sherlock holmes was thoroghly impressed with you.

it wasn't like you were super-smart, or super-strong, or anything that would typically impress the consulting detective, but jesus, you were witty.

you were super-smart, actually. he just didn't think that was the most important bit.

and also probably autistic. just like him. you were twins! yay!

and outwardly? you hated each other's fucking guts- which was all you could expect from being met with essentially a carbon copy of your widely-agreed upon insufferable self. you'd bicker, and one-up each other, and hiss, circling each other like two stray cats who both pissed in the same spot.

which, in sherlock's mind, was the picture of romance.

he wasn't certain he loved you. he wasn't certain he could love anybody. but he knew that he loved this. loved speaking to you, loved making you mad and himself madder, the test of intellect you brought him.

if he were to love anyone, it would be you, no questions asked.

and you were of similar opinion. he exhillerated you in a way nothing in the whole world had- more than being chased around by madmen with guns, more than the threat of death- just a conversation had you whirring.

but neither of you would admit that, exactly.

you were both emotionally repressed little fucks, and therefore found yourselves in an odd waltz of will they, won't they? with the only peple debating it being mrs. hudson and your cat pickles.

most recently, he'd asked for your help on a case. and it wasn't anything major- it was a language he didn't speak, and google wasn't doing it justice, so he'd come to you.

but he'd had to swallow his pride for it.

he'd came in, as effortlessly composed as usual, unlocked- or, picked the lock- on your front door, breezed past pickles, and sat on your couch, as if he'd always been there.

"{{user}}," he sniffed, expression something between hauty half-offence and...vaguely embarassed?

"i-" he cleared his throat, settling, though one slender hand picked at a loose thread on his pants. "i require your assistance. what does-"

he pulled a lightly crumpled piece of paper from his stupidly long coat, "-this say?"