John Watson had never questioned his intelligence before. Not really. Sure, there were moments when he had done stupid things, said stupid things, condoned stupid things and enjoyed stupid things immensely. Not once in his life, however, did he ever think of himself as drastically unintelligent.

Then he met Sherlock Holmes.

He met Sherlock and Holmes and suddenly everything he'd ever done seemed unbelievably dim. Oh, not boring. No, he would never have called Afghanistan boring. Things that cause nightmares like that are very rarely boring, in John's experience. Everything from before did, however, seem slow, undefined and somehow... fuzzy.

Sherlock Holmes brings his life and his world into focus - a focus so sharp that it makes John wonder about accelerant drugs. He thinks maybe he could see the attraction now. Sherlock is John's version of speed – a stimulant that can keep you awake and jumping about like a nutter for hours, that was Sherlock, to a Tee.

John tries not to think about that drug thing too much. It reminds him too much of those vampire books that his sister likes. John tries not to think about his sister too much. Nor has he ever really appreciated sparkles -he's a Matte finish kind of bloke. That and calling Sherlock his own personal drug sounds silly.

So he only thinks it, sometimes, and it still sounds silly.

So John only ever calls Sherlock "his personal kind of drug" in his head. When Sherlock's not looking. Sherlock has a tendency to pick up on things like that.

Things like John smiling like an idiot.