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Sherlock Holmes was, on the rarest of occasions, wrong. So it was only logical that he would occasionally question his decisions, in particular those of an interpersonal nature. Because despite his genius, the detective had never quite gotten a handle on dealing with other people; to be fair, he dealt with people just fine provided that he would never have to deal with them again, given the amount of ill-will that nearly always resulted from Sherlock’s particular style of social interaction.

And so, on a Sunday afternoon devoid of murders, heists, and body parts, Sherlock began to question his decision to enter into a romantic relationship with one John Watson. He had fallen into it, in hindsight; certainly neither of them had initially anticipated the depth of friendship they would one day develop, and yet the evolution of that friendship into something more had not been a terrible shock. Their relationship was a snowstorm that transformed into an unprecedented blizzard before either had a moment to blink. Now, in the dull peace of the sitting room, with notes from his most recent experiment in his lap and John sitting across from him, Sherlock had time to think.

He thought for a moment that maybe he had been wrong, too impulsive or too trusting or too carnal. But as he looked up from his notes to watch John as he read some work of popular fiction or other, he could not stop the warmth that spread through his chest. A small smile played at the corner of his lips as John turned a page, oblivious as ever to Sherlock’s thought processes. Sherlock did not give up on deciding whether he was right or wrong, instead he decided that – much like the solar system – it didn’t matter.


Maybe I’m right and maybe I’m wrong,

But nevertheless I’m in love with you.



John Watson knew that a fair number of people at New Scotland Yard saw him as something of a pushover, at least in relation to Sherlock. Probably quite a few readers of his blog thought the same. There was just something about the detective that John found irresistible, the final proof being their recent foray into romance. The attraction had been mutual, the initiation of physical contact damn near simultaneous, but John knew that if word of their relationship got out it would be widely regarded as yet another example of Sherlock perpetually having his way with his flatmate – this time far more literally. John knew what people would think. He couldn’t be bothered to give a shit.

And so, on his lazy Sunday, curled up with a mindless book and a steaming cuppa, John thought about the truth of their relationship. Sherlock was not the insensitive git the world seemed to think him. Well, he was insensitive. And he was sometimes a git. But he was also the most remarkable man John had ever known. And he tried to learn how to navigate the social situations that mattered to him – and in doing so, each day proved to John that he mattered. Sherlock would never be one for grand romantic gestures; John didn’t expect him to ever go beyond making tea or keeping formaldehyde and body parts a respectable distance from food. But that was enough. Because this was Sherlock. Beyond the physical, he had no idea how to show affection, but his efforts were endearing. And they were rare.

The rarity of Sherlock’s efforts would disturb a lesser man. But John knew them to be precious, and tucked their memory away for the days Sherlock chose to be an insufferable prat. He knew that people would say he was putting more into the relationship than he got, that he was just letting Sherlock walk all over him. On bad days he thought there might be some truth to that. But on most days, he just couldn’t be arsed to care what the balance was, so long as they were happy. And, God, were they happy.


Well maybe I’m weak and maybe I’m strong.

But nevertheless I’m in love with you.



For both John and Sherlock, their friendship had been the most profound and unexpected and important thing to ever happen to them. They had both been miserable, almost without even feeling just how miserable, prior to their meeting. When their flatshare blossomed into a friendship, it had been as if the skies lightened and the clouds parted and a light shone down on their flatmate-turned-best-mate to say ‘Hang on tight. Don’t let this one go.’ And they had obeyed, clinging tight and risking life and limb to keep each other safe. Fighting but always reuniting, never letting go.

Sherlock and John recognized the risks involved with taking their friendship further. They had not talked about it at first, neither much for emotional discussions and both far preferring to skip straight to the physical. But it came up later, and they recognized the dangers, had both worried on their own about the implications a break-up would have. So they made the most natural decision possible. They decided to never break up. Of course, neither could say with certainty that it would never happen. But they were betting on the strength of their bond. High stakes, high reward.


Now maybe I’ll win and maybe I’ll lose.

Well, maybe I’m in for crying the blues.

But nevertheless I’m in love with you.