People ask me why I follow Sherlock Holmes. I can't really answer them, because I don't really have an answer myself. It does seem strange, doesn't it; to step in Sherlock's footsteps a heartbeat after he shows the way, which often leads into danger and sometimes to the brink of death?
Is it the thrill of the chase, whether after a criminal or after my flat mate to keep up with his lengthy strides? Yes.
Is it my soldier instinct, which often begs for someone to give me an order that I can fulfill? Yes.
Is it just the sensation of running for the sake of running, after all that time I couldn't run because of my limp, the very same that he took away with his crazy methods? Also yes.
But is it, above everything, the fact that I care about this man, this wonderfully insane sociopathic detective, more than I have ever cared about anyone I have had the honor of shooting someone for? God, yes.
I would follow him forever. I would follow him to the end of the world if he wanted me to, because I can't deny that I am attracted to him as if to a magnet.
Also, because following means I get a fantastic view of his butt.