Sherlock made me emo. Gosh, let's have some fluff. Yes, fluff please. BUT WITH REALITY. THIS IS HOW THEIR CONFESSION WOULD BE LIKE. SHERLOCK? FLUFF? PSH. NO. SERIOUS, BRO. AND KINDA FUNNY TOO.
He is a very precise observer.
He listens to the details of the gushing wind and passing cabbies.
He touches with care and delicate, finding everything.
He smells the air and notices the differences.
And, he sees everything – his curse.
Fortunately, he enjoys his curse. He was able to become much more intellectual than Einstein - that was a fact; he was forced to take an IQ test when he was thirteen years old and the result was higher than the guy who stated: E=mc2. It was no surprise to the boy and the boy's family members. Not a bit. After all, they were –
"Sherlock Holmes!"
Oh, and this man's name is John Watson, an army doctor who came from Afghanistan about 5 years or so. This man is probably the only and going to be only one out in the entire human population who could withstand the man. Everyone says it's a miracle – Dr. Watson not killing Mr. Holmes, and Mr. Holmes not killing Dr. Watson – that both of them can call each other friend.
Mrs. Holmes was really grateful to Dr. Watson, if you want to know.
Now, listen carefully, this is a very top secret that no one should so come closer. The famous consulting detective, the only one in the world, may look like he's a flawless man without any weakness but full with arrogance. He literally shows off that he's better than other people who have fair amount of knowledge.
However, never judge a book by its cover – never judge the great Sherlock Holmes with his boastfulness.
So, as I said before, come closer, come now, no, way more closer – wait!
"Sherlock Holmes! Get your bloody ass over here! Last week, you brought two heads and four hands. And now, a whole set of bloody body! AND IT'S NOT EVEN ON THE GROUND! IT'S IN BLOODY REFRIGERATOR! AND THE BLOOD IS LEAKING OUT FROM THE BAG!" shouted the man with brown grocery bags.
"Do you expect me to put it on the floor? I am doing a very important experiment, John. Do not touch anything. John, I saw your hand moving and heard a thump sound – apple, yes – it didn't drop that high, you caught it – while you were going to touch my tools. Am I correct?" replied the man, who was closing his eyes and lying on a sofa in the living room.
"It was a pear," retorted the shorter male with blond hair with grunt.
"Close enough."
"Then, where do you want me to put the groceries?" John asked in absent-mind as he took out the pears, eggs, milk, breads, strawberry jam, blueberry jam, and ham.
"Somewhere else," said the man with dark brown – almost black – curly hair, his eyelids still shut down, blocking the bright eyes from outside world.
"….Sherlock?"
"Hmm?"
"Did you receive a case from Greg?"
"…No, which is very disappointing."
"Well, it means that London is safe…for a while, now. And that is a good thing for other citizens, Sherlock."
John knew there wouldn't be a reply from the other so the former army doctor started to store the groceries into the cupboards. He was rearranging the things when he heard a huge thump – as if something heavy had fallen. With a bit of surprise – I mean, really, try being a flat mate with Sherlock Holmes for five years; pretty much extraordinary is not surprising – John lethargically walked in to the living room to greet his flat mate, on the ground, looking at the ceiling as if he was going to repaint the wall with his green – grey – eyes: you can't really describe his eye colors – it changes under different lightings; which is very enchanting.
"Sherlock?"
"Yes?"
"What are you doing?"
"Thinking."
"Sure you are."
"Yes."
"Gosh, by the name of her majesty, are you having your 'paranoid' state again? It had been only a week and a half since the last case! You can't really expect to have serial killers out there every weekend, don't you?"
"Well, I wish there are, but I highly doubt that there are no more people out there who are as clever as me and has the ability to make me to slow down my procession of resolving the case."
"…Moriarty is dead and I am glad he's dead, Sherlock."
"…Yes."
"…tea?"
"Yes."
The blond man simply turned and went back to the kitchen and started to make two cups of tea. Gradually, he got used to this kind of kitchen environment that he started to get pissed off when he saw a hand in a drawer rather than freaking out. Therefore, he wasn't surprised when he found a bundle of papers and a thick piano black leather notebook inside the utensils drawer. Without thinking much, John took out the tattered papers and worn out notebook. Since John is a very good gentleman and who respects privacy unlike someone, he didn't read what was inside. However, he did see the words that were written on the edge of a beige tattered paper.
'John – love? Love? Symptoms? Emotions useless. Heart beat. Friend. Lover..? Trust worthy. '
All those words were randomly placed and millions of arrows were pointing from one another. And John, of course, didn't drop the papers nor the notebook and screamed, 'Oh god, Sherlock Holmes wrote this?!' Rather, he did something that a very normal person would do.
He gave the papers and notebook to Sherlock without flinching a bit – this is what you learn when you get to live with Sherlock Holmes, everyone. Though I highly doubt that there wouldn't be any chance of you living with him because, even if you are genius or beautiful, John is the only one who Sherlock relies on.
"Here, I found this in the drawer. I think it's yours," said John as he placed the notebook and papers with the cup of tea beside Sherlock.
With ease, Sherlock sat up and drank the tea. He glanced at the leather notebook and looked at John, for the first time today since morning.
"Feeling better?"
"Yes…thank you."
"..Oh…You're welcome."
As soon as their short conversation ended, John stood up and headed to his laptop which was neatly placed on top of the desk. Before he logged in to his blog, he slightly moved the curtain and let the London's starlight to shine inside the house. Then, he turned on the telly to hear news. Sherlock, who was back to his mind palace, was lying down on the sofa, holding the papers and the notebook. The tea cup was empty but Sherlock's expression seemed more complex than before. This was strange because Sherlock usually felt better whenever John made him a good cup of tea.
John looked at his friend for a second and went back on to write on his blog.
Again, Sherlock is having a paranoid state – I believe.
There were no 'fun' cases in a week and half. His symptoms are getting worse day by day.
I wonder if he's going to fake his death once more just to make things fun.
I would really punch him real hard if he does that.
He barely talks or eats; I am starting to get worried.
However, it's a good thing that he's not shooting walls or screeching his violin and that makes things more questionable.
Then, Sherlock stood up and paced around the living room. His thin pale index finger kept patting the chin. Sherlock's dark eyebrows were furrowed and he looked like he was solving the biggest case ever.
"Are you okay, Sherlock?"
"…"
"Sherlock? Are you okay?"
"…"
"Sherlock Holmes! Are you alright?!"
"Hm? Oh yes, of course. Just thinking."
John raised an eyebrow and looked back to his laptop screen. He tilted his head to the side a bit, trying to find a right word to write down. Abruptly, John didn't hear anymore walking steps or the swishing sound of bathrobe that Sherlock wore. Silence crept over in to the flat. John blinked exactly three times before he turned around.
"Sherlock, what are you do – "
The built blond man was interrupted by the sudden surprise – and it was a real surprise.
"…Sherlock…?"
Sherlock Holmes was right behind John Watson, looking at the other in a way that almost made him look innocent, naïve, and vulnerable. There was confusion in that bright eyes and even John – not saying that he's ignorant or anything – could see it. The corners of his lips were twitching as if they were eager to say something very important. John saw it. Sherlock knew John saw it.
"Yes…?" asked John carefully as he observed Sherlock's unexpected behavior.
"John."
"Yes."
"John Watson."
Sherlock's caramel-sweet smooth baritone made John's name like a cotton candy. By then, John was standing up, closing the gap between him and Sherlock. The blond looked at the taller male and raised his eyebrows, urging the other to go on.
"You do know that I am a brain, don't you, John?"
"Yes, indeed, you are."
"But you do know that I do not know everything."
"...Well…Yes."
Sherlock took a breath and furrowed his eyebrows.
"I really don't get it."
Now, it was John's time to furrow his eyebrows.
"What do you mean by 'I don't get it'? I don't understand what you are talking about, Sherlock."
"You know what I am talking about, John."
"No, I don't. I am not you, Sherlock. Sadly, I am neither a keen observer nor a genius."
"John, I know the signs and symptoms of being desperately, hopelessly in love. Sort of wish I didn't, but you can't wish knowledge away. And even you know the signs and symptoms of being in love. Therefore, you should know what I am talking about; I, bloody Sherlock Holmes, am in love with Doctor John Watson."
Doctor Watson simply stared at the taller male in his eyes; both of the males' furrowed eyebrows were long gone. The talker male's eyes were only left with vulnerability and innocence. After all, it is Sherlock's first time feeling something called 'emotion'. And not even a normal 'emotion' such as caring but loving.
A second passed like an hour and the 221B Baker Street was soon lightened up with John's bright sunny smile.
"Good job, Sherlock Holmes, I thought you would take longer to figure it out. And…"
John tiptoed and planted a soft kiss on his handsome, charming, and ingenious consulting detective's cheek.
"I love you too, Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes."
And, probably, his curse wasn't a curse at all – after all, if he didn't have the ability, he wouldn't have been able to meet love of his life.
HERRO THAR. I MEAN. I AM SORRY. I know I have to continue my Writing and Drawing are Different Arts but I got in to Sherlock….And it made me emo. Since Sherlock is not dead and likely to come back and it IS coming back so – I just wanted to write something after The Fall, and after the Return of the Sherlock Holmes.
"I know the signs and symptoms of being desperately, hopelessly in love. Sort of wish I didn't, but you can't wish knowledge away." Is Sherlock Holmes' quote.