I dont' own anything, please don't sue me!
"He's made me love him .. "
I can't help but try to think of words to describe Sherlock. Oh, I can call him by his name in my own thoughts, it doesn't hurt anyone, including himself. But then again, the whole "I can't call you by your first name because it would look like we are on sentimental terms" rule was something he's already broken. Didn't he call me Beth when he was talking to Watson? He did, so that would mean he's . . Arg, off topic, but it always happens when I think of my friend.
Blonde; well, that's a start to describing him. That unruly blonde hair that makes him look like he just fell out of bed.
Blue-eyed; yet another charecteristic. Those piercing blue eyes that are so easy to fall into but at the same time are give me that strange feeling, so much can be read in those eyes . .
Gentlemanly, well, that one goes without saying. He is form the nineteenth century, afterall.
Reserved. Holmes always seems so quiet and passive. It seems like he wants to sometimes say things that he can't say out loud. I wish I could know what they are.
A rock. He always seems to be there for me, ehlping me back on my feet. I can depend on him.
A cause of grey hairs. That's a definite. I don't know how many times I've had to dye my hair, but why am I smiling as I say that?
Genius. He *is* Sherlock Holmes . .
Un-sentimental. It's correct. He's uncaring and cold, but then he's so considerate at other times. Escpecially to . . .me.
Why do I even do this! Why to I take my time and think like this? Great Scott, I'm a Yardy, not a hopeless romantic! This isn't like me at all! Oh . .
"Oh damn you, Holmes!" I cry out loud, suprising not only him but myself.
"What did I do?" He asks me with one of those, searching, inescapable stares.
I look out the window. "Nothing," I mutter. "Nothing at all."
I smile quickly. I know what he has done, actually. He's made me love him . . . .
"He's made me love him .. "
I can't help but try to think of words to describe Sherlock. Oh, I can call him by his name in my own thoughts, it doesn't hurt anyone, including himself. But then again, the whole "I can't call you by your first name because it would look like we are on sentimental terms" rule was something he's already broken. Didn't he call me Beth when he was talking to Watson? He did, so that would mean he's . . Arg, off topic, but it always happens when I think of my friend.
Blonde; well, that's a start to describing him. That unruly blonde hair that makes him look like he just fell out of bed.
Blue-eyed; yet another charecteristic. Those piercing blue eyes that are so easy to fall into but at the same time are give me that strange feeling, so much can be read in those eyes . .
Gentlemanly, well, that one goes without saying. He is form the nineteenth century, afterall.
Reserved. Holmes always seems so quiet and passive. It seems like he wants to sometimes say things that he can't say out loud. I wish I could know what they are.
A rock. He always seems to be there for me, ehlping me back on my feet. I can depend on him.
A cause of grey hairs. That's a definite. I don't know how many times I've had to dye my hair, but why am I smiling as I say that?
Genius. He *is* Sherlock Holmes . .
Un-sentimental. It's correct. He's uncaring and cold, but then he's so considerate at other times. Escpecially to . . .me.
Why do I even do this! Why to I take my time and think like this? Great Scott, I'm a Yardy, not a hopeless romantic! This isn't like me at all! Oh . .
"Oh damn you, Holmes!" I cry out loud, suprising not only him but myself.
"What did I do?" He asks me with one of those, searching, inescapable stares.
I look out the window. "Nothing," I mutter. "Nothing at all."
I smile quickly. I know what he has done, actually. He's made me love him . . . .
