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odd one, you're never alone

I'm here and I will reflect you


January 4th, 2012

They Don't Know I Burn @ 05:26 am


Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: G
Summary: But this, this ache that spreads through my chest and constricts my throat, this is desire and I am burning fast.
Word count: 378

They don’t know I burn.

Everyone assumes I don’t feel, that because I am a sociopath – a high-functioning sociopath but a sociopath nonetheless – I lack emotion. This is not true. My emotions are simply one-dimensional. But this, this ache that spreads through my chest and constricts my throat, this is desire and I am burning fast.

It’s his fault.

John Watson is, by definition of the word itself, simple. Almost excruciatingly so at times. He is easy to read, easy to predict, and, more or less, easy to understand.

And yet, it seems like every time I think I have him completely unraveled, I find a new layer, complete with knots to untangle and fraying edges to smooth. It’s fascinating, really, how someone so transparent can continue to surprise me. I am not a man who is easily surprised. Just by looking at someone I can discern all their secrets, habits and what they’ve done that very morning. Facts, simple facts are what make the world turn, but the majority of people in the world see what they want to see instead of what’s actually there. John sees what’s there, perhaps not as perceptively as I do, but he wants to see, and that makes all the difference.

I was perfectly fine before him. If he were to leave now, I could not go back. I could not handle the sudden, searing emptiness or silence that would take over the flat. Sometimes we sit together in silence, John on his laptop, my attention fixed on case notes, but it’s a comfortable, agreeable silence. We know the other is there. I can hear him breathing; I can look up and see him there, mouth twitching in amusement at something or other, probably one of those damned cat videos he finds so entertaining.

He will leave someday. He’ll get that supposedly normal urge for a wife, kids, a white picket fence, a regular job that doesn’t have him running all over London at any given time and I’ll be left behind because I’m not normal, because I don’t do normal, can’t do normal.

I don’t even know why I’m typing all of this. No one will ever see it, anyhow.

I need some air.

Doubtless, John will follow me out.
 
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odd one, you're never alone

I'm here and I will reflect you