I met someone today. Not in the way you're thinking, mind, but he's nice. Even nicer than most of the people I meet. His name is John Watson, he's an invalided army doctor, and he actually thinks that what I do is amazing, fantastic, and extraordinary. Those were his exact words, and the moment he said them, my heart just about stopped.

It felt like the world had stopped spinning when he said those things. It gave me a feeling of happiness for a moment, and then one of dread, because what if he didn't think those things after being around me for so long, assuming he'll agree to be my flatmate? What if he gets tired of me being smart? What if I'm not ordinary enough?

I sound like some lovestruck fool, but I'm not. It's just - this might be my first and actual real friend, and I don't want to chase him away with my being too clever. I don't want him to see me as a freak. I want him to see me as amazing, fantastic, and extraordinary.

I have to go now, we're on a case. I don't know why I announce my leave to you, a journal, but it feels right to do so. Until later.

Well, we solved the case of the suicides, which all turned out to be murder. The man behind it all was dying and needed money to provide for his kids, so he turned to someone to help him out. He said the man's name is Moriarty, but the name is unfamiliar to my ears. I'll have to do some research on it later.

John got mistaken as my date today, which was quite amusing. He denied it, but I said nothing because it was fun to watch him squirm about it. He then asked me later if I had a girlfriend or boyfriend, which was quite odd. Or is that a normal question to ask someone you've only just met a few hours ago? I don't know, I don't know how normal people interact.

I solved John's problem with his leg today, as well. He had a psychosomatic limp in his right leg. His idiotic therapist had prescribed him for medicine, even though it's all mental, quite literally; but I healed him, in a way. We were chasing after the cabbie - the one who had killed all of those people - and he never once went back for his cane.

I had called Angelo later that night to ask him if he would be so kind as to bring John his now useless cane, and he was all too happy to oblige. John was shocked, to say the least, but he soon realized that it was all inside his head.

It was in those last moments of the night that John had agreed to become my flatmate, and quite possibly a very good friend of mine.