Sherlock Holmes. The world's first—and only—consulting detective. With one glance he could tell you what you were doing a month ago, with one conversation your life story. Unlike most of the people he met seemed to believe, Sherlock did not have an "off button". He observed, it was what his brain was trained to do. He couldn't simply decide not to see, and it was in no way his fault that he saw what others could not. Telling them was simply something he had gotten used to from the years of bullying he faced when he was forced to attend school. Those retched years of pointless lessons and endless harassment forced him to find alternative methods of scaring off his enemies, seeing his near constant state of illness left him weakened and vulnerable. Unfortunately, this started his nasty habit of immediately stating his observations, something that was apparently very intrusive and offensive.
All of this led to Sherlock being forced into almost complete isolation. Despite how hard he tried—and he did try, even if it didn't seem like it – he could not seem to hold a steady friendship. If Sherlock really looked into it he supposed this was why he no longer felt sexually attracted to anyone, male or female. One can only deal with so much rejection before choosing to instead focus on more important things than petty relationships. Like Work. Work was probably the most important thing in Sherlock's life. It more or less was his life.
Sure, the police weren't Sherlock's favorite people, but life was so boring without Work. He couldn't begin to understand why people all wanted so much free time; it was so painfully boring all the time. Even his experiments were boring, especially with murderers and unsolved crimes still lingering all throughout London. It was such a rush for him, figuring out these mysteries that his brain and his brain alone could solve.
Sherlock had pretty much expected to spend his days alone. He'd tried to find flatmates, tried to "socialize with the public" as his brother had suggested, but he always managed to let his deductions slip, and whomever he had been talking to would call him an ignorant prat before stomping off. Some of the girls would slap him, some of the guys would attempt to hit him, but it always ended in the same way. Up until he met Doctor John Watson.
For the first time, Sherlock felt… appreciated. John didn't think he was a freak like most of the detectives he was forced to work with, he didn't think he was annoying, and he didn't think he was rude. He thought Sherlock's talents were brilliant, which truly was a refreshing experience. Since the first day, John had accepted him for everything that he was. From his skull to the head in their fridge, John was patient, and Sherlock appreciated that more than John would ever know.
Now Sherlock was not a sentimental man. He no longer cared to look for friendships or 'love', nor did he care that he lacked it for most of his life. However, Sherlock had to admit he had grown to like John. He couldn't help but realise that, for the first time, he had found himself a… well; he had found himself a companion. 221b was livelier since John arrived, and Sherlock had to admit he was happier with the man here. At the very least he could finally talk to a person and not a skull. Walking around London talking to a skull apparently caused some concern with tourists, among others.
However, with being the world's only consulting detective came the complications of his job. He was constantly putting his life in danger, and more often than he'd like to admit, Sherlock would drag John down with him. Now Sherlock had never minded the… sacrifices that had to be made for his Work. He never cared if there were casualties. However, he could not lie and say that he didn't panic when he saw those bombs draped over John. For the first time in a very long time, Sherlock's brain had stopped. All he knew was that he had to get John out of the retched thing. The logical part of his brain seemed to just… freeze.
That was when Sherlock first realized that he had gained a fondness of the man. He wasn't simply a companion, a replacement for the skull. He was a friend. Potentially Sherlock's first genuine friend. This complicated things. It complicated everything, in fact. As things intensified with Moriarty, he worried more about what would happen to John in the inevitable end that he knew was forthcoming.
When the time came where he was forced to choose between John's life and his own, Sherlock didn't hesitate. It took no more than a second of thought, even if he outwardly tried to think of other possible solutions. Lying to the man had been hard. Sherlock didn't want to lose the trust they shared, nor did he want to move back into the isolation he had so recently crawled out of, but the only way he could keep John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hadson safe was to fake his own death.
Now, as his finger hovered over the "send" button, Sherlock hesitated. He knew John had moved on. He had asked Mycroft to keep him updated, to make sure John was safe. He had moved on, seemingly forgotten his adventures with Sherlock in exchange for a steady job at his practice. His blog hadn't been touched since John's entry of their last case, rightly titled "The Reichenbach Fall"… the fall of the great Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock knew it would be better to leave him be. It had been nearly eight months since John's confession at his gravestone, and Sherlock knew showing his existence again after such a long period of time would likely result in an outrage from John. He needed the man, however, and he would stop at nothing to get him back. Without him Sherlock discovered he was much to rash. He couldn't tell when he was being too mean, when he was treading too far. He needed John to hold him straight, keep him levelled.
So, despite his better judgement, Sherlock hit send. He stared at the luminous screen of his phone and reread his message. Potentially too simple, but old habits most certainly die hard, even in the case of Sherlock Holmes.
John. Important new case, please come if convenient. 221b Baker Street. 12:00. - SH
A/N: Alright, so the first paragraph or so of this story wouldn't quit nagging at my brain after my Sherlock marathon the other evening, and I couldn't help but write this introduction. If it's well received, I will most likely continue it, otherwise it will forever be a one-shot. Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you thought! :)
