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Sherlock Holmes was a man of many talents, many of which helped him solve the crimes that piqued his interests. The most famous fictitious consulting detective of the 19th century, known for his observation and deduction skills, rarely had a skill or interest that wasn’t useful for his uncommon occupation. In fact, the topics that he deemed particularly useless were the ones that he’d never had any use for. All they would do was take up precious space in his mind palace.
Take his current case, for example – one that Watson had practically begged him to take on. The missing daughter of factory worker from the countryside. Sherlock was well versed in British law and knew that Watson should also know enough to know that running away wasn’t a crime. It shouldn’t have been anything spectacularly captivating, something the police should be able to handle with ease, if it weren’t for the fact that she was a student doing her A-Levels with an interest in becoming a forensic scientist. Her friends said she spoke about running away frequently and that she had a go-bag packet with essentials that could last her at least a week. It was obvious that this was something that she had been planning for a while, so why did she leave such a messy trail of evidence allowing herself to be tracked.
While his knowledge of geology is fundamentally limited, from one glance at the shoes that she’d left behind, that she’d been spending time in some unsavoury districts of London, places that a girl like her had no reason to venture into. The sciences were where he excelled but it seemed that he wouldn’t need to use any of it today, his knowledge of chemistry and anatomy tended to his greatest assets when solving a murder, this, until proof could be found, was not one. Lucky this wasn’t the daughter of a politician, or he’d be forced to consult his brother Mycroft because his political knowledge was leagues ahead of his own, along with his proficiency with philosophy, a truly dreadful topic.
After nearly fifteen minutes of being forced into the presence of the overbearing parents while inspecting their daughters room, Sherlock returned to his flat to ponder the case but his restless energy refused to allow him to sit in one spot. He settled on playing his violin to focus, something that Watson greatly enjoyed listening to, though he would never admit it. As Sherlock glided through the piece, relying solely on muscle memory, Watson came downstairs carrying a book; he’d taken to reading realistic fiction, a topic that bored Sherlock, instead of horror since Sherlock had had a nasty habit of spoiling all the details of the book, something which immensely annoyed Watson. It didn’t seem to matter how obscure the novel was, Sherlock knew every detail of every book.
Sherlock continued to play smoothly as he ran through all the details that he already knew about the case and cross-referenced with all his favourite skills. He truly was grateful that the girl was not obsessed with astrology and star-signs like many others her age; he wasn’t interested in having to fill his mind-palace with – what he deemed to be – a useless topic. He did, however, wish that the girl’s interest in the sciences had extended to botany; that way he’d be able to at least determine if she had left with the intention to commit a crime, especially since women did favour poisoning over violent kills.
His restless energy was becoming maddening, something that couldn’t even be tempered by the playing of his violin. His skin itched for a fight to make this case a little more interesting, more worth his while, perhaps a sword fight or a bareknuckle boxing match, something that he was well versed in. Nonetheless, he continued to play the violin and keep his calm façade while he pondered the case with Watson calming presence beside him.