AUTHOR NOTES: It's safe for me to say that none of these characters are of my property, they all belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's brightness, and the way this is written was according to the personalities they portray in BBC Sherlock, which is not mine either, or there would be a lot of gay porn. This was just written for fun, mainly because I needed to give one of my best friends a gift so I decided to write this. I also want to thank my soulmate Julia, who supported me on this little project of mine and was my beta at the same time. Oh, ¡feliz cumpleaños, Cami-Xu!
Alright, thanks for reading and well, here we go, then!
"Are you alright?" The question came out of nowhere, as usual, but it was not strong enough to drop him out of his thoughts. "Sherlock!"
Our favorite detective was sitting in front of his flatmate and friend, Doctor John Watson, having some scrambled eggs and tea as his weekly breakfast.
Since he solved the case brought by the young man, Henry Knight, and made the decision of finally telling John what he meant to him, he couldn't stop thinking about this friendship between them. It felt strange, to feel and care about someone, even though this was not news to Sherlock. As a human being, he had some secrets he'd never tell, things he'd never reveal, unless it was necessary.
Why wasn't this feeling a new thing to the consulting detective? Simple, obvious, as he told himself every day—he had a best friend once, a really good friend, who turned out to be his enemy and equal years after they parted.
"I need a case," was all Sherlock said, once again hiding his face behind a book he was reading.
He wasn't able to look at John right after he told the blond man a lie, and every time started to behave like a child. There was something about John's look that didn't let him, or maybe it just was this honesty he had been used to during all these years. He never lied, except when it was necessary.
He'd never do something he considered wrong. He had principles, too.