This is my first slash fic you guys, and I am not, in fact, gay, so please correct me if I say something offensive. An dI apologize for uploading the wrong document and being disproportionately embarresed about it. Another note, I've tired to do any romance before, so I'm a little nervous. No flames, plese
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, or the title. Sherlock belongs to BBC, and the title belongs to C.D.B Bryan.
Sherlock
Three words. Three, simple words that Sherlock was terrified to say.
Fear. He, Sherlock Holmes, felt an abundance of it every time he thought about Watson. The uncomfortable look that would flit across his face, the apologetic tone his voice would take as Watson explained that he-just-didn't-feel-the-same-way. So Sherlock kept silent.
When he thought about it, Sherlock supposed that it was rather ironic. The one person he had ever felt… sentiment for was a man who had very clearly stated that he most definitely not gay. And, if that hadn't convinced Sherlock, then John's constant stream of girlfriends had.
Not that Sherlock didn't enjoy those. He loved to see how subtly he could drive them away; how long it would take to break them. It was all a game, really. Forgetting their name, blithely talking about her many, many predecessors. What was baffling, though, was that John hadn't caught on by now. He just kept trying and trying, forcing Sherlock to up his game.
Sherlock hadn't expected to… have feelings for John. He had come to 221B Baker Street to help pay the rent, and nothing more. And their first meeting had been anything but…sentiment at first sight.
But John grew on him.
It was the little things that John did. The way he always made tea during a crises (or a particularly fascinating triple murder, depending on your perspective), the way he always complained about doing the groceries but never once thought it was a good idea to let Sherlock into a grocery store. Then, after their third case together, Sherlock actually started to like John.
He was sassy, especially in the face of danger. Sherlock savored this, even if it was a defense mechanism to lighten the gravity of any given situation; it was better than crying. He remained practically unflappable in the face of danger, and, most endearing of all, John felt this semi-maternal need to protect Sherlock from public opinion when it became harsh.
It really wasn't fair.
Because Sherlock could never, ever, tell John how he feels. John deserves so much more than Sherlock, someone better. Yes, Sherlock was admitting that for once, someone was better than him.
If, in a parallel universe where one thing could go right, Sherlock did confess his feelings to John and, by some miracle, John returned them; Sherlock would so rarely show them. A whole life of cold apathy and calculation wouldn't go away easily. Sherlock would still think John an idiot (albeit, a slightly less idiotic one). John would be confused and hurt by this, and then leave forever, and Sherlock wouldn't be able to handle that.
In conclusion, it really wasn't fair.