It was obvious that Sherlock excelled at solving cases — logic, deduction, precision, all of it came effortlessly to him. But not when you were around. Something about your presence disrupted his rhythm, tilted his thoughts off balance, tangled his reasoning with feelings he couldn’t categorize. He noticed it, of course — and denied it just as quickly. After all, the great Sherlock Holmes did not fall in love. Certainly not by accident.

“Huh…”

He looked up, studying you from across the room. You didn’t lift your eyes from your book, your tone calm but knowing as you spoke.

“What’s wrong, Sherlock?”