And the saddest fear comes creeping in.
Many people assume that when John Watson took center stage in Sherlock's life; it was the doctor who was swept away. And he was, to be sure. But what most don't know is that Sherlock was swept away as well. When he first looked at the seemingly average man, his heart stopped; because he could tell in a glance that this was no ordinary human. John was… Special… and pure in a way; a way that made Sherlock want to steady his trembling hands. Fix his limping leg. Cure his depression, his PTSD. Sherlock wanted him in perfect health. Because there was nothing more satisfying than building someone up, making them dependent on you… and then tearing them down again, taking away the drug and watching the withdrawal.
There's a lot more to their life than most would have you believe.
They're the crime-fighting duo.
Best friends.
The perfect couple.
But no one knows about the night that Sherlock got John drunk enough to convince him to try some of the addict's best supply.
John was on edge for days and then berated himself for trusting the wannabe scientist with alcohol.
No one knew about the time that John tried to say no, but Sherlock wouldn't have it.
The sociopath tied him up and held him down and bit back the screams with his own tongue, roughly biting his lips.
He walked with a limp, decidedly not psychosomatic, for days, and Sherlock noticed the blood stains in the shower.
John said it was fine.
He could get fixated on things easily.
It wasn't the genius's fault that his brain refused to function like a normal person's sometimes.
After that experiment Sherlock noticed a few things.
John was more eager to please Sherlock.
In any way possible.
More sex, more drugs, more crimes, and less complaining, he did everything he could to make Sherlock happy.
But underneath that Sherlock also noticed the flinches.
Sherlock would raise his voice, or come home unexpectedly and John would physically recoil.
He was afraid.
John Watson was afraid of Sherlock Holmes and the great detective knew it.
Moriarty was just in time, as far as Sherlock was concerned.
John was codependent.
John was afraid. John was in love.
It all got so frightfully boring.
So he let himself get sucked into it.
Into the game.
Moriarty became what John had been.
Practically overnight.
Sherlock would like to think that it was the closest he had ever come to loving someone.
So he threw himself in with a passion, made John listen to his suicide note, and jumped.
It was perfect.
That he never loved me, or her, or anyone, or anything.
