AUTHOR'S NOTE: So John is Jane, has always been female (in this story anyways). Pretty fluffy.

For those also reading Pint-sized Flatmate, I promise I WILL UPDATE SOON! School has been crazy busy, but I will finish that story even if it kills me! (it probably will, but never fear) I did this fanfic as a more or less compensation, for the long wait.

Well, enjoy :)

No.

No. No. No. No. No. No.

It just simply wasn't possible.

It was completely illogical and utterly pointless!

He was a high functioning sociopath for crying out loud! He did not do relationships. He didn't even have friends!

He just had one.

And there was no way that he had fallen in love with Dr. Jane Watson!

It wasn't that Sherlock partially disliked her company, per say.
Yes, she would always listen to, and not just hear, his deductions. Yes, it was worth answering all her boring questions if only to hear her praise his abilities with her sincere, "brilliant!" or, "fantastic!" Not only that, but Sherlock found that he could better organize his thoughts with her around.
She was his conductor of light. She helped him to focus better, to be better.

And she did it all with just being herself.

But this did not mean that he, Sherlock Holmes, had fallen in love with his flat mate. So what if whenever they accidentally touched his stomach did a weird flip? Or when Jane would dose off during a late night cab ride and rest her head on his shoulder, his heart would beat the same way it did during a high-speed chase? It meant absolutely nothing that whenever Jane gave him a genuine smile he couldn't hold back a grin of his own.

He had not fallen in love.

They were simply flat mates. They were only as close as flat mates.

Surely all flat mates knew when the other was unhappy by the way they would do their hair, or know when the other was glad by the jumper they wore. Of course other flat mates would know when the other had a stressful day at work by the way they would open the door.

No they wouldn't. Said the little voice in his head.

Of course they would. He responded.

Face it, you are attracted to her. It stated stubbornly.

NO I AM NOT.

Then why do you become so upset when she goes on dates with other men? The voice taunted.

Because they don't deserve her!

Honestly, Sherlock couldn't understand why Jane insisted on dating such inferior men. They didn't deserve her smiles, her laugh, her time that she took getting ready to go out when she already looked so beautiful, they plainly didn't deserve any of her Janeness.
Could they cure her limp? Could they give her that rush of danger that she needed? Did they know to what degree she liked her bread toasted to? Did they know that her middle name was Hannah? Or how much she hated it? Could any of those idiots sooth her back to sleep with music when she was suffering from nightmares?

They didn't, and couldn't.

Jane had entrusted these things to him. They were friends, partners.

Jane was meant to be his. And he was meant to be hers.

If anything could have proven otherwise, it would have been The Woman. But even with all her tricks and seducing, she couldn't make him lose what he felt towards Jane. The Woman couldn't cause his pulse to quicken, make his eyes dilate. And all because she simply wasn't Jane.

There was no one like Jane, no other person in the world. No one else could make a psychopath like him care, no… love.

And he loved everything about her.

Her perfect scar, her soft blond hair, her magnificently blue eyes, her short height, and her jumpers and jeans. He loved her modesty and humility, which somehow made her even more charming. He loved her fierce righteous anger and love for humanity. He loved how she had openly accepted him, yet cared enough to not let him stay the way he was. Sherlock loved everything about Jane.
But, did he love her?

Painfully slow, Sherlock reviewed all the data. He went over every detail, and left nothing in his mind palace that included Jane unsearched.
Till finally, he came to a conclusion.

Once he had discovered it, he had not even the faintest idea of what to do with it, or whether he should act on it. But he had to tell someone, and fast. His finding was overwhelming him. He just had to confess it, to say it with his own mouth. But who to tell?

Telling Jane herself was so out of the question, that the thought of it went into his mind's recycle bin before it was even formed. Mrs. Hudson would overreact, and probably tell every living soul. Lestrade would most likely be dismayed, as he had also at some point had an affiliation for Jane (As if he had a chance). Mycroft would never understand, he'd likely mock him. His skull, well, his skull was nice to chat with but this was something important. He needed to tell someone, someone who would care enough to listen. Someone who wasn't Jane yet knew him enough to at least comprehend the tiniest bit of what this feeling was doing to him.

Sherlock began to fully realize why he had avoided emotions for so long. Although he no longer disagreed with them, they were so bothersome. The thought, the yearning to say it, was consuming Sherlock's mind. In fact, he was barely functioning well enough to make tea for his enemy's visit. If Sherlock didn't tell someone soon, then Moriarty wouldn't need a bomb to make him explode.

"Cause I owe you a fall Sherlock." Moriarty finished with quiet malice. Sherlock carefully set down his teacup and stood up in a fluid motion. He reached down to grab his violin, turning his body away from his enemy while positioning the instrument to play it. For a long time silence reigned, till Sherlock broke it.

"I fail to see how you will accomplish that, seeing how I have already fallen for my flat mate."

Well there was no denying it now. Sherlock Holmes had done it.

He had fallen profoundly in love with Jane Watson. And he had fallen hard.

I had so much fun with this I will probably add more. Don't worry though, I am putting "Pint-sized Flatmate" as my numero uno priority.

Plz R&R!