"Do you just carry on talking when I'm away?" A post-Reichenbach BBC Sherlock story. First person present tense.

Sherlock remembered the day he had fallen in love with books, but he mostly remembered the day he met John Watson. •cover by @AddictedToTheMadness because she's hella awesome•

“Love is a psychological and physiological phenomenon, made of synapses and hormones, endorphins and dopamine receptors, pheromones, experiences, commonalities, mutual attraction. Not the muscle of the heart. Inexact metaphor. Designed for poetry, not accuracy.” First person, present tense story told from Sherlock's point of view. Written in early 2011, prior to series 2.

★ female pronouns & third person view (may change it if people prefer first person!) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ "I don't know you," The android glowered back at the stranger, it's LED flashing yellow. It was frustrated that it was caught before it could finish its mission. "I've never seen or heard of you." "I know you haven't." The stranger smiled. Her eyes sparked with playfulness. "I don't think you remember a Y/N, do you?" "I don't," He mumbled back. "Like I said I don't know you. How do you know so much about me?" "Oh, Connor..." The stranger shook her head. Her smile vanished slowly once her eyes strayed from him. "It's a shame that you don't know me..." "Since I helped on creating you." ★ ★ ★ ★ After Connor is admitted as Hank's partner, he's got to get closer to the Lieutenant and has got to study a few human emotions. Yet, it hasn't done anything to stop him from stopping Markus and the revolution. Despite deviants trying to get into Connor's head, he still considers himself nothing else but a machine. The only thing in his mind is to accomplish his mission, even if Hank or anyone else gets in his way. The only way he could possibly stop thinking that way is to reprogram. That's where Y/N, a former employee and engineer at Cyberlife steps in. ★ ★ ★ ★ Contains~ - mature language - mention of alcohol/tobacco - a few mature themes - mention of suicide (You've been warned!!) (edit 2/09: the cover art does not belong to me, but if you do know the artist who created it, please inform me so I can credit them!!) ★ ★ ★

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'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.