[In contrast to Mikotoba's Look, Sholmes closes the door and steps in rather casually, unworried about the disorder. This should come as no surprise, given this was only ever the default for the detective, claiming that the mess was an organized one in his mind, a filing system that none should disturb else it all come crumbling apart beneath the weight of its own chaotic framework. (Never mind the fact that when it did come time to seek an essential letter, or a clipping from a newspaper, or some other scientific bauble needed for his laboratory space, he could scarcely locate the item in question at all.)
The detective steps over piled-up mishmashes of clutter with the surreal confidence of a man who strides through a minefield, knowing with illogical certainty that he will not blow anything up. He makes it to a squat little table in the common area, disguised under a stack of colorful papers accumulated during his explorations through the city — adverts and pamphlets of shops and businesses that he will never visit or have already long forgotten about.]
It is a system, Mikotoba! A system! [Years later, his excuse is still the same. Still, Sholmes leans forward and slides all the papers off the table with one sweeping, dramatic motion.] Besides, we will make space! Now that you have agreed to live here, I have a reason to restrict this same system to a smaller portion of the flat. Otherwise, I will hear your complaints every day, won't I?
[He laughs about it as though it is a thing to laugh about. Sholmes straightens and gestures to indicate the whole of the apartment.]
There are two bedrooms—small, but sufficient—so as before, you will have your own sanctuary to retreat to. I will not make you sleep on the sofa, dear fellow.
[There are two bedrooms, a bathroom, a common area, and a kitchenette — all very humble. There is a sense that even once the space is not being devoured by Sholmes' "organized" disorganization, it will be a very intimate living arrangement, but at least they are graced by large windows that let the sunlight in. (And are very important in letting the detective's tobacco smoke out when necessary.)]
no subject
The detective steps over piled-up mishmashes of clutter with the surreal confidence of a man who strides through a minefield, knowing with illogical certainty that he will not blow anything up. He makes it to a squat little table in the common area, disguised under a stack of colorful papers accumulated during his explorations through the city — adverts and pamphlets of shops and businesses that he will never visit or have already long forgotten about.]
It is a system, Mikotoba! A system! [Years later, his excuse is still the same. Still, Sholmes leans forward and slides all the papers off the table with one sweeping, dramatic motion.] Besides, we will make space! Now that you have agreed to live here, I have a reason to restrict this same system to a smaller portion of the flat. Otherwise, I will hear your complaints every day, won't I?
[He laughs about it as though it is a thing to laugh about. Sholmes straightens and gestures to indicate the whole of the apartment.]
There are two bedrooms—small, but sufficient—so as before, you will have your own sanctuary to retreat to. I will not make you sleep on the sofa, dear fellow.
[There are two bedrooms, a bathroom, a common area, and a kitchenette — all very humble. There is a sense that even once the space is not being devoured by Sholmes' "organized" disorganization, it will be a very intimate living arrangement, but at least they are graced by large windows that let the sunlight in. (And are very important in letting the detective's tobacco smoke out when necessary.)]