Human Error - Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter one - Monday morning

It was Monday morning. Despite the growing tiredness that piled on my eyelids every second like an anchor I had to keep telling myself that Monday's weren't as bad as they seemed and something great could happen to me. For example, according to statics there will be over five-thousand weddings and over forty-two million hugs. At least four people will win the multimillion lottery, and there will be over ten-thousand childbirths. The words 'I love you' will be said over nine million times, more than six hundred dogs will be adopted and loads of individuals will be reunited with old friends. So I shouldn't just assume that today will suck, because it could actually be a really nice day.

But knowing that didn't help me to feel more alive. I let out a groan before swinging my feet out of the uncomfortable, hotel bed.

I had only gotten about four hours of sleep. Even when I do get enough sleep I'm tired. I always felt tired after I woke up and that carries on for at least two or more extra hours, it's no wonder mornings are a mystery to me -- I practically sleep walk everywhere. But last night too much was on my mind as I tried to mentally figure out a schedule for the next day. Others may count sheep; I plan. I planned that I would hopefully find an apartment by the end of the day, and hopefully I would have applied to a few jobs with some luck that employers favour me. Additionally, I would absolutely love to be an author. But I figured that I should probably aim for a simple, ordinary job first -- like retail, or something while I worked on my next book. I would much prefer to aim higher, like maybe work in a lab or something of the sort because I did finish university with some amazing grades and as dorky as it sounds, I honestly love science. However it was more like an hobby than anything. My main priority at the moment was my books.

If I do say so myself, the previous book I wrote and published was pretty decent. At the time I thought it was a work of art, having put a lot of time and effort into writing my novel. But no more than a year later when it didn't become as successful as I thought it would have, I started to doubt myself and criticise every sentence that I had written. 

After enduring a quick shower to wake me up from the short amount of sleep I had managed to get, I finally got dressed in my tight, black jeans and a maroon-coloured sweater. I just brushed my hair and left it as it was. My hair was brown and naturally wavy anyway, so I didn't think it mattered what I did with it. Especially when I was only going on a flat and job hunt. I had high expectations today though I knew finding a job and an apartment in London was a big stretch, and a part of me knew it would probably take weeks. But I would like to think I'm an optimist.

I hastily chucked on my coat and black boots before I made my way out of my hotel room. Before this I was living with my aunt in Italy, Brenda her name was, and she was a strong-willed and wonderful woman, but London will and always be my home. It seemed only right that I'd tried to make a living here again.

Time sure flies by when you're having fun -- except, I wasn't really having fun. Maybe I'm a liar as well, I always lie to myself far more than anyone else. It's one of humanities biggest flaws. After a very long day of apartment and job hunting it soon caught up to about five in the evening, and I just got rejected by another landlord who claimed that there wasn't any rooms left and that even if there were, I wasn't reliable enough to invest in without a steady income. The apartments I found were shabby and not worth the prices that they were demanding but I was still determined to find a place. On the positive side, I gave my CV out to some good places. A few good coffee shops, restaurants and clothing stores. I think I could manage in one of them. Just until I get on my feet, I told myself.

With a sigh, I hailed a taxi, ready to call it a night. When the taxi driver pulled up on the gutter I climbed in, telling the man the address to my hotel. I quietly sat in the back and watched as we drove through the busy streets, trying to piece together my memories of the place from when I was here last. I noticed that, for some odd reason, the driver headed in another direction. But I knew where we were in London, so I could only assume that we were going to longer way round. A way to charge more money, I huffed and sank further in my seat. The cab reached Wardour Street when it suddenly stopped, the vehicle screeched to a halt as someone crashed hard into the bonnet. I curse under my breath. "What the hell?!"