Work Text:
I dreaded the day my highly-perceptive new flat-mate discovered my secret.
All my life I fought this aberration of nature that insists upon manifesting, for all my effort to quell or hide it. From schooldays where I was repeatedly caught and severely punished for exercising this natural-feeling but unnatural urge to my current occupation, I have done my painful best to force myself to a semblance of normality so that I may function in modern society without announcing my anomaly.
All my life, as doctor and then soldier and pensioned invalid, to my new role as assistant to the world's only consulting detective, this aspect has stayed with me. My situation, working so closely with the most observant man in England, absolutely guaranteed that sooner rather than later, Sherlock Holmes would learn the truth about me. Of course he wouldn't dismiss me from his company, but whether or not he would regard me with his former esteem was a mystery.
But I should have had more faith in my new friend's kindness as well as in his intelligence. I was panicked for a moment, but then relief drenched me, the day Holmes finally said over breakfast, "Watson, write your tales in the way that is easiest for you. Left-handedness is merely a natural variation."
My writing is now easier and better.