iamazonian:

Sherlock Holmes only has /one/ friend. And that’s John Watson.

Mrs. Hudson represents his family. Greg Lestrade represents his professional ties.

And yet, Molly Hooper counts. She’s always counted. 

How? Why??

I’m sorry, but that kind of screams that she represents that one more area in particular that Sherlock knows very little about. Not sexuality, because even though he’s a virgin you’ve got to be an idiot not to be exposed to the idea of sex and lust after being introduced to a dominatrix. Nope, it’s the one that doesn’t get mentioned in Sherlock’s world because Sherlock doesn’t know it, doesn’t recognize it, doesn’t give importance to it.

Or… he /thinks/ he gives no importance to it.

People can say what they want, but if you’re not a friend (strictly), not family (literally or comparatively), and not an indispensable colleague (there are other pathologists in London, right?) but you count… I think somehow deep inside, it’s the heart that makes the decision that your brain cannot rationalize just yet.

He shows you things that it’s only /you/ he’s willing to show it to, whether consciously or not.

[I think I’m going to die.]

He tells you things he doesn’t want you to expose to anyone else.

[Sherlock was complaining— saying.]

He puts his life in your hands, gulping down his own insurmountable pride and his incurable urge to be the hero.

[Tell me what’s wrong.]

He shows you his worst because he /knows/ you’ll stay, because he counts on you to stay, because everyone else has to be presented with the amazing genius, the wonderful, brilliant, dashing detective, but not you.

[Everybody else is busy with… Christmas.]

He doesn’t hide his sadness from you, [You look sad, when you think he can’t see you.] he doesn’t hesitate to show you his puzzled, not-so-sure side […IOU…], he complains about trivial things to you [And John, I hear you’re off to your sister’s!], he asks you for coffee even though he doesn’t really need it [Black, two sugars.], he gives you advice on what to eat [Pork, or the pasta?].

You are the only one who won’t leave even though he’s shown you his absolute worst, his most cruel forms, stung you with his most stinging words.

[You always say such horrible things. Everytime. Always. Always.]

And therefore, you are the only one he’s comfortable enough to show his true, vulnerable self.

[I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you.]

The only one his mind is willing to allow to see /him/: when he’s sad, when he’s troubled, when he’s annoyed or puzzled or stuck, without him even realizing that he shows those sides to you.

[But what can I need… f-from you?]

It’s because it’s only you he’s comfortable enough (whether he knows it or not) to shed the metaphorical coat and scarf off for and be at his rawest, purest form.

[You can have me.]

He trusts you without any doubt, and he knows you’ll stay. He trusts you so much, even at a time when he can’t even trust himself.

[If I wasn’t everything you think I am, everything that I think I am… would you still want to help me?]

You count for so many reasons. You count.

[You’ve always counted.]

Especially since it’s you he needs.

[What do you need?]

[You.]

—

Again, people can say what they want to say, but if there’s unwavering loyalty and trust, possible attraction (dilation of pupils, right?), and the willingness to bare one’s self (from the best to the worst) to you and you alone… is romantic love still so impossible?