Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own the concept the characters or the moment as detailed below.

For A Moment

There was the sound of footsteps and Sherlock turned, looking over his shoulder, expecting to see his adversary's face for the first time.

And he came face to face with John Watson.


He reasoned to himself that the shock he was feeling was due not to having figured out that John could be the bomber but he knew, even though he denied it he knew, that had nothing to do with it.

Nothing whatsoever.

John Watson was the one person in Sherlock's mess of a life who had accepted him, even slightly, for who he actually was. True, there was Lestrade but he only ever came to him when he needed something; usually help. Sally Donovan was constantly insulting him to his face and, rather unsuccessfully, behind his back and Anderson had always made it perfectly clear how he felt towards the 'so-called detective' and his methods. The only people he had regular contact with had singled him out as strange and wrong and they often seemed nothing less than disgusted by the way he was. And though he never showed it, it hurt.

But not John. No, John didn't do that. John would never do that.

There were moments when he seemed angry about the way Sherlock acted or disappointed about his nonchalant aloofness over dangerous situations, but he had been the first ever person to compliment him on his methods.

Words like 'Fantastic' or 'Brilliant' quickly overshadowed the overused 'Freak' and although Sherlock knew that some people would needlessly throw around words like those ones until they no longer held meaning, he could tell from John's face that the former soldier truly meant it every single time.

Even as their friendship grew, while other people would tell him to stop deducing others, John only ever stopped him when it was inappropriate. While Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson treated him like some spoiled child who needed to be brought to heel, John recognised him, smiling and joining him on the chase, providing a fresh insight and giving him hope that maybe he wasn't such a freak after all.

And there, before him, stood that man.

"This is a turn-up, isn't it Sherlock?"

For a moment, Sherlock believed that that Brilliant man, possibly the greatest man he had ever met, had lied to him.

About everything.

Sherlock wasn't Brilliant. He was hated.

Sherlock wasn't Fantastic. He was a fool.

Sherlock wasn't a man. He was a Freak.

For a moment, Sherlock Holmes lost all hope for himself, and his heart cracked.