Sherlock Holmes isn’t an emotional man.
The detective in him needs to understand why, how much, and when. Feelings, slippery things, are notoriously difficult to quantify.
Sherlock Holmes isn’t a lyrical man.
The scientist in him requires precise words, clipped and clear, definitive phrases that leave no room for interpretation or shades of grey.
Sherlock Holmes isn’t a lover.
The human being in him has learned many things over many years: Being smart gets you hurt. Speaking your mind loses you friends. Seeing what others don’t makes you a freak. Of what benefit is love?
John Hamish Watson puts lie to everything Sherlock Holmes thinks he’s not.
Not once, not twice, not three or four or five times but more times than Sherlock can count John’s stepped between him and a gun, a fist, a shout. He’s offered to die so Sherlock can live.
With world-weary eyes and crossed arms he somehow manages to say, “You went about this all wrong but yes, now I see what you see and I agree, you’re right, they’re wrong and you’re right.”
Every day they’re together, John listens to him, looks to him, understands and respects him. He guides, teaches, and most of all takes—no, wants—the things Sherlock knows how to give.
“Even before all of this, before the long nights and bright days, before the chaos and the cases and the clues…before all of the things we’ve done and been and seen together, I knew. How could I not? It’s all there on your face. The patience, the wisdom. The certainty and strength. Even before you loved me John, believe this: I loved you.”
Sherlock Holmes is an emotional man.
A lyrical man.
And John’s lover.
Previous: School Reunion
AnnaCarrota’s beautiful drawing was the inspiration for this wee fic. His eyes, lord oh lord, I love his eyes.
Beautiful, emotional story by atlinmerrick
I dedicated this drawing, John’s close-up to her. She is so fabulous (yes, you’re right. You can hush me)
Thank you!
just perfect!!
Published
Lady Karasu 