11. From cjnwriter - Holmes is secretly very good at sketching.
It's something he does rarely, another distraction, another stimulant, an outlet he never speaks of. He only sketches when he's alone and his thoughts spill onto the page. The Hound of the Baskervilles, rendered in thick, wild strokes. Mary Morstan, twisting her glove anxiously in her hand—the lines delicate and light, like she. Reichenbach falls, lovely and peaceful. Moriarty and the look of wild desperation in his eyes as he fell from the cliffs. Watson standing at the altar of his wedding day, looking young and whole. Moran, aiming a gun. Watson, bleeding on the floor from a gunshot wound. The train that took Watson back to military service. Mrs. Hudson, smiling wearily and kneading bread. Wiggins, his arm slung around Alfie, whispering conspiratorially.
He has never shown another human being his work. He is aware he's talented. Yet these sketches are simply not meant to be seen. They are cathartic, and then they are put away. He has never even shown Watson, who he has drawn the most extensively and with the most variation. The sketches are his alone.
