"A pair of powerful spectacles has sometimes sufficed to cure a person in love."
Friedrich Nietzsche
I have always been a man of logic and reason, for they were my lovers with whom I could always rely. Never should I be left in the dark, lost and confused, so long as I had the capabilities to think out the situation. If I found myself scared, even as a young boy, I never let the fear overcome me because I would ask myself what it was I feared, why was it frightening, how was it harming me, and how could I harm it first?
When presented with a case which others would cringe at, whether it be a heartfelt tale of lovers lost or of a criminal so vile none dared to tread his path, I remained untouchable. Reputation presented nothing to me unless I myself formed it, and I was also able to push aside all sympathies and get to the point. By cold logic, I could and did solve riddles and puzzles because of my shouldering of interfering emotions.
They would whisper in my ear during times of hardship, telling me that to sulk the death of my mother was impractical as it would never bring her back nor would she ever hear of, and therefor appreciate, all my sorrows. At the completion of my very first case, pride and joy overwhelmed me, but I was again reminded of the impracticality of dwelling. This was a success, but it would not last.
Over the years, I've prided myself on achieving a neutral look on life. Joy was brief, and so was despair.
But then I noticed a change. A clarity of vision which was lead by a clouding of judgement.
I found that when I worked along side Inspector Lestrade of the Scotland Yard, I would become overjoyed by him. Why? Why did his failure, his total and complete failure, bring to me so much joy instead of frustration? Why did I bother to help him, when I could easily solve the case myself and take in all the profit? I tell myself it is because the stimulation of a problem was my reward, and yet it fails to single out the elusive reason as to why I slowed myself down to keep the lost inspector on the case with me.
When Dr. John Watson stepped into my life, an infinitely more confusing and grander contradiction elapsed and threatened my once impenetrable shell of logic. Like Lestrade, this man's mind wasn't remarkable, his company on cases hardly necessary, and yet without him, I felt utterly lost. Watson's exploitations of my works were embarrassing, over exaggerated and totally beyond the point. And yet I loved it. I hated the books, but I adored the appreciation.
Here is where I took a step back and held my lovers at arm's length, turning the game against them. Reason and Logic were efficient, but not wholly desirable. They fortified my confidence and efficiency, yet what did they do for me? They don't improve with time, like Lestrade, and they didn't exclaim in delight as Watson does with my simplest deductions. When have they ever left me with a smile upon my lips instead of just the satisfaction of a job well done? Logic and Reason have, in fact, prevented me from appreciating a lot of things.
They never falter, you see. I could never help them. In the early months, when we were still new to each other, I'd find Watson staring off into the distance or cringing away from certain sounds. I knew why, but I didn't know from what underlaying emotion. He was a mystery to me which my lovers failed to expose. Also alien was the satisfaction of sentiment, I must add.
I was fortified to the hilt. Nothing could escape me, nothing to slow my progress, and nothing to encumber me. Yet when I shoved it aside and divulged into the, shall I say? more human parts of my mind, there was a whole new side to life. Through the many men I have known, in a large part to Watson especially, I've been able to see through my muses, and I have come to realize that I don't love them like I used to. No longer are they my everything, for they have been replaced, so to speak. After an assistance for Scotland Yard, or a wonderful evening with my dear friend, I feel a sense of exultation I've never felt before. I relinquish my love of cold logic, and instead with open arms I welcome the warm embrace of pure, utter humanity.
I bid you adieu, my lovers, our life together has been momentous though I fear I now have now found a mistress.
I like the voice here, but overall I'm a bit bleh about this fic. It's like a step back looking at things, yet not progressing anywhere. Or maybe it's just the lack of Holmes/Watson bonding? Oh well, voice practice I guess!
By the way, I ever tell you guys how much I love you? I do. Like, a lot. (I'd place an incredibly artistic key heart here, but I suppose FF doesn't want me expressing my love with a greater-than three. Alas.)