Pull a face. Furrow your brow. Look boggled. Look bemused. Ignore the little flutter of panic in your chest that says, you care about this more than you should.

And keep telling yourself that you’re not gay, because that’s the excuse you hide behind for not telling Sherlock that you love him more than your own wife, that you love him more than the air you breathe, that you love him more than anything else on earth.

Keep lying to yourself, John Watson. Because if you ever stop one day and acknowledge the truth, it just might destroy every other stained-glass illusion you have about yourself, and force you to face who you really are.

the thrill of the chase

the blood pumping through your veins

just the two of us against the rest of the world