Hey guys! This is my first fic in a long time. To long I would say... But alas I am back with a brand new alias!

Yes, this is the former Mini-J now the amazing BekTehGreat! I like it, hope you do.

But enough about me. This fic! I'm writing for Sherlock now *smirk* and oh god am I having fun with this.

Rated M for the second chapter


Sir Arthur Conan Doyle does not mind everyone getting a piece of the action off of his works, But none the less, BBC and the brilliant Steven Moffat and all the others that work on Sherlock own this version of Sherlock. I only borrow them for my own personal pleasure and allow you the audience to get a glimpse of how my mind works (scary huh?)

Hope you enjoy!

"Don't you see? He's married to his work. His first move was taking you along with him the first case you were around for."

I had noticed for a while now. Granted, I may have known for longer had I not denied myself for so long. But notice I did. At first it was a mere fleeting thought. Something that just popped into my head for a few seconds before being shut down by the logical portion of my brain. But then it became hard to ignore. The way my hands might linger to long when I was handing off a cup of tea. The way I anticipated whenever he would call me for the pure sense of feeling like I was needed in his life. The way I caught myself staring for a little too long at the little sight of his pale exposed neck in his contrasting dark button up shirts that fit him so well.

I was feeling as if I was losing control of my mind. And that's coming from a man who was already seeing a psychologist for stress caused by a bloody war! But this was entirely different. This was something much stronger and with much more power. This was something that mentally crippled me more than the damn leg. And this was something that was beginning to have a problem physically as well, seeing as it was hard to be alone with him.

Then the prat had to go and pull this! I was staring at white page and a blinking cursor. When Sherlock had nothing to do it was horrible for both my patients and my blog writing. I meant it when I said my life wasn't exciting. He made it exciting. In many ways. One of which was about to hit me particularly hard.


I sighed a little refusing to look over at Sherlock, whom at the moment was watching some pretty terrible TV. "I'm trying to type Sherlock."

"Please. You've been staring at the blank page for about ten minutes. The first four or so minutes you were thinking of what to write. But ever since then your thoughts shifted." I heard the TV turn off and turned to see Sherlock standing and stretching, his back towards me. I slightly noticed that my eyes were staring at his shape under the fitted clothing he wore, but even that didn't make anything click. "And the way that you are looking at me proves everything I was thinking." He turned slightly, giving me a look over his shoulder. "I'm going to go play the violin and ponder on this new found knowledge and what course of action should be taken."

I snapped my eyes back up to meet his and asked with a slightly hint of annoyance "What new found knowledge? And what the hell do you think I was thinking about?"

He smirked ever so slightly. "You were obviously thinking about me and how we could both ease our boredom with a round of sex. I just have to think if it's because you're horny since you and that last girl you had split or if it's because you actually are interested in me. My own feelings are getting in the way of my deducing. Hence why I shall go and play the violin."

I couldn't think of anything to say. I noticed after he was already out of the room that my mouth was hanging open. Feeling the annoyance turn into anger, I shouted "Sherlock!"

His head popped into the room. "Don't wake Mrs. Hudson. That would just be improper." And then he was off again, ending the conversation when I heard the door to his room shut.

I wanted to shout. I wanted to answer back. But the damn fool was right and no, I did not want to wake Mrs. Hudson up. Especially given the circumstances. Far too many questions.

So I sat there instead, like a child, refusing to even consider what his words meant. I was just thinking about how wrong he was and how he just liked to create things out of mid-air just to get a rise out of people and ignoring the fact that he never gets things out of mid-air.

Then the last bit of his statement finally sunk in. His own feelings are in the way? This means…

"Oh hello John."

I looked up and saw Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway. "Oh… Sorry about the racket. Didn't mean to disturb you."

"Dear, don't worry about that. I wasn't sleeping just yet." She said, a small smile on her face. She walked into the living room and stood by me. "Although, I did hear the entire conversation."

I looked away from her slightly. Great. I'm going to have to hear about her and her assumptions.

"Now don't put that face on! I was just coming out here to see how you were. Hearing something like that isn't something that one has to deal with every day."

I sighed. "I don't have the slightest idea of what you are talking about Mrs. Hudson."

"Now don't give me any of that." She said, wagging her finger at me as she walked further into the room. "I know that the lot of you think that I'm just a nosey little old woman, but I have experience. Wisdom you could say. I know a lot more than you think I do on these matters."

I shifted to sit up, but she held a hand in front of me and that thought left. She was going to make me listen to whatever she had to say.

"Listen, you know Sherlock a little more than I do," I started "but I think he made it quite clear from the first couple of days of me knowing him that he clearly doesn't really care for feelings, that he's not attracted to people. And I just happen to be a person."

Mrs. Hudson let out an amused breath. "Surely you don't believe that he doesn't care for feelings."

"Not outside of the feelings that lead one to commit a crime."

She shook her head. "John. I think you know better than that."

I certainly didn't allow myself to think about these kinds of things much, mostly because these were the main excuses I was using to keep myself from doing something extremely stupid and ending up homeless. Denial is definitely a strong protecting force in the mind of all people. And as Mrs. Hudson was not letting me leave my seat, and also being quite for once in her life, I had nothing to do but think about Sherlock and feelings.

Of course the man felt things. He certainly felt joy, though sometimes at very inadequate things. Such as murders. But I also had felt that same sense of joy emanating from the other man on those rare occasions when he was actually calm. When he happened to be around me and I managed to do something that made him laugh.

Then there was that time by the pool…

I hadn't really thought about anything that day because I had a bomb on my chest. But when Moriarty finally left for the few moments, I remember Sherlock's eyes so clearly. They were frantic, so full of a range that I had never seen come from this man. After he threw the damn vest to the side, another emotion… love? Relief.

"Fine." I sighed. "The great Sherlock has emotion. He may be a sociopath, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have emotion. He just can't show it like normal people. You're right." I stood, this time the older woman standing aside slightly to allow me to do so. "And with emotion comes giving a crap about some people. But not me. Or at least…" not the way I wanted.

"Oh cut that out. No use hiding that from me. Like I said, I heard everything. Plus, you may be a soldier and a great doctor, but your emotions are written across your face on a constant deary."

I shook my head and walked toward the door.

"And he does care about you. A great deal. And yes, in the way you would like."

I stopped and turned. I would love to know how you got to that assumption. "How do you know?" Ok… still harsher tone but at least not that disrespectful. "Not to be rude, but his exact quote when this sort of issue comes up is that he's 'married to his work'. No interest in… well…" me. What I want. A relationship. I decided to just let the sentence drop.

She walked towards the doorway. "Don't you see? He's married to his work. His first move was taking you along with him the first case you were around for." With that she walked to the door to her apartment. "Goodnight deary." She said, a wide smile across her face as she closed the door behind her.

I was left standing in the doorway, again foolishly comparing myself to a child. No… she's never right. She couldn't be…damn it. I thought about it. It… made… sense. I would never ever admit that aloud. I let her have her own silent triumph on that. If it proves to be true. Which in my brain… is proving more logical by the second.

He always wanted me on a case. At first I thought it was because I was a doctor. Then I thought it was because he needed someone with a gun. But I soon realized that I would go along with him more as a companion. Sure I would help him, but then again, the feeling as progressively moving from that of need and becoming that of a want.

And then of course the last thing that Sherlock said before he left the room in the first place. About his own feelings getting in the way of his deduction. Of whether he couldn't determine if I was feeling lust or… something more.

My mind hesitated on that last bit. Something more.



I sighed. Yes. Love. God help me.

I heard the violin. Whether or not it was playing this whole time, I didn't really know. Nor care. I felt myself walking toward the room. I stopped outside of the door, hesitating. I couldn't.

I took a deep breath in.

John, you're an army doctor. You've seen war. You've killed people. Are you really this afraid of the thoughts of this one man?


I shook my head and opened the door.

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Second one coming soon ;D