I got hooked on Sherlock earlier this week after meaning to watch it for a long time. Please forgive any inaccuracies - I haven't even finished watching season one yet, but I couldn't wait to start writing Johnlock fiction...
John P.O.V.
I didn't quite know what to think at first. I mean, aside from the fact that he was obviously a genius and quite possibly a sociopath. I got used to it, I suppose, the running and the searching and, of course, the inevitable boredom. What I didn't get used to was the way that there were some days when he seemed like a different person entirely, so different from the confident (arrogant?), brilliant Sherlock that I know.
Sherlock P.O.V.
I can't pinpoint the exact moment when I started noticing John. Of course I noticed his presence at first, so different from the empty flat I was used to. I can't say that I appreciated that presence all the time, but eventually, I became accustomed to it, to him.
I gradually adapted to his habits and routines, stopped letting his presence distract me. Yet some days, I am still so acutely aware of him. Of the way a breeze ruffles his short hair, of how his fingers flutter across his keyboard. When John is around, life has lost its monotony. I am content to merely watch him for hours on end.
When John asks why I watch him, I never tell him the truth. I have never said that my eyes follow him because every aspect of his existence fascinates me. I will never tell him that he keeps boredom away on those strange days. Perhaps, one day, I will tell him something close to the truth. I may tell him that I enjoy watching him, or that his hands beg my attention when they move.
This is all so very distracting.
