"…I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work…"
And why was that so bad? For a genius mind to be totally committed to the thing he loves and does best, it was only right.
I would only get in the way, I would only…
John Watson leaned against the shower surround, letting the hot water flow down his skin and pool at his feet, then escape down the drain along with the obvious wear of the day. As for any mutual feelings, no matter how hot the water was and no matter how long he stood under the stream, he couldn't change the quirky detective's feelings.
Sherlock was not attracted to him, to anyone. And that was fine. As long as they could stay friends and could carry on, a doctor watching a madman run all over London with a maniacal grin on his face, he was fine. Which is why, he supposed, the news of Sherlock's latent asexuality wasn't all that difficult to receive.
Or maybe it was because his attraction wasn't physical. No, Watson was strictly strait. It wasn't anything, in fact, but the sheer fascination and respect he had for the consult detective's mind. It was… amazing. Unparalleled. Beautiful.
Just as he is.