A/N: I haven't written fanfiction in a couple of years, so I probably need some time to get into it again. Another flaw: English is not my mother-tongue. But I hope this little piece doesn't hurt your eyes too much and maybe you might even enjoy it a bit.
It's only a one-shot, but maybe -in case of people liking it- I'll go on from this point.
The first cases of love and affection towards him were indeed difficult to deduce for the world's only consulting detective Sherlock Holmes.
Molly and „the woman". Both of them took him some time to realize what was going on. Of course he knew by the book how bodies would react when people were in love: the dilated pupils, the sweaty hands, the higher heart rate. But coming to the conclusion someone actually liked him – now that wasn't too easy even for him.
Then, after papers called him „The Reichenbach Hero", the letters began. Oh those letters. Only a few of them at first. But then dozens and suddenly hundreds of love letters from women of all ages. Young students, business women, ladies in his mother's age – they all admired him. And that was when he really got confused...
„John, I need your help. This is... this is ridiculous!" In a swift motion he threw a bunch of letters onto the table in front of his flatmate.
The doctor slowly raised his head. He managed to stay calm around Holmes most of the time and obviously the tall figure wasn't shooting the wall, so he just had a light interested in his errands.
„Go on, have a look. All those women declaring their love." Sherlock spat out in a rather disgusted manner. "At least I can use some of the envelops for experiments on how lipstick reacts with different kind of glue and paper." he mumbled more to himself than to Watson.
The blond man was still sitting down, picking up some letters and laughing at some points.
„And you need my help telling these ladies that you're not looking for your perfect wife at the moment?"
„Ah, don't be as foolish as them, John. I need your help figuring out WHY."
„Excuse me?" Now that got his interest. Did Sherlock just admit he needed help in figuring out something? The great Sherlock Holmes? The person solving cases in minutes - after Lestrade and the whole NSY were clueless even after weeks? HE needed help?
„I said, I need your help figuring out why. Why are they sending those letters to me?" Staring at the ceiling, Sherlock let himself drop onto his chair and rested his chin on top of his long delicate fingers.
"People know I'm a sociopath. A high functioning one but still. Besides..." he fumbled some crumbled pieces of paper out of his pocket and looked at them "I've read a lot, probably too much, of those fancy magazines and as far as I can tell, I'm not what people consider a handsome man these days."
The room was rather dark as the sun in December was going down early and it was already a late afternoon. John had to lean forward to catch a glimpse of the articles Sherlock was holding in his hands. And indeed, he obviously had cut out several pictures of male stars. Movie stars, musicians, even politicians that were dealt as "sexy". Now this was a very strange thing for the detective to do and John was still wondering what was going on, when Sherlock raised his voice again.
"I'm too tall, too thin, too pale, too freakish. So tell me, my dear Dr. Watson. What is it, people love about me so much they feel obliged to send me those letters?" he asked, raising his eyebrows and looking John directly into his eyes.
Without warning, John knew how Sherlock would feel in his mind palace. Hundreds, no thousands of images rushed through his mind. The first was the purple shirt. Oh the shirt- it's contrast to Sherlock's beautiful pale skin, how it clung perfectly to the slender figure, the way it placed emphasis on those stormy eyes of the detective.
Despite claiming he wasn't gay more than forty times in the last two years, John knew better. His several relationships to women made it clear to him. He wasn't bisexual. Probably he wasn't even homosexual. Most likely he was Sherlock-sexual.
In a couple of seconds he figured out the least-revealing answer to give.
"Helper syndrome."
Sherlock shifted in his chair, eyes still fixed on his friend. "Explain", he demanded without sounding rude.
A grin spread over John's face when he realized he could tell the truth without telling Sherlock... well "the truth". He cleared his throat and started explaining.
"Well, people see you in the media. They see your pictures, read the articles about you, might even start to wonder how the human being 'Sherlock Holmes' is like. Yes, yes Sherlock, there are still people out there thinking you're human.", the doctor added when his companion opened his mouth to say something.
"And then they discover you seem to be alone. You live with a former army doctor in a small flat, you have no girlfriend or wife and you're a sociopath. So what do people make of that? They might think you're wounded, you're looking for love but nobody wants you and that's why you're broken. Probably there's a scenario in their minds, where you focus on your cases because you don't want to deal with your loneliness. So they want to help you. They want to make you smile, prepare food for you since you're so thin, cuddle you – anything to make you feel better."
John ended his short speech, patiently waiting for a reply from Sherlock. Said man took some time to dwell on the things that had been laid out and after a couple of minutes came with an answer, the doctor certainly did not expect.
"Is that why you are staying with me? Because you pity me?"
Taking a deep breath, John stood up, looking at Sherlock. He put a bit of annoyance in this voice to conceal his real feelings. "Yes, Sherlock, that's why I'm living here. That and the fact I adore your purple shirt." With that, he left and got dressed for a late night shift at the hospital, leaving a confused detective behind.
But Sherlock wasn't confused about the letters any more. It was the look in John's eyes when he spoke about the purple shirt. Was there a hint of affection? Even lust? Now that was something he had to investigate...