A/N So I saw something on tumblr and was inspired. I am gonna put a small smut warning on this because it does mention smut briefly, but no details or anything like that. Enjoy <3
Everyone thinks they know Sherlock Holmes. They think they know him because of how I write about him in my blog, how he behaves around them. They believe him when he says he doesn't feel, that he is a sociopath. They question why I stay with him, trying to convince me that I should leave, move on with my life and find someone that will love me back.
They don't know him like I do.
They only know the things I write of him, his intelligence, his ability to contain his emotions and reign full control over his mind and body. They only know the side of Sherlock Holmes I let them see.
I don't write everything about him.
I don't write about the flash of panic I saw on his face when he thought I was Moriarty all those years ago, in the pool.
I don't write about how I saw the gun tremble in his hands as I grabbed Jim, yelling at him to run.
I don't write about how helpless he looks when he thinks I am in danger.
I don't write about the late nights, when he can't turn off that brilliant brain of his long enough to fall asleep.
How I can see the tears well in his eyes when a client's story strikes a chord somewhere in that guarded heart of his.
How pure his grin is when he sees a dog, crouching down to scratch and pet the animal, becoming an entirely different person.
How happy he gets when he talks about simple things, like bees or pirates.
How young and vulnerable he looks when he falls asleep.
How proud he looks when he watches my Rosie play with her own doctor's kit.
How his whole being softened when I told him I loved him for the first time.
How tremors wrack his frame when I kiss him.
How overwhelmed he can become when we touch, his sensitive skin sending an overload of data to his beautiful mind.
How his eyes filled with so much trust and love the first time we had sex.
How he lets his walls down completely while I am inside him, letting himself whisper soft words of love and praise in my ear.
How he shakes violently when the nightmares of his time after the fall take him.
How he jolts awake at my touch, crying my name and reaching out for me, trying to make sure I am alive and well.
How he dissolves into tears when he realizes that I am ok, that he is safe at home and that everything is going to be okay.
How he presses against my side and runs his fingers and lips along my body, just reassuring himself that I am here, that I am real.
How he cried the first-time Rosie called him father.
I don't write these things about Sherlock Holmes, maybe because I want to protect him from the world, maybe because I don't want to share this Sherlock with anyone. When people ask me why I am with him, how I can love someone as cold and unfeeling as him, I just smile, telling them I must be as crazy as he is.
I have never been more loved by anyone in my entire life. I know most don't see it, but Sherlock Holmes feels more fully, more deeply than any normal human being.
I couldn't love him more if I tried. The man with the giant brain and the even bigger heart.
My Sherlock Holmes.
