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    Summary

    Irene Adler took a slightly obscene pleasure in informing everyone that the great detective Sherlock Holmes had never known the pleasure of getting hot and heavy with someone between the sheets. The detective seemed to brush it off, calling feelings and physical attraction a liability, declaring for everyone to hear that he was completely uninterested in sex and relationships. But that's not quite true. Sherlock isn't not interested in sex. He just can't find someone who interests him. Every time he looks at someone, he sees things, things that no potential lover would want to know about a prospective partner. At least, not for a long time, like they only brush their teeth every three days, or they don't wash behind their ears. Or that they've had forty-three partners before you, or that they picked something up somewhere that's making their private bits itch. Things you could maybe look past once you were in love. But Sherlock doesn't have that luxury. Normally, it doesn't bother him, the ability to look and see everything about someone. But then, one day, after drugging his flatmate and tricking him into thinking he was about to be eaten by a Hound, the straight-as-an-arrow John Watson gives Sherlock Holmes butterflies.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    63,345
    Chapters:
    26/26
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