Sherlock likes it here in Sussex. It's quiet, different than London. He never thought he'd like the quiet, but. It's nice. There's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, something else he can observe and take notice of. He thinks there is no one out here besides himself, so he's laying on his back, sketching what he sees even though the shower hasn't started yet.

He might be considered mad by those that might have known him before. He's just... Different now that's all. He prefers the quiet, he's easily spooked, and other than the injuries he'd came with after being dropped on someone's doorstep, he didn't seem willing to tell them what happened.