No, I'm the Sherlock Holmes

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I look like a dirty little criminal, but you can trust me. My soul is as good as it could ever be, and I'd die before I'd intentionally let you down.

I'm just writing, writing, writing, working, working, working. I may be a genius and I haven't slept for a while... and... I may be having some sort of panic attack. Or I don't know what this is. Quite fascinating after all.

I'd also like to take a break from my sexuality. It's very confusing and humiliating and crazy. I have absolutely no rational reason to be so interested in other humans' genitalia --- rationally thinking, they are very odd-looking shapes and organs. But it's genetically programmed in me to be interested in those shapes. My hormones keep telling me that I'm a young animal who should be creating children at the moment, but that is not going to happen and I have better things to do, so I'd like to tell my hormones to leave me alone for a moment. But it doesn't work like that. The hormones wont listen; I won't listen.

90 years from now, and I'll be dead, and you'll be dead, and everybody we love will be dead, and every single one of our enemies.