Sherlock Holmes has flaws. Of course he does; every human being who has ever lived has, or had, flaws. Having flaws is an unavoidable part of life.
Sherlock has more flaws that most, his negative aspects seemingly outweighing the positives, his rough, brazen exterior standing out in a world of gentle souls and kind folk. His whole being screams out that he is different, wrong, and very few people dare to get close to him, to see the real Sherlock Holmes.
His family are relatively normal – excluding his elder brother Mycroft – but Sherlock is the absolute exception. Not sociopathic, as he so diligently expresses, merely unable to produce sufficient social skills. Definitely not sociopathic, despite what he may think.
Sherlock is rude, arrogant, disrespectful. He is a slob, he is lazy. He is unmanageable. Yet, he is none of these things. That is the image he projects, wanting to make his first impressions strong. The man underneath is far warmer, kinder, gentler. Although he can be rude.
Only a certain few people have the restraint to stay near Sherlock for more than ten minutes. His brother, for example. The DI from Scotland Yard, Greg Lestrade. Not many at all. Sally Donovan is one of the many that cannot stand him at all. That list includes Anderson, who considers Sherlock his mortal enemy.
Now, enough of Sherlock's associates. Let us talk of his flatmate, and best friend, John Watson. John is a very plain English man, aside from the fact he is an ex-army doctor, who had been shot in the shoulder, suffers from PTSD, and had – until he met Sherlock – a therapist. Sherlock literally changed John's life, just as John changed his.
John and Sherlock have a firm platonic relationship, despite the repetitive - and frankly dull - accusations of countless people. Even their landlady, Mrs Hudson assumed they were a couple, having known John for no longer than five minutes at the time. Angelo, an old friend of Sherlock's, thought the two men were on a date, producing a candle for their table. That night ended with a chase through London, two pills, and a dead cabbie.
The two men live on Baker street, in 221, or, more specifically, in 221b. A special favour owed by Mrs Hudson to Sherlock enabled the flat to be available for an oddly low rent price. Mrs Hudson is practically a mother to the flatmates, and she is one of very few people that can stand Sherlock, and that Sherlock can stand right back. John thinks that Sherlock loves his landlady more than he loves his own mother.
Right, back to Sherlock.
He is, essentially, and in John's words, a diamond in the rough. A gem of a human being hidden below countless layers of misery, rejection, and attitude. Lestrade once said that Sherlock was a great man. He also said that, one day, he might be a good one.
Sherlock is not good. He has no empathy - except when it concerns John, Lestrade or Mrs Hudson, understandably - and he has no regard for the feelings of others. He does not think before he speaks, nor does he even consider what people think. In his mind, the universe - of which he has very little knowledge, if any at all - revolves around him. In his mind, Sherlock Holmes in the centre of gravity around which the world spins.
Sherlock Holmes is, however, a great man. He has saved countless lives - and had a hand in ending quite a few - and yet he receives minimal praise and no rewards for his excellence. Not because people refuse to give him recompense, but because he does not need nor want money or gifts. Promised favours, he will accept. John suspects that half of London owe the consulting detective favours.
Sherlock is a loveless man, his family rejecting him with gusto. He was, and is, considered a freak. The odd one. The man who is different. This never bothers him, as, according to him, caring is not an advantage. He once stated that alone protects him, and John replied very solemnly that it did not, that friends protect you. Sherlock's outlook on life changed that day, but not much.
Sherlock is different. People reject difference, they reject change. He is misunderstood, and shall be forever a failure to his family. His friends, however, see him as a god among humans, an angel fallen to earth. They shall never admit it out loud, but they all know it's true. Sherlock has gained the respect of three people in the entirety of world; John Watson, Greg Lestrade, and Martha Hudson. They all care for him, so very deeply - another thing they shall never admit - and to see him fall would be seeing a comrade die in battle, a metaphor very relevant to John.
Sherlock Holmes is an oddity, but he shall be cherished, as he is one of a kind, and, although people don't express it, he is loved.