Sherlock Holmes

OUT OF CHARACTER
Name: D
Preferred Method of Contact: email: we.ampersand@gmail.com
Timezone: GMT

IN CHARACTER
Fandom & Canon Point: Sherlock - following The Reichenbach Fall
Stance on Canon Puncturing: Wonderful
Name: Sherlock Holmes
Species: Highly Functioning Sociopath
Citizenship: British
Age & Date of Birth: 37, 6th January 1975
Place of Birth: London, UK
Last Known Location: London, UK
Inventory: A biro, some shoe laces, £47, his phone
Assets: His mind. Sherlock is a genius. It impedes upon his social skills but nevertheless his powers of deduction are second to none. Despite his poor social skills he is fiercely loyal to a select few people, though none moreso than John Watson. He has satisfactory knowledge of weaponry and snazzy violin skills.
Liabilities: The lack of social skills and his inability to empathise. And John. Even he finds caring about John a liability, but it isn't something he can shake. He's too smart for his own good which makes him appear arrogant (though that could just be his arrogance). He can be cruel without meaning to.
Link to Information: BBC's Sherlock Wikia. He is based on the modern day version of the character and some details have been taken from the full Wikipedia page
PB: Benedict Cumberbatch

Writing Sample: Standing outside 221b Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes knew that there was someone inside. He dare not move to approach the door, not yet. He hadn't the resolve or the strength of mind - so unlike him - to deal with the emotions that would come flooding out. He hadn't cried for years up until that day on the roof of Barts. And since then the tears had begun to spring up of their own accord, without warning and without mercy and he hated it. It was enough to have a weakness in private, to torment himself over little things he didn't think he could live without (or to be slave to a nicotine habit he really couldn't kick) but to have his emotions displayed so publicly without his say so? His own face betrayed him, leaking whenever it felt like it-

Sherlock had been sorry. He had been sorry to put John through so much, but it had been necessary. A necessary and obvious calculation; his life for John's. And of course they had known each other well, they had shared a living space and over time John had crept into his head and made a home there like so many other unwanted problems. But the complexity that surrounded his feelings towards his companion had grown comforting. The niggling predicament Sherlock found himself scarcely bypassing every day was alarming and intriguing. But he hadn't expected to be missed. Or grieved. Not to such an extent. He hadn't expected to mean so much to anyone. And not to John. And of course there had been so many times when he'd thought of going back, of knocking on the door or just strolling in. But not until the danger was out of the way. All of it. Not until he could ensure that John and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade would be safe.

He found himself again on the brink of walking in. And it would have been so easy. But not today. Today wasn't the day either. He turned, pulling his coat around him and striding down the alley opposite his old home. Except that it wasn't an alley. Sherlock paused. No, this really wasn't an alley.

"A train," he said, scanning the carriage for any kind of answer to the thousands of questions suddenly brewing in his head. "Not a normal train." This was going to require some further investigation. And if there was one thing Sherlock loved more than anything (or most things) it was a good, old-fashioned, and possibly life-threatening mystery!