I was a lonely man. A doctor; wounded, grave and serious. I'd seen men die and held my own. Then he appeared.
This man was a bit queer I will admit, but he had something about him that drew me in. An old army friend had introduced me and soon after we became room-mates. Not that it was a mutual decision, as he spat out quick and accurate information about my private life and family before hurriedly rushing away and telling me the address of my new dwelling. An address I'll never forget: 221b Baker Street.
I quickly learned that he wasn't one to dwell on emotions. I began to think he had no feelings. Admittedly, he did revive me with the constant detective cases he brought me on, but he seemed to enjoy hearing that there had been a murder or something of the sort. "A Consulting Detective", he called himself, going on cases every other week that often involved running, violence, and him rapidly spitting out bits of intrusive yet impressive information no one but me it seems wanted to hear.
It's not that he didn't have feelings per say as much as that he felt they weren't necessary. As I grew to know him better, as much as a person can know about this particular man, I found that he had a particular sense of humor. A genuine laugh. A hearty smile when he meant for you to see it. All in all, he was a very nice man. I grew able to see in his eyes when he was desperate or in pain. My senses grew attached to him so that even his breathing seemed so familiar to me that it was comforting to hear. Case after case brought us closer together. Although he was capable, or so he said, of "deleting" bits of information from his vast amount of knowledge, such as the way the solar system works, I noticed that he paid attention to little things about me that would have otherwise been taken for granted.
He knew the way I like my tea and coffee. He knew which shirt was my favorite although he didn't blatantly say so. And although he didn't need to, he also took private thought of my eating habits to make sure I was always getting enough.
This man was the man I could trust most with anything. My only friend, companion, accomplice. I thought he could do anything. I knew he could do anything. I remember everything about him. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he tucked his chin in when he laughed, the way he folded his hands in front of his face when he thought. I remember his favorite bath robe, his impeccable aim with a pistol, his tasteful sense of style.
I remember the look on his face when he jumped.