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To Sherlock Holmes She is always The Woman

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To Sherlock Holmes She is always The Woman








He was standing there , in the street, still. Alone. He did not want to go home, he wanted to be alone. As always, his mind was so full of thoughts, feelings and ideas, just waiting to be connected. But today was different. So what changed? What bothered him about all that had just happened? He won. As always.

She was not able to manipulate him, as she wanted, didn’t beat him.

And then, why he wasn’t satisfied? What was missing this time? What troubled him? That he had given her to enemies, naked, without protection, with no masks? It was her fault, after all. She hadtried to trick him, humiliate in front of his brother. She made him look like a fool. HIM, Sherlock Holmes, a fool. But Sherlock Holmes don’t let himself be manipulate by a woman. To Sherlock Holmes women doesn’t even exist. For him, there not even are feelings

Not even feelings? Yes, maybe they exist, he thought. They exist , also for him. He know it. He always says he hasn’t a heart.  He had made a boast of it. Being a sociopath.

Ah yes, maybe be a true sociopath would have been better. No feelings, nothing. But he had some feelings, he felt, for so many people around him. Feelings of affection and feelings of hatred. Even if he would never shown it to anyone. Or at least he would have tried to do it. He had feelings for John, Mrs. Hudson and Molly, also for that useless of Lestrade, even for Mycroft. He has different shades of feelings, which he hardly catches, but he knew them, by now. Most of times he could manage them, even if he can’t always understand them. And then, there was Her. And he feels something for Her, he has felt grown it month after month. Something that suddenly exploded on the first day he met Her. A dull explosion, which had puzzled him for a moment. Or maybe  for more than a moment.

But he didn’t understand his own feelings, he never understood in all those months, it was something that he could not handle, something that made him act in a way that he doesn’t always liked, and that made him making mistakes. Mistakes.

And he made so many errors recently, and She was always involved in that. But at the moment he didn’t want to think about it, about his own feelings. It was boring and annoying. Why those things exist? Why he had not born as a perfect machine?

It seem to him like having a manufacturing defect, but that’s impossible.

Suddenly he realized. Even if he had won, hugely won, he‘ll never be satisfied of that victory. He had humiliated her, but his attack on her stupid emotions, and the disadvantage of loving ,that speech was true for him too, he had spoken to himself.

She played and lost. But also he had lost. Plus he condemned her to death.

He had allowed to make disappear forever the only woman in his life who was his equal. The only one who had ever touched a part of his soul buried in the deep. That brilliant woman, complicated almost as much as him. Lost forever.

Mycroft would have left her to her fate? A true iceman. Sherlock knew it very well.

Mycroft for his own business would sell his soul .Even without realized it.

He couldn’t trust him. He decided, he couldn’t let things as they were now.

With all those thoughts in his mind, he began to walk home.

He had much to think, many things to arrange and no one but him could achieve in that affair.

John wasn’t home when he returned. Probably he had an emergency at work.

He was surprised but also relieved. He didn’t want to talk with him about the way the  things had gone. Not now.

He sat on his own armchair. Memories of moments shared with Her in his mind. Just few hours early, that night, they were close, so close that Irene had betrayed herself.

But what about him? He betrayed himself?

For a moment he had had the same chemical reaction, but he managed to keep self-control. When he had felt the touch of her warm hand , and her face so close to him, his heart began to beat faster. He took her pulse. Elevated. As his own pulse.

Their hearts were beating together. In that moment he was speechless. And she asked “Oh Mr. Holmes, if it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?”

Even now, after so many hours, he couldn’t answer . He wasn’t never hungry in his life. Not the kind of hunger that She meant. It was easy, until now. Usually he doesn’t like women. He find almost all human beings stupid, but women were even more, if possible. But now, he wasn’t no longer sure about anything anymore, since he met The Woman. That’s what made Her so scary. The scariest among the women. The Woman. The only one worthy to being considered. She’s clever, and She has power over him. And  She loves him. He was sure about that. Not just for the pulse and her dilated pupils. The way She had collapsed at the end, was really exhaustive. More than words. Also because almost all the words that came out of her mouth  was lies.

Thousands of thoughts bounced off in his head, incessantly. He stood there, sitting by the fire, lightly pinching the violin.