth. Perhaps he felt like they would all figure him out if they looked into his thoughtful, brown, drifting eyes, or, perhaps it was just his arrogance taking over.

What was he hiding?

The impatience that clouds his mind is the reason for his constant divided attention. This simply proving the point of his egotistical mind, always feeling as if his time is far too precious to waste on those of a lesser intelligence, even if he's supposed to be gaining friends from this sluggish experience.

He sat up straight in the noisy room, his long, black coat drooping below the bottom of his over-priced seat. A black, button-up shirt, which was evidently a size too big, covered his chest below the coat, leading to a black pair of smart trousers. The black fedora was sat comfortably on top of his shoulder-length raven hair, looking quite at home along with the black clothing. The detective knew he was a walking, talking cliché for a mysterious detective, he didn't care. There's another stereotype, not caring. He fits into them like they were made for him to live in. A lonely man with an incredible mind. A cryptic message in a broken bottle. A lost soul within the labyrinth of life. He was all of these things. But, again, he didn't care. He never did and everyone knew it. What they didn't know was who he was, where he came from, why he insists on being alone, or why he insists that you're never alone when you're acknowledging your surroundings.

So he thought, whilst she talked until his wandering mind was sharply interrupted by the irritating snap of his name.

"GERARD!" exclaimed the irritated woman, whom he was unfortunately forced to be within close proximity of. "Are you even listening to me?!"

The stupidity and annoyance in her voice was as clear as day to the young man, however he ignored it as he knew she would only get more impatient the longer he took to answer her question.

"No, as a matter of fact Mrs Robertson, I am not listening to you, and if you don't mind, I would very much like to continue with my observations of the restaurant thank you." Gerard replied, his carelessness evident in his monotone voice. Once he'd finished his request he did exactly what he said and went back to his surveying of the dining room crowd.

Mrs Robertson was shocked at the ignorance of the man. She'd heard so much about him, or at least the little things that the rest of the city knew. His name is Gerard, he's American and he's scarily observant and intelligent. He may be irritating but he helps the people by solving the crimes that no one else's minds could even fathom. He was known as being fairly self-centered but she did not expect to be spoken too by a grown man in such an ill-mannered way.

"How dare you speak to me in such a way? Why people think you're so smart I will never know. You are simply a childish man who needs to grow up and understand that he's not better than everyone else. What goes through your head when you say these rude things to well-respected members of our society?" Mrs Robinson gave her best ironic 'you're arrogant' speech to the smartly-dressed detective across the table, standing up somewhere in the middle just to add extra emphasis to her point.

"Mrs Robertson, I could try to explain what goes through my mind when I'm talking to you but I'm afraid you would just prove to be much too uneducated to understand what I was talking about. As for why people think I am smart the simple answer is that they are just smarter than you." Gerard was quite proud of his final statement as he smiled smugly to himself and studied the look of the rich woman, who he noticed long ago had applied far too much make-up before she arrived here.