Various x Ftm Reader

Irrational ||Sherlock Holmes||

Cw: pre-transition, improper binding (with bandages), pain from improper binding & slight difficulty breating, pov changes 

Everyone knew that Sherlock Holmes was a man of logic. Even when he was young, and many ideas and dreams of his could be considered unrealistic—he was able to pick up on disparities, logical fallacies, holes in arguments and plots. Yes, he was a little too perceptive for his age, he learned how to use logic to his advantage—use it as a safety net, or as a second layer like retractable spikes in his skin warning people to stay back. It tethered him to the earth, aided him in his work. Where others would see him as cold and calculating—and where others saw him dense head to toe in flaws—his redeeming quality forever remained his logic. 

When he fell for you, it was a blow to the stomach. He put up more guards around his heart, until he realized you would make it through every layer everytime—slightly scraped, but still standing, and still looking at him with that strange look in your eyes he came to adore. 

It did help that in some regard, you were like him—a more graceful version of him. You seemed to be able to walk the line between his world, and theirs—where there was something so black and white, you seemed to see the grey. You were curious—perhaps too much for your own good—and when he deduced, you wanted to know how he knew everything instead of pushing him away. Even if you could be more imaginative, you craved the knowledge, and the conclusions you came to whilst working on cases. 

And when you really started dating, he kept your relationship close to him, tucked between his ribs and that layer of spikes. He detested the prying eyes of the outside world—the surprised gape of John's mouth, the raise of Lestrade's brows, the shift in Molly's demeanor. Not to mention, everything about Mycroft's reaction. 

But no one went against it. Why would they? If you were clever enough to access all of Sherlock's weak points, and Sherlock had enough of a soft spot to keep you around, why challenge it? Sherlock was observant and curious, and you questioned everything about the world around you, including him, and it seemed to work out. 

So it started as him inviting you out on cases, and would eventually end with you falling asleep in his flat. And you loved it. You loved the late nights obsessing over cases—the endless hours of research. Your presence would slowly become more and more permanent in the Baker Street flat—your roots seemed to be planted firmly into every crevice, and Sherlock never minded enough to tear them out. He included you in his routines, he cherished it when your hands brushed against each other, or when you sat a little too close to him. 

When he kissed you, it felt electric the way everybody said it would—the way he didn't quite believe up until now. Both of you were praised for your logic, your drive, for finding the answers. And he could tell by the look in your eyes that you were just as enthralled and invested in it as he was. Just like him, you loved every second of it. 

But none of this could stop that feeling from haunting you.That feeling—the one that came back, and went away, and ebbed at you like ocean waves. None of the coffee you drank could clean the taste out of your mouth. None of the nights you let Sherlock occupy your thoughts could drive it out—no matter how much time you let cases take up, how much time he took up, it wouldn't go away. No matter how much blood Sherlock made you clean up for experiments or for practice, no matter how many poisons you were able to detect and grow a tolerance for—you couldn't wash it away, and you couldn't kill it.

You were starting to think that maybe that pit would be in your stomach forever—that maybe it had a reason for being there.

Or maybe there was a way to ease it. Maybe there was a way to get rid of that sick, uncomfortable feeling you got when you undressed. You thought that Sherlock's acceptance was the best thing in your life—the fact that he didn't pressure you to show him your body. How could you take your clothes off in front of him when you couldn't even bring yourself to look at your bare body in the mirror?