Sherlock Holmes had never been one to embrace the concept of caring for another human being. All it does is bring about unneeded complications and these messy things called 'feelings'. Yet, when he crosses paths with an invalidated army doctor named John Watson his entire way of thinking is forced to be changed. Will this change be for better or for worse?

What if you could hear them? The thoughts they deigned not reasonable enough to say out loud, the things not suitable for even a giggly teenage gossip conversation. Would it be a blessing or a curse? Troye, the unlucky teenager bestowed with this 'gift', thinks of it as a curse, with good reason. Do you know how hard it is to keep a relationship with someone when you know exactly what they think of you? Impossible. It's impossible. Or at least that's what Troye thinks, considering he's given up on even trying to make it work. He's different, people shun different. People hate different. And it's better to go under the radar, to be nothing, than to be hated. Right? Tyler, on the other hand, has taken a different approach to a similar problem. No, he can't 'read minds', but he does have a part of himself he doesn't want a soul to know about. He's quarterback, every girl's dream guy, an academic mastermind, and he's also gay. He's seen how different kids get treated, hell, he's been the one to treat them that way before. Why on Earth would he ever wish that on himself? No, it's easier to hide, to be someone you're not, than to be hated. Right?

He is lavish. Masterful. Intellectual, inexplicable, overt. Sexual. Sherlock Holmes defines extravagance. He isn't exactly the best thing for John's tireless, bland stability. John works the nine to five and tries not to lose sleep over the small things - like the labor of his fiancée's expectations, and the sirens that fill his head with noise after curfew. He finds comfort in art, and drinking. Besides the war making its presence known, slowly creeping its black tendrils into the heart of Bristol - John's life is quiet. Given that, he's not surprised when he is dragged into Sherlock Holmes's orbit. There is no manual to help him navigate the moment their eyes first meet; he presents himself as the perfect distraction, a beautiful incendiary miracle. John thinks that maybe he was hoping for this, because: Sherlock is potent, and inflammatory, and perfectly willing to make John's life hell for his own self-indulgent pleasure. With one touch, John's sense of self is corrupted. And what does it matter if the world implodes? It was never kind to them to begin with.

John is devastated by his best friend and secret love, Sherlock's death. He copes by visiting his grave every day for sixty days. Will this be closure enough, or will John need more to know that Sherlock has heard his words?

John's never seen a kid like him. He has this beautiful, crazy grace - withheld behind a smug smile and wisecracks that make John frustrated in so many different kinds of ways. And his eyes; crystal clear, decisive, cleaning through the unimportant things to find the valuables in life. He may or may not have a thing for smoking and James Bond, his favorite ice cream is mint with a chocolate swirl, and he is absolutely addicted to Pop Rocks and toffee. He enjoys pretty boys and warehouses, where he can hoard and think and be alone. Also, bumper cars, and John Watson. But Sherlock Holmes's thing, his niche, his calling in life... is to steal. Books. Wallets. Phones. Cars. Everything you've ever wanted, he's had. Everything you've ever wished for, he's stolen. Everything you are, everything you told yourself that you weren't, he owns, and he plays you like an out-of-tune violin. Does that mean that John's going to let him steal his heart? Not a shot in hell.