People think that Sherlock Holmes is a psychopath.
John knows this. He watches their eyes when they speak to him and sees the poorly hidden fear and disgust. He listens to their voices as they call him cold, heartless, and, worst of all, freak.
He clenches his fists and makes sure to tell Sherlock that he is brilliant.
John figured it out almost immediately.
This man, this madman, feels things with every fiber of his being. He thanks John for his phone on their very first day in a voice that is full of gratitude, as though he is taken aback by kindness. He hurries to tidy up 221B, frightened, it seems, of losing John before they've even begun. These are not the actions of a heartless man, but of one whose feelings run treacherously deep.
With every passing day, and each assertion that he, Sherlock Holmes, feels nothing, John becomes more and more certain.
John sees how Sherlock observes the world with wide-eyed astonishment. With every deduction, Sherlock becomes closer to the earth, to the universe, to creation. He collects details like children collect shells on the shoreline, tucking them away in corners of his Mind Palace where they can be treasured. He breathes in how things are made, why they are made, and becomes one with the great knowledge of it. His familiarity with the world stretches back to its inception.
It is a marvel to witness such a thing, and John falls in love with the wonder of it. With the wonder and the goodness of this man.
It is on that very first day that Sherlock, against all odds, sees John.
It has been so long. John had gotten used to the solitude that comes with indistinctness.
But Sherlock – he takes everything in with a single glance. Not only the information to be collected from the surface, but the pain and sorrow that lies beneath it.
And when Sherlock looks at him, John feels known.
John, knowing Sherlock as he does, becomes more than an assistant; he is a partner in every sense of the word. And Sherlock, in his own way, shows John what he means to him. In the way that he unexpectedly pulls John aside in the middle of a case to point out the flight of a bumblebee. In the subtle ways he begins to show more vulnerability. In deductions, in observations, in bright-eyed smiles.
And so they grow together. They grow as one, and they are both better men for it. Time goes by, and there is always more beauty to discover within each other.
People think love is a mystery to Sherlock Holmes.
John knows better.