Everything is a game. Anybody who says otherwise is clearly not smart enough to realize that everything is a game. Every second of everyday had been a game to Sherlock Holmes. People just did not think anymore and he knew they were too stupid to do anything about it. People had called him crazy, perhaps even a freak for thinking life was a game and not reacting to certain things. But he knew that they were wrong, everyone else in the world was clearly overreacting to insignificant things, while he reacted to things that mattered, which was not much. He struggled to understand why people didn't just think and open their eyes. Sometimes he wondered if everybody else saw the world with dull colors, sluggishly moving along, hearing muted sounds, tasting things with numbed tastebuds while he saw the world with vibrant colors and full of evidence that someone who used their brain could easily find, moving so quickly he was almost floating around, recognizing and hearing sounds to the point of knowing how close someone was by their footsteps of what kind of animal was skittering around.
Sure everyone else felt emotions stronger than he did, but you he always thought you never needed emotions. They didn't help in the game, so what was their point?
Even as there was a gun pointing at his head, Sherlock Holmes knew he was just playing a game. Sometimes games were boring but this was an exciting game, and he loved playing it. He craved the game. He yearned for Moriarty's next move.
But when the gun was pointed at John's head the game became something else.
At first he felt the game was jeopardized, but then be realized something.
When the gun was pointed at John's head, it wasn't a game anymore.
In life, the only thing that he knew would always be true was his title, the consulting detective.
Mrs. Hudson had actually suggested the name. He had brushed it off as a silly notion earlier but after giving it some thought he realized it to be true.
But now a gun was pointing at John's head. In that moment Sherlock Holmes' entire world came crashing down. No more games, they were meaningless compared to the safety of John.
For a second, Sherlock became someone else entirely.
Not angel or hero like John made him out to be.
Not a devil or a villain like Moriarty was.
Something human.
So as Moriarty played all of his cards with Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and most importantly John with guns pointed at their heads, Sherlock Holmes felt the strongest emotions he'd felt in a long time.
Love, fear, and compassion.
For his...
Friends.
The word felt strange on his tongue.
Then he knew there was only one way to save them. Oh, it would hurt John so much but it had to be done.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he looked over the edge of the building
Sherlock Holmes wasn't a hero, he never had been and he never will be.
Not a freak.
Not a psychopath.
Not a clever detective in a funny hat.
For a moment, Sherlock Holmes wasn't even the consulting detective.
He was...
Human.