So we're at 199 reviews already which is pretty crazy. Just one more until 200. You guys are giving me zero time between specials, thank you so much for all the feedback. I am now accepting suggestions for the 200 review special, so tell me what you most want to see!

Enjoy.

Everyone knew the famous consulting detective Sherlock Holmes.

They knew his face, they knew the hat that everyone assumed he wore even though he didn't, they knew his many feats, they knew he once took a fall and came out alive.

They read about him in the papers, saw videos on the news. Lately he was all over the news, because being off the scene for so long had made him hungry for new cases and new problems and he was devouring everything Scotland Yard and private customers had to offer.

Despite all the stories no one knew him as well as John Watson.

John worried about him, but only for the same reasons as usual: not enough sleep, not enough good, too many cigarettes, too many nights spent playing the violin until his fingers bled.

It was nothing like the sadness he felt when he thought Sherlock was dead. So he just smiled and made sure he was there to keep Sherlock from collapsing.

John wasn't sure when it happened, it must have sneaked up on him. One day he was sitting in a chair listening to one of Sherlock's frantic violin concerts, and when he turned around to see the man walking about the room with his violin to his chin-looking like a marionette that was slowly breaking free of his strings-

He realized that his heart was bursting with love.

"Sherlock."

John placed a mug of tea on the side-table that stood to the side of where Sherlock had perched. He was on the couch, palms pressed together and placed against his lips. Sherlock nodded, pretty much ignoring the tea for the time being.

John sat watching him over the steaming rim of his own mug, then on a whim he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the detective's forehead, using a tender hand to push back his raven black curls.

Sherlock had jolted away like he'd been slapped, and with that violent reaction John left the room feeling foolish and humiliated.

Sherlock made no reference to the kiss for the rest of the week, and John was happy to see things carry on as usual. However there was something about kissing Sherlock that he just couldn't ignore, so he found excuses to get closer to the detective.

He leaned against him when he was tired and his leg hurt, he let his fingers linger when he passed Sherlock his phone, he slipped his hand into Sherlock's while they were walking home.

Sherlock always just pursed his lips and allowed it, his eyes looking like the eyes of a kicked dog.

"Have you ever dated anyone at all?" John asked, simply for curiosity's sake. Sherlock looked up from his violin, placed the rosin down on the table and fixed John with one of his dark stares.

"...No." He said after some hesitation. Then he began tuning his violin like the conversation was over.

"Why's that?" John pushed, and Sherlock's violin made a comical surprised sound as his fingers plucked too soon and too fast out of shock.

"It's not my area." He said simply, his voice growing dangerously deep. He sounded like a jungle cat, his voice rumbling low in his chest.

"Not your area like...are you asexual? Or do you just not care?"

"...John." Sherlock sighed. "I don't put any faith in love. It's not a science, it's not proven. Love is just something two people believe in for the time being so that they can both leech off the other. More often than not people split apart and once again love is proven to be a weakness and a farce."

John didn't ask anymore questions after that.

John was only slightly annoyed when Mycroft showed up at the grocery store. For awhile he pretended the man wasn't hovering behind him looking ominous and government...government-y?

He knew the Holmes brothers loved a touch of the dramatic, so he refused to appear shocked or amazed by Mycroft's sudden appearance. He just kept filling the cart with odds and ends until Mycroft approached him.

"You are pursuing my brother." He said sharply.

"I have to pursue him sometimes. Mostly when he's found a pack of cigarettes. Sometimes it's because we have to go out and he doesn't want to get dressed. What's your point?" John replied calmly.

"We both know what I mean, Dr. Watson." Mycroft sighed. "I'm not here to criticize you for your choice in partners or to discourage you. Honestly I think it would be quite beneficial for you to engage in a relationship with my brother...I would worry less about him. I just wanted to warn you."

"Warn me about what, Mycroft?" John threw his hands in the air in frustration. "I've seen everything from the heads in the fridge to the needles in the closet. What more could there be?"

"Sherlock, as you know, is not very keen on relationships."

"Big shocker. Thanks for warning me."

"I want to explain why." Mycroft rolled his eyes, fearing that his brother was rubbing off on the good doctor. "You see, Sherlock grew up believing certain things. The stupidity of the human race, that when you have eliminated the impossible whatever remains no matter how improbable must be the truth. Most of all he believed in our mother."

"Mommy's boy?" John raised an eyebrow. "Typical child genius type, then?"

"For all his deductive powers of logic and observation Sherlock could never see our mother's large line of affairs." Mycroft continued. "Until the day our father discovered her in bed with one of her lovers and banished her from the house. Sherlock was ten. Since then a great distrust of woman and even more so a great distrust of any romance period has been bred in his heart."

"I see..." John nodded, it made sense after all even if Mycroft had said it.

"So be careful in pursuing my brother." Myrcroft warned, turning on his heel and looking over his shoulder. "You may end up only hurting yourself or him."

John returned home to see Sherlock curled up on the couch covered in a blanket and shouting at the television. Whatever he was watching it must have been poorly written because every minute or so Sherlock would fling himself from the couch screaming: "Idiots!" or "Wrong!" worse still "Your refusal to see the obvious offends me!"

Watching Sherlock watch telly like a normal human being was...adorable.

John let the groceries remain in their bags for now, nothing needed to be refrigerated and it's not like it could make the clutter of their flat any worse. Instead of putting the groceries away he sat down next to Sherlock.

"How was your day?" He asked.

"Dull." Sherlock replied without looking away from the screen.

"I was stalked by your brother today."

"Hm."

"It looks like his diet is going well. Are you going to sabotage it again?"

"Hm."

John sighed and leaned a little closer to the detective, his hand itching to reach out and take Sherlock's in his own. Eventually the urge grew bigger until not only was he unable to deny it but he was unable to stop at just Sherlock's hand. He looped his arm around the detective and pulled him gracefully to lay in his lap. For a moment his heart pounded and he awaited some biting response, but Sherlock just stretched his legs out onto the couch and continued watching tv like the whole thing was just a convenient arrangement that allowed him to use the whole couch.

"Sherlock..." John began, his mouth dry.

"Hm?"

"I think...I'm in love with you."

John felt Sherlock's body stiffen, and for one fearful moment he thought was about to lose him. Then...

"I know...I feel similar."

"You know the usual response is 'I love you too'." John joked out of fear. Sherlock turned his head and looked up at John with innocent eyes.

"I have...never done this before. I do not know what qualifies as love."

"Well then...why don't you just try with me, okay?" John suggested, knowing he was probably blushing. Sherlock nodded and John picked that as a safe time to pull Sherlock's face up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Sherlock seemed to enjoy the sensation because he refused to let John pull away, his arms snaking around the doctor's neck. Their kiss grew deeper until finally they separated panting for breath, Sherlock's lips were bruised from kissing.

John realized that the blanket had slipped further off Sherlock's form and that he could see the white thin expanse of the detective's chest.

"Erm... are you wearing any clothes under the blanket...?" He blushed, and Sherlock took on his customary smirk.

"Care to see?"