"It is strange to be known so universally and yet to be so lonely."

- Albert Einstein

I looked up as Holmes entered our humble flat. Stormed in, however, would be a more appropriate description. As would stomped in, sulked in, and tore in slamming the door as hard as he could behind him, causing the framed pictures on the wall to rattle.

I had been seated by the fire, my healing leg propped up on a footstool. Knowing that oblivion was the best way to deal with his tempers, I looked up from my newspaper with casual interest. "Something amiss, Holmes…?"

"How perceptive of you," he shot back between clenched teeth, stalking to the mantle and fishing a large pinch of tobacco out of the frayed slipper toe, stuffing it into his most beloved pipe. "State your evidence."

"Honestly, you're a grown man and you get into such tantrums… What on earth has you so wound?" I sighed as I folded up the paper, knowing I could not even finish the article I had been in the middle of now.

"Your blasted romantic drivel is what has me so wound, Watson!" He attempted to light a match, but struck it so aggressively on the mantle that the thin wood snapped.

"You've expressed your distaste, Holmes, but you've also said you enjoy being a household name…"

"I would be perfectly fine with it if you'd just report the facts!" I do not think he realized that if I did that, my readers might as well read the police files. Holmes can never comprehend that not everyone enjoys them as much as he does. "Instead, you insist on turning me into this emotional… complex… thing…!"

I should have guessed, really. The first printing of "The Adventure of the Three Garridebs" had just hit the stands, and he had obviously read the manuscript I had not let him see beforehand. "Holmes, you really did say those things…"

"I know that, Watson! I was there! But just because I issue a string of drabbling sentiment during a time of stress doesn't mean that all of London has to know about it!"

I sighed. "You're a human being, not an automaton."

"Have you not been listening? People do not need to know that!"

"I'm sure they've figured it out by now…" I paused. Surely it was not only the story that had him acting like this. He was florid even by his standards. "There's something else to this, isn't there?"

"I was greeted on the street by two of your loyal readers. Women. Girls, actually. They wanted to express how sorry they felt for me because I couldn't get past my own cold, icy outer shell to find the loving, caring man on the inside." Although he had not yet lit it, he was gripping his pipe so tightly his knuckles were turning to white.

I tried to restrain my snickering. Helping a friend was not laughing at them, no matter how very much one wanted to. "Surely that's not so bad Holmes."

His grey eyes held a rather haunted look at the memory. "They hugged me, Watson."

"… Pardon?"

"They hugged me. Both of them hugged me, assured me they saw the scared little boy beneath the façade of an emotionless hero, and went on their way. All I could do was stand there. It was several moments before my mind was truly functioning again."

I levered myself to my feet, keeping my weight off the leg that was still recovering from our latest adventure. I limped towards my friend. "Holmes…" Without another word, I threw my arms around him. Although strong, try as he might (and believe me, he did try) he could not wriggle free. "Better…?"

"Watson, if you don't release me on the count of three, I'll break every bone in your hand."

"Everyone needs to feel wanted sometimes, Holmes. Even you."

"One…"

"I am very proud to call you my friend."

"Two… I'll do it, Watson…!"

I released him, limping back to my chair and throwing myself down with an exhale of relief. No doubt I was smiling quite broadly.

Holmes was straightening his jacket, scowling furiously. Still, that haunted look was gone now. Deep, deep down, I think the scared little boy in him needed that. But like a proud little boy, he did not want anyone to know this.

"If this ends up in 'The Strand', I'll walk out that door and never come back. I mean it!"

I returned to my paper. "I know you will, Holmes."

I knew he never would.