Chapter Text
Please forgive me if I make a mistake in the facts of Sherlock.
Sherlock, a well known name in many areas. Famous for high reasoning and deduction skills, Mr. Sherlock Holmes is an almost unrivaled high functioning sociopathic detective. All this simply because to a man of such a high intelligence as his, the worst thing in the world is boredom. It’s worse than mystery, pain, death, and even heartbreak if Sherlock had a heart. He’s been told reliably he doesn’t.
To him, being romantically interested would be nearly as bad as boredom. Having, feelings, would be an unwanted distraction and disruption to his life. A chemical defect. No. In his mind, the closest Mr. Holmes could get to love is admiration, like that he had of The Woman.
Of course, you know that is not true. No indeed, why would you be reading this if it was? As small and dormant as it is, Mr. Holmes does have a heart, no matter how he tries to forget it.
Then he met her. She drew him in against his beliefs, tripping him into an abyss of thumping hearts, unheard of compliments, and shocking interest.
Perhaps it was her eyes. Those deep, shining orbs that seemed to express all her emotions even if her actions didn’t. The surprisingly mesmerizing effect they had on him when he truly noticed them after a few days.
Maybe it was her intelligence. The girl could take a 100 page crossword book and finish it in about 2 minutes if she wrote fast. The way she deducted a great deal more about Sherlock than he expected anyone average ever could.
Or maybe the true reason she intrigued him so was the way he never could seem to find much about her. Any questions he had of her past were carefully avoided and expertly pushed aside. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t seem to get past the most basic facts without a decent amount of pacing and lack of sleep while she figured out his identity, who he lived with, and the fact he brought a raccoon into the flat all in the few minutes she glanced at him when they first saw each other.
She was a wonder, above average.
And he was intrigued.
Interest grew to respect, respect grew to fondness, and fondness grew into something much stronger.
Two hearts were unlocked and stolen.
Alas, Mr. Holmes has many enemies. Ones that had no qualms about taking the lives of others, thinking that’s just what humans do, they die.
For once in his life, Sherlock had a very strong weakness. That weakness was exploited past her breaking point.
Guns fired.
Tears flowed.
Desperate cries were heard.
As one stolen heart slowed to a crushing stop, the other unfixably shattered.
The heart turned cold once more, locked again, forever. The horrors of that day were never to be forgotten, and never to be remembered.