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It’s a Thursday night at precisely 8:32 pm when it happens. John had been acting strangely for some time now, and Sherlock thought that John’s behavior lately must have been caused by his lack of recent dates. Instead of going to the pub with Mike Stamford, he had been staying in with Sherlock. John had also been more affectionate lately, ruffling Sherlock’s hair and patting him on the back after the successful conclusion of a case. In addition, John barely seemed to notice interested women and did not make an effort even when it was obvious they would have gone out with him. Sherlock wondered if John had just given up on dating, as his previous relationships barely ever lasted a month. These small actions had Sherlock desperately trying to find a logical reason for the changes in John’s actions because it was allowing him to hope, and hope was dangerous. He had long accepted that he would never find anyone to share his life with, at least in a romantic way. When John entered his life, a void was filled within him that had been empty for so long. He did not want to jeopardize their friendship in any way, as he knew it would be terrible to be alone again after knowing what true companionship could feel like. It was better this way, really.
Sherlock completely abandons his reasoning for John’s odd actions when on this ordinary Thursday night, John slowly walks up to him, caresses his face, and kisses him. It is just a chaste press of lips, and Sherlock hardly moves a muscle. John pulls back and gazes at Sherlock with a wide smile and shining eyes. Sherlock frantically searches his mind palace for some explanation of these events. Just minutes before, he had been filling John in on today’s case as John had been busy covering another doctor’s shift at the surgery. While Sherlock thought that his deductions today were particularly clever, this was not uncommon and John had never reacted that strongly before. Another explanation could be that John was in need of physical affection and did not want to make the effort to find a suitable partner. Still, this seemed unlikely as well; as John had been propositioned by plenty of interested women recently.
As Sherlock could not come up with a logical reason for the kiss, he simply looks blankly back at John and asks: “Why?”
John frowns at that. “Because I wanted to?”
Confused, Sherlock presses on. “But why would you want to kiss me?”
John inhales nervously. “Well, Sherlock, I…I was wondering lately, I mean we have always been close, and I know you said you were married to your work, but I was wondering lately if you would be interested in something more.”
John’s last words come out in a rush and before Sherlock can open his mouth to answer, he continues. “The truth is, Sherlock, I love you.”
Sherlock is suddenly transported to his mind palace, shocked by John’s words. John could not really mean that. Sherlock is well aware that no one can love him; he had been reminded of that fact many times during his lifetime. He walks down the hallway in his mind palace that leads to a room with a tightly shut door containing memories about himself and ‘Love.’
Age 6: The other kids in his class insist on provoking each other during playtime by attempting to grab each other’s hands and then running away. After one boy grabs a girl’s hand, her friends coo “Ooooh you love her!” and the boy makes a face saying “Eww,” and runs back to the group of boys. Sherlock tells himself that he would rather analyze the playground sand for an experiment than join this nonsense. Out of the corner of his eye he sees his classmates giggling as they chase each other. No one tries to approach Sherlock or hold his hand. He returns to the sand but can’t help looking over every so often to the kids on the other side of the playground. A few months later, Sherlock is taken out of school and homeschooled after being relentlessly bullied by the other students.
Age 9: Mycroft comes home from Eton for Christmas and Sherlock is secretly excited because no one else really understands him. His parents and tutors try, but just shake their heads every time Sherlock starts deducing them. As he is now homeschooled, he rarely interacts with anyone besides his family, tutors, and his dog Redbeard. While not having any human friends, Sherlock figures this is just as well because Redbeard is better than any of the kids at his previous school. However, Redbeard has been walking slower and refuses to accompany Sherlock on his walks around the estate. Mummy says that Redbeard is getting old and would most likely have to be put down soon. Sherlock reads as many veterinarian books as possible, trying to find something to save his only friend, but ends up empty handed.
Finally, Mycroft comes back home for the holidays and Sherlock is sure that his older brother will help him convince their parents to listen. When he asks Mycroft to help, Mycroft just responds, shaking his head, “caring is not an advantage, Sherlock, the sooner you learn that, the better.”
Sherlock’s eyes go wide, feeling betrayed by his only ally. “But......” Sherlock begins to retort, yet finds no words to finish his sentence. Mycroft just gives him a pitiful glance and walks to his room to put away his luggage. Sherlock just stands there dumbly, having no idea what to do next. At that moment Redbeard shuffles up to him and licks his hand. Sherlock sits down in the middle of the hallway on the floor and buries his head in Redbeard’s fur.
Redbeard is put down a few weeks later. Sherlock’s parents ask if he wants another dog, but Sherlock just says “No” with an empty look on his face and walks away.
Age 16: He is studying in Eton’s library when he hears another student release an agonized sigh at the table to his right. He looks up to see that the student is Sam, a kid in his chemistry class. Sam doesn’t bother him like the other students and mostly keeps to himself, like Sherlock. His classmate appears to be studying for the chemistry test, and yet is failing to understand the required concepts. Sam sighs again while turning the page of his textbook.
The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them: “If you are trying to study for the chemistry test, your best use of time would be spent on chapter 5.” Sherlock abruptly clamps his mouth shut wondering what compelled him to offer help to his classmate.
Sam looks a bit wary but says, “I tried going over that chapter but I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.” Sam shifts to left looking at Sherlock with some trepidation and a flicker of hope. It is well-known that Sherlock is the best in the class, but no one has dared approach him to ask for help before.
Though he’s a bit unsure, Sherlock starts explaining the main concepts in the chapter and then shows Sam an example problem and solution. They end up studying together for almost an hour. After glancing at his watch, Sam says, “Oh, it’s nearly time for supper, are you coming?”
“No.” Sherlock has no desire to interact with the other students at a meal and prefers to steal something from the kitchen late at night if he feels like eating that day.
“Oh, well, thanks then,” Sam replies awkwardly, gathering his belongings. “Thanks for the help, would it…uh be okay if I um had some more questions another time?”
“I’ll be here,” Sherlock responds evenly, moving back to his original table.
Sam gives him a brief smile, saying “Cheers,” and then walking away.
Sherlock looks back with a vacant expression on his face at Sam, giving him a brief nod, but is internally replaying the events of the last hour in his head. Sherlock cannot remember the last time he willingly spent time with another student and it did not end badly.
Sherlock ends up helping Sam with chemistry a few more times over the next month. They weren’t quite friends, as they never spoke to each other besides during their library study sessions, but they were growing more familiar with each other and sometimes talked about other things besides chemistry. They both complained about the terrible food and restrictive uniforms and shared stories about the dumb things their professors said. In class, they both treated each other with the same indifference as always, saying nothing to suggest to the other students that they knew each other.
A few days before a large project is due, another student catches them studying together in the library and hears Sam crack a laugh at Sherlock’s snide remark about their chemistry professor. The student, Mike, goes to bring some of his friends over to spy on the duo behind the stacks. Jack, one of the most popular boys of their year, starts cooing at Sherlock and Sam, startling them both: “Oooooh, look at the lovebirds studying together in secret, isn’t that just adorable. I mean we always knew Sherlock was a faggot, but we didn’t know you were one too, Sam.” Mike and his friends snigger at Jack’s remarks while Jack gives Sherlock a haughty grin.
Sam is beet red at this point, and hastily grabs his books and flees the library. Sherlock does not see Sam at the library until a week later when he enters with Jack and his group. Sherlock is quietly minding his own business reading a physics textbook when Jack comes and knocks his stack of books off the table. “Do you miss your little study dates, freak? Sam came here to tell you something.” At the mention of Sam’s name, Sherlock looks up at the group. Sam steps forward and says nastily, “I should have realized you were a poofter. Even if I was gay I wouldn’t want you.” He draws out the last word and Sherlock looks away stung. He’s used to abuse from Jack and the others but Sam’s words hurt. He didn’t even like Sam that way, he just liked having some companionship after being lonely for so long. Sherlock knows that if he says anything, it will likely result in a fight which he will definitely lose. Not wanting to be beaten up he just picks up his books from the floor and walks back to his room. He has his own room as no other boy could stand sharing with him. Sherlock sets down his stuff and crawls onto his bed. He tries to distract himself by repeating the elements of the periodic table in an effort to keep himself from hearing Sam’s words over and over in his head. The distraction proves to be futile, and he squeezes his eyes tightly shut, trying to stop a few tears from falling onto his pillow.
Age 19: It’s Sherlock’s second year at Cambridge when he makes his first friend. At this point, Sherlock has a reputation amongst the other students as a genius and a sociopath so his fellow students hardly ever approach him. Sherlock prefers it this way. It is better to be alone than to risk what happened with Sam again.
It is completely by accident that he meets Victor Trevor. Sherlock is walking to his room when suddenly a dog runs up to him begging for attention. He tries to ignore the dog which results in the dog biting his leg, hard. Sherlock lets out a grunt of pain and staggers away after the dog releases him. He then hears from a distance away, “Max! Get over here!” The dog, Max, runs back to his owner while Sherlock winces in pain. There is blood dripping down his leg, ruining his new pants. The owner finally comes into view and Sherlock recognizes him. Victor Trevor was in his biology class last year. Victor is tall and traditionally handsome with a boyish smile, blond hair, and green eyes and is studying physics. Divorced parents, one younger brother, bisexual, plays rugby….
“Hey, are you alright?” Sherlock, startled, breaks off from his series of deductions and sees that Victor is standing right in front of him.
“I will be, just keep that animal of yours on a leash,” Sherlock spits out with venom in response.
Victor, undeterred, says, “I’m so sorry, I have no idea what came over Max, he is usually so well-behaved.”
Sherlock bites his lip and admits, “Well it could be the smell of the dead bird I was dissecting this morning.”
Instead of looking horrified, Victor just laughs and says, “That would definitely be it. Here, give your books to me, I’ll help you carry them to wherever you are going.”
“My room. And that is not necessary.” Sherlock starts to leave, limping a bit.
“No I insist, it’s the least I can do.” Victor takes Sherlock’s books and they start to walk back to his flat. Sherlock is reluctant, but his leg does hurt and surely he would not see Victor again after he walked with Sherlock back to his flat. While they walked, Victor asks him about his experiments while Sherlock explains the one he is currently working on. Victor did not appear to be bored or repulsed like the few other people Sherlock had spoken to before about his experiments. Once they arrive at his doorway, both boys awkwardly stand there, not knowing what to say.
“Make sure you bandage that leg properly. Do you mind if I come by tomorrow to check on you? I can ask your professors what you’ve missed as I don’t think you will want to move that leg for a while.” Victor offered.
Sherlock’s lips twitch trying to suppress a smile. “I will be fine and I hardly ever attend class anyway, it is a waste of time.” Furrowing his eyebrows, a bit unsure, he continued, “However, I suppose I will be here if you insist on dropping by.”
Victor’s lips spread into a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Sherlock watches him leave from the window in his flat and wonders what he has done. He tried to push Victor away but the boy was insistent. Not only had he helped Sherlock and listened to Sherlock with enthusiasm, he was interested in repeating the experience. The few people Sherlock had not scared off only talked to him when necessary for group projects and the like. Sherlock shoved the bit of hope that had surfaced while talking to Victor back down and vowed that he would maintain his cold, aloof personality when Victor came to visit again.
The next day, Victor arrived bringing some Chinese takeaway with him. They made fun of other students and talked more about Sherlock’s experiments as well as a research project Victor was involved in. Sherlock cool demeanor cracked easily as no one had ever shown this level of interest in him before.
In the days following, Victor would show up every night and soon Sherlock found himself anticipating Victor’s visits all day. Sherlock finally agreed to exchange numbers and they quickly became close friends.
A few months after that fateful dog bite, Sherlock and Victor were walking back to Victor’s flat when Victor suddenly asked if he wanted to come up for a drink. Usually Sherlock would say goodbye at Victor’s door and continue the few blocks to his own flat. Curious, Sherlock said yes and they went through the door. As soon as they were inside Victor immediately spun him around and crashed their lips together. Sherlock froze and Victor pulled away.
“What are you doing?” Sherlock sputtered, shaken. He had no experience in this area and had not thought that he ever would. Sherlock had not thought that he would meet a willing partner that he did not find boring.
Catching his breath, Victor narrowed his eyes, as if he were accusing Sherlock, “I thought you wanted this.”
Sherlock considered his options. He could continue with this or leave and probably never see Victor again. “Okay,” he blurted, and Victor dived back in, rougher than before. After a few minutes of snogging Sherlock against a wall, he dragged Sherlock into his bedroom.
Their time together did not change significantly, except that at night, Victor would lead Sherlock into the bedroom and fuck him. Sherlock didn’t mind this too much because afterwards Victor would occasionally caress Sherlock’s hair or stroke his back. Sherlock wished Victor would be gentler sometimes but he couldn’t complain because someone wanted him, of all people. Although they never spoke about what was happening between them, Sherlock believed that they were in a relationship. However, he did not want to upset the status quo by saying anything to confirm his thoughts.
One weekend, Victor mentioned that he would be going to a party and assumed that Sherlock would not want to come. Sherlock had never been interested in socializing with other students before, especially not outside of classes. Sherlock overheard a group of students in his class talking about a big party at a local pub that weekend and figured that this was the party Victor was going to as there were few other parties happening that weekend. Sherlock thought that Victor would be surprised and happy to see him when he came to the pub, but nothing was further than the truth.
Of all people, Sherlock should have seen this coming. He could analyze a person’s whole life just from a glance, but apparently could not see what was right in front of him. Whether it was sentiment or not wanting to know, Sherlock remained blissfully unaware of the truth until he entered the pub that night.
Sherlock walked inside, scanning the large room for Victor and paled as he saw him, currently with his tongue down another guy’s throat. Seething, Sherlock marched across the room ready to confront Victor.
“What do you think you are doing!?” Sherlock yelled.
Victor unattached his face from the other guy and smirked at Sherlock. “What?” He replied innocently.
“You can’t do that, we’re….we’re….” Sherlock wavered, trying to think of how to describe whatever they had between them.
Victor just gave a cruel laugh at Sherlock’s words. “You can’t actually believe that we were…something more?”
Sherlock looked at the floor, feeling small, wishing he could just disappear right on the spot. “I…yes…I thought…” he broke off abruptly, not knowing how to finish that sentence. Sherlock had thought that they were together, that Victor liked him very much at least, even if he didn’t return Sherlock’s stronger feelings.
“You’re a good shag, Sherlock, that’s it.” Pausing, realizing what Sherlock meant, he chuckled, “You can’t truly believe that anyone even could love you, Sherlock. You’re a freak.”
Sherlock remained staring at the floor, already feeling as though he had been stabbed in the heart with a knife, felt it twist inside at Victor’s words. Sherlock could not escape the pub fast enough, shoving past people and practically running back to his flat. Once safely inside, he broke down, throwing dishes and mugs at the wall. Hearing them crash against the wall just reminded him of his own heart cracking into pieces and he collapsed on the ground and started to weep. How could he be so stupid? This was exactly why he could not fall prey to sentiment, caring, and love. It just led to this. Feeling pathetic, he silently repeated what Mycroft had told him many years ago: “caring is not an advantage.”
Determined to never let sentimentality cloud his head again, he tried to think of what could dull this pain splitting him open from the inside. He dialed a number he had never called before and soon was exchanging a few hundred pounds for a few grams of cocaine. He got high that very night and loved how it sharpened his mind and made him forget Victor for a little while.
He tried to avoid Victor as much as possible but on the occasions that he saw his ex, he would go straight back to his apartment and inject cocaine straight into his arm. After a while, he did not even use Victor as an excuse and would shoot up regularly. Of course Mycroft noticed, but Sherlock avoided him at all costs, even living on the streets sometimes when Mycroft would try to visit him at the flat.
Two years later at graduation, Sherlock passed by Victor and didn’t as much as blink. By then the drugs had completely numbed any feelings Sherlock may have had left. No one could hurt him now.
Age 27: Sherlock slowly woke up, bright lights hurting his eyes. He opened them slowly, squinting at his unfamiliar surroundings. He was in a jail holding cell. Again. He groaned trying to sit up, his limbs refusing to cooperate. Suddenly the door opened and a gray-haired man walked in with a younger black woman following him. He was obviously a Detective Inspector, average intellect, strained marriage, skipped breakfast, BORING. She was his subordinate, likely a Sergeant, currently engaged in an affair with a married co-worker, hard-worker, and currently glaring at one Sherlock Holmes. The smell of their coffee reminded his transport that he had not eaten in three days. Although he did not remember the events of the previous night, he must have shared his deductions of her out loud and she had not appreciated them.
“So, Mr. Holmes, quite a rap sheet: possession of class A drugs, seven times; failing to obey an officer of law, 3 times; breaking and entering, two times.” The DI listed off his file, sighing. “You were pretty out of it last night, mate, do you even know why you are in here?”
“I’m sure it had something to do with the cocaine in my pocket,” Sherlock sarcastically spit back.
The DI just gave another tired sigh, like he was one step away from just leaving the station and walking to a pub. “Look, the reason I’m talking to you is because of what you said at the crime scene last night.”
Sherlock thinks back and vaguely remembers shouting at someone about how obvious it was that the sister was the murderer. “Come to thank me for solving your case?” He retorts at the DI.
“Actually, yes. We could use someone like you on the force. Of course, you would have to get clean first.” The DI replied. The sergeant almost spit out her coffee in shock.
“Not likely,” Sherlock snorted.
“Well if you ever change your mind, here’s my card, the name’s Lestrade.” The DI, Lestrade, held out his card to Sherlock, who took it reluctantly. “You must have an important friend because you are free to go. Do you have someone that can pick you up?”
Sherlock just stared blankly at Lestrade so the DI continued. “A girlfriend, boyfriend, anybody?”
Before Sherlock could respond, the sergeant cut in. “Like anyone would date him, they would run away as soon as he opened that big mouth of his.”
“That’s enough, Sally!” Lestrade barked. “Well, we will just call you a cab then.” Apparently not wanting to end the conversation, he strode out of the cell, summoning the sergeant as he left. “Let’s go, Sally, we need to have a talk about appropriate conduct.”
Sally sent Sherlock one last glare and left. Maybe it was because of his weakened state, or because of cravings, but Sherlock was left alone hearing her words over and over in his head. “Like anyone would date him.” It was nothing he had not heard before, but somehow this time it stung more than usual. Sherlock had hardened greatly since Victor, and vicious words from others would usually barely warrant a second thought.
Sherlock looked at his feet trying to stay composed. What bothered him was not so much what Sally had said as much as how she stated it, like common fact. It was as if there were a sentence in a textbook somewhere that said: ‘Sherlock is unlovable.’ No exceptions, no footnotes. Just cold, hard fact. It was not as though Sherlock was looking for love, but he did not want to feel like he was somehow lesser than everyone else. Like he was worthless. He realized his hands were clenched and immediately made them relax, not wanting to show any outward displays of emotion. Sherlock wanted to hurt this Sally as much as she had hurt him.
The easiest way to see her again would be to take up DI Lestrade on his offer. Maybe solving crimes would keep his mind occupied enough so he would not have to turn to drugs to keep his mind focused. Another sergeant came to collect Sherlock and he walked out of Scotland Yard determined to return and make that Sally wish she had never opened her mouth.
Back to present
“Sherlock? Are you okay?” Suddenly Sherlock was back in the present, the memories of his past all rushing back into the appropriate room in his mind palace. He feels a hand on his shoulder and dampness on his cheeks. He opens his eyes slowly and sees John’s eyes on him obviously concerned.
He raises a hand to his cheek feeling the evidence of his tears and then looks down at his feet embarrassed. He feels stupid and small, falling prey to an emotional outburst. The hand on his shoulder moves to his chin tilting it upwards so that he is looking John in the eye. It then returns to John’s side as if John is afraid he wouldn’t be wanted.
“Are you okay?” John softly repeats, his expression open and affectionate.
Although he fears the answer, he has to know what John had meant by his words. Maybe it was a joke. John cannot love him, no matter how much he wants it to be true. Looking straight at John he asks, hesitating, “You…….love me?”
John mouth slowly widens into a smile, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Yes, Sherlock, I love you.”
Before he can stop himself, Sherlock blurts out, “But they said no one could ever love me.”
Johns smile turns into a frown and his eyes become dark with anger. Clenching his fists, John demands, “Who told you that?”
“Everyone. It’s not possible. I’m a freak, I don’t deserve love.” Sherlock mumbles repeating their words, looking down at his feet again, anywhere but John.
“Sherlock look at me,” John sternly orders in his Captain voice. Sherlock complies, looking directly at John. “Listen to me: they are idiots.” At that, Sherlock’s lips quiver into a small smirk, thinking of the times he had called John an idiot, but in a more affectionate manner. John continues, “I don’t know who told you that, but hear me when I say that they could not be more wrong.”
Sherlock’s lips tremble again, this time trying to hold back tears. “I….John…” he brokenly whispers, lost, not knowing what to say.
John’s features retreat from their previous harshness and he gives Sherlock a small smile, his eyes so full of love that just looking at him makes Sherlock choke back a muffled sob.
John gently cradles Sherlock’s face with his right hand, softly saying, “Come here.” Sherlock gives in, slumping over onto John’s shoulder, tucking his face into John’s neck, breathing hard, trying to contain the tears threatening to fall down his cheeks. John moves the hand on Sherlock’s cheek to the nape of his neck, sliding his fingers through the curls. John’s left hand goes to the small of Sherlock’s back, pulling him closer, then rubbing soothing circles in an effort to comfort Sherlock.
John turns his face so his lips hover over Sherlock’s ear and whispers, “it’s okay, Sherlock. I’m here, and you never have to be alone again.” Sherlock finally breaks down at John’s words, crying openly, with ugly sobs escaping his lips. John pulls Sherlock tighter to him whispering “Shhh, love, you’re alright,” which just makes Sherlock cry harder and wrap his arms around John’s neck.
After a few minutes, Sherlock starts to calm down but stays in John’s warm embrace, not wanting to move, craving the intimacy he had been denied all his life. Finally, he moves his head from its place on John’s shoulder and gazes down at John saying the words he never thought he would have the opportunity to say to anyone: “I love you, too.”
John beams and bends Sherlock’s head to press their lips together. Unlike their chaste kiss before, Sherlock reciprocates, letting all the emotion pour out of him instead of locking it away in his mind palace. John captures Sherlock’s fuller bottom lip between his own, which leads Sherlock to let out a whimper, the noise only encouraging John to deepen the kiss. The touch of John’s tongue against his lips causes Sherlock to shiver all over, and he opens his lips, permitting John’s tongue entrance. When their tongues meet, Sherlock lets out a loud moan and starts to move away, embarrassed by his reaction. However, John moves with him and slows down the kiss, turning it into something tender and loving. Eventually they part, and John’s eyes are still closed even after Sherlock opens his own.
“John?” Sherlock tentatively asks, unsure of John’s thoughts.
John opens his eyes, wiping a tear and smiling. “Sorry, I just…I’m so happy that this is finally happening.”
Smiling shyly, Sherlock leaned his forehead against John’s, nudging John’s nose with his own. “Me too.” The hurtful memories of his past remained, but he felt infinitely lighter, knowing he was loved.