( The watchmaker laughs a little, half-smirking, over the initial reply towards altruism. He only wished other people could see that truth. It seemed all but indisputable to him. Halfway through now, with the gears removed arranged neatly, smallest to largest, beside the clock. Still within are the other machinations, what directs the order of time with the universe. Just a few more adjustments, movement of latches... )

You're like me. From one death to the next, it becomes an addiction, doesn't it? You indulge to cure the boredom, simply for something to do. The mystery for you--well, for both of us--is what drives us. We simply have different methods in our puzzle-solving.

( He could picture it now, this man as addicted to solving a found corpse's demise as the businessman buying another six pack of beer. In the latter's case, they used their habit to wind down the mind and mellow out. He was almost certain that wasn't Sherlock's reason at all.

There. The errant gear, the one he'd heard causing that terrible noise. He smiles triumphantly when he finds it, peering more closely. A very simple fix, as he'd suspected. Grasping hold of the tiny item with a different tool, very carefully, he readjusts the alignment. He glances up, removing the magnified glasses, watching him with that same predatory curiosity. )

How right am I, Sherlock?