And no one in her right mind

[notanangel]

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Day, Santana Lopez
Format: Log
This log is: Closed.
Location: White Dorm (1-B) on a Thursday
Summary: Sherlock hasn't been teaching classes. Or wearing a uniform. I'm sure this will go over well.
Warnings: Uh. Sherlock and Day... and Santana...

Sherlock lay sprawled on his bed, eyes closed and body quite still--but his mind was active, and ever so. Though he lay there in the illusion of sleep, internally he was anything but, moving rapidly through the map he had built of the island, all the miniscule pieces, so obvious to the opened eye--the 'important details.'

The dormitory was empty save for him; the rest of the inhabitants were off in classes, teaching or studying--Sherlock had been given a teaching assignment, but had immediately ignored it. He had absolutely no interest in that sort of thing--and after apparently abducting him, sight unseen, for their little battle royale... he honestly felt no compunction to be anything resembling cooperative.

Not that he really would have anyway: Sherlock's interests lay in one place and one place only, and as far as he was aware, there had been no murders.

Boredom was literally a breath away--the newness of the place had worn off already, the excitement, marginal though it was, of being a harpoon (abstractly, but he didn't expect he could be one in a literal sense to begin with, that would have been absurd) had been worn out; now he had his details, and he immersed himself in them, felt them and sensed them as only he could, with his whole interior--as anyone could, if they just observed things, noticed them, if they just cleared their minds of the useless trifles and trivia they clogged themselves with daily and made room for things that mattered.

But they didn't. They couldn't.

It was something Sherlock would never understand.

But then again, there was no need to.

That was why he was superior.