Hello all! This is my first meager attempt at Sherlock fic, I hope it's acceptable. I just watched the series last night and the characters have been bouncing around in my head while I try to study, so I just had to get something out. I wanted to add something more to this, but nothing felt right, so I left it as is.
It's mostly just friendship, could be slightly slashy if you want to interpret it that way (I like to). I'll try writing something more concretely romantic later on, hopefully.
Feedback would be most appreciated!
Sherlock wasn't one for studying people; at least not beyond the basics. A quick glance at their appearance, possessions, and mannerisms could tell him all that would be useful for his own ends. Just enough to solve a case or get information.
He didn't often look beyond the exterior, into the personality or motivations of other people. Frankly, it generally didn't matter to him how people felt or why they did they things they did. Unless, of course, they were a serial killer, which made them marginally more interesting. But in general people just bored him. Half a minute's observation would have them all figured out, and then the game was over, nothing accomplished.
Which is why Sherlock found it so perplexing that John Watson should fascinate him so. He was a simple, rather plain man on the outside. He wore neutral, understated clothes, kept his hair short and neat, nothing fussy about him at all. He was generally quiet and inconspicuous, not one to draw immediate attention. But the more Sherlock observed his new flatmate, the more he found to capture his interest.
There was the serious expression he wore while typing in his blog, as if trying to recapture events in his mind as he transcribed them into just the right words. And the way his face lit up when he finally caught up to Sherlock's train of thought, remarking on his partner's brilliance in an absent-minded way. Or the slight frown he wore whenever Sherlock was doing something particularly eccentric; somewhat wary, but not truly disapproving.
Sherlock found himself watching John more and more. Soon it was so habitual that he wasn't aware he was doing it half the time. He learned new things about his friend, like how he drank his coffee, and which tv shows made him laugh. But nothing that was of any real use. Nothing he could use to his benefit, surely. But for some reason it brought him a smug sort of satisfaction. Like maybe he was the only person in the world who knew these things about the serious young doctor. It was an entirely different gratification than he felt from solving a case.
Perhaps this is what it meant to have a friend.