I might not be as sharp and observational as Sherlock, but I know something is wrong. I know it is, I can tell. I see how he looks at me sometimes when he thinks i'm not looking back. I can see him, just a short tiny glance, his eyes are always so sad. So alone, so tired. Those ice cold, analyzing eyes of a genius.
He was always so well at hiding, but some parts of him are becoming more and more human and normal. I will approach him today, ask him what is wrong.