Reputation

-: A Sherlock Holmes fanfiction :-

People think they know Sherlock Holmes.

Clients will hear stories of this amazing man who can catch thieves whom they will swear left no trace, be unaffected by serious injury when others would long have collapsed and deduce the most intimate details of their life as if he were a magician. Scotland Yard, as professionals who come into closer contact with him act differently, the younger detectives impressed often to the point of fawning admiration while those such as Lestrade or Gregson hover between grudging respect and furious indignation.

Neither know Sherlock Holmes.

All they can see is the reputation that Holmes works so hard to maintain - a private man who lives for the thrill of the chase and the intellectual stimulation. A man who doesn't seem to care for women and children and is perfectly happy being alone.

A brain without a heart.

They do not know Sherlock Holmes.

They have never seen him in the depths of the black fit, with his arm outstretched and a needle in his other hand. How he doesn't stop even when the face of his friend watches in horror, but with a flicker of regret as he searches for a vein.

They have never seen him clutching his leg and gritting his teeth in agony as blood seeps between his fingers, only to ignore it completely when there is the sound of a body falling to the ground beside him.

They have never heard his voice, soft and gentle as he assures the young lad in tears that being unable to get the information he asked for does not make him worthless. They would be surprised at the gentle hand that rests on the boy's shoulder and squeezes gently, instantly stopping the tears.

They would not understand the devotion of a man who will accompany his friend across London in the search for the perfect flowers to lay on a grave for a woman who has been dead for five years.

They have never seen him burning with a 103 degree fever, tossing and turning on the bed he has lain in for three days and nights after chasing a man across London when he stole the watch of a long-dead brother.

They would be shocked, if they had seen him embrace an older woman and let her lay her head on his shoulder and cry as she finds he is alive and at the look on his face when she slaps him seconds later. Hurt, but remorseful.

They would not be surprised to see him sitting up late into the night playing his violin, but would be to discover than he does it to ease the nightmares of a war veteran.

They do not know that he has nightmares of his own and that almost every time they end with a set of hands on his shoulders and the cry of one name as he wakes.

No, they do not know Sherlock Holmes and would never be able to see how he can call him a friend. After all, what friend would push him to the very limits of endurance, get him out of bed at an ungodly hour of the morning, continue to call him by his last name and allow him to believe he was dead for three years.

Yes, there is truth to what other people think of him, but as with all men he has two sides.

John Watson is proud to have known both.

Authors note: My very first published Sherlock Holmes fanfiction, though not my first attempt. That is a crossover with my fan-character and her travels in other dimensions, but it is just a few drabbles right now and I need a plot - Holmes would be dissapointed if I was to neglect this, I'm sure. I have a few ideas in mind though and am always open for co-writing, whether drabble or otherwise. Note me if you're interested.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. I have, however, been to the museum in London and have several souveniers and photographs, which is a step in the right direction.