#fff363

***

As a doctor, I never believed in the label Sherlock put on himself as a sociopath. Granted, I am no psychiatrist, but I know he has empathy for (a few) people around him. Mrs Hudson is a good example.

When I first met her, she opened her arms to Sherlock, and he willingly hugged her as if she was a beloved family member. There was nothing artificial about it. It was genuine affection.

That said, he drove her mad fairly often, but the few details they both let slip about her past, told me that she was used to all sorts of ruckus and shenanigans. She needed excitement in her life just as much as we did.

Angelo is another one of Sherlock’s devoted fans, and Sherlock tolerates the gushing, and the teddy bear hugs admirably. It’s easy to discern that he feels relaxed in the Italian’s company, and his mask of indifference vanishes completely. I find it utterly fascinating to watch.

***

I was much more prepared at the next crime scene some weeks later. 

Sherlock found nearly half a dozen clues in under one minute that had escaped the police. Both Anderson and Donovan mocked him and told everyone willing to listen that he made it all up to sound interesting. He didn’t bother to reply but kept the deductions coming. Luckily, Lestrade took notes and told the others to keep their mouth shut. They didn’t. 

I decided to intervene and took a step toward them both, crowding them so they had to step back a few feet.

“What the hell?” they asked in unison.

I lowered my voice, which I knew was far more effective than yelling. By this point, my subordinates from the army would’ve realised that the best way forward was to keep mum and agree to everything I told them. Of course, Anderson and Donovan weren’t that clever. They both perceived me as non-threatening, a lap dog. Big mistake.

“If you two continue to call Sherlock Freak and to ridicule his deductions, you’d better watch your backs. The ice under your feet is about to crack real soon if this doesn’t stop.”

“Are you threatening a police officer, Doctor Watson?” Donovan asked in her normal condescending tone.

“That’s right, Sergeant.”

“We will report you to the Superintendent!” Anderson exclaimed in a high-pitched voice which hurt my ears.

“Please do. There are enough witnesses who have heard you two harass Sherlock every chance you get,” I said calmly.

“As if he’s not offending us,” Sally scoffed.

“Oh, I know he does. But he’s not the one starting it, is he? He only replies accordingly. I assume you’d done the same if you were in his shoes. Most people would. You should be ashamed of yourselves, acting like teenagers instead of adults. Grow up, for goodness’ sake!”

“But I – “

“Shut up, Anderson! He is summoned by your commanding officer, and he solves every case you lot are unable to. Surely, that should be enough for you to keep your thoughts about him to yourselves. Without him, dozens of criminals would still walk the streets of London. Feel free to correct me if you think I’m wrong.”

And with that, I walked away from them and stood a little closer to Sherlock than normal. He didn’t seem to mind one bit; he was practically beaming at me.

“Dinner?” he asked after he’d lifted the police tape for me.

“Starving,” I replied.

“Is Angelo’s, okay?”

“God yes!”

***

Neither of us made a big thing out of it when our hands brushed, and our fingers entwined a few moments later; it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Apparently, Angelo discerned that something had changed between us, but he didn’t remark on it. He just fetched a candle, lit it, and went to get us a bottle of wine on the house.

To my astonishment and delight, we reached for the other’s hand once we had removed our coat and jacket. A voice in my head told me I was on thin ice starting a romantic relationship with the slightly mad world’s only consulting detective, but I told it, in no uncertain terms, to stop bothering me. I was fine. It was all fine. More than fine, in fact.

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