Ingenium (✓) | Sherlock Holmes

🎓 12*distance (R)

During the constant blows received by Mycroft's acolytes, I somehow found the strength to plunge into my mind palace. Unlike Sherlock's, mine was filled with sweet memories of human emotions. My conversations with Sherlock, our kiss, John's friendship – they were all entangled in the web of my own mind palace.

I had to admit, even though a treacherous throb of my heart was present, that Sherlock was more than an intellectual buddy. Indeed, at first, all I could think about was how to profit from his genius, his raw passion for knowledge, his intuition. But as our connection deepened and the path towards something more advanced, I found myself falling for his other traits – those invisible to the naked eye.

Despite his rationalist structure, I was thrilled to notice that he genuinely started to doubt his opinions on faith. He was far, far away from a nearness to God, but he held that potential. He was also far, far away from adopting a non-misanthropic demeanour, but he managed to chisel his aversion towards his peers.

Am I lying about the reason behind my leaping heart? Partially, no. But the utter truth was that I fell for something else. His hope. Although he stated many a times that he despised human nature with every fiber of his body, he intricately wanted to connect with it. Inside his soul was a constant battle between holding his barriers and letting others shatter them. He wanted to be loved, cherished, appreciated, and understood. A little part of him wanted to be just like the others, to fit in. And that desire, filled with shame from his behalf, was what made my heart offer itself to him.

I needed him to understand that I would not abandon him, or betray him, despite any cunning offer. I would protect his unripe heart and he would eventually learn to protect mine as well. He will find a way towards me, and all I had to do was wait patiently.

I was in no hurry, honestly. Being in some dungeons with Moriarty's partners kicking my guts really inhibited my love expectations.

"You can beat me to numbness, but I will not reveal anything in your favour!" I exclaimed, spitting blood on the wretched floor.

One of the blow-throwers addressed some lovely swear words to me, but I could not care less. My principles were made of steel, and every one else was just coal.

When Sherlock pulled off that stunt with the Fibonacci wires, I was surprised, but not scared – as Sherlock believed. I was not a pretty callow girl who lived in a fairytale together with her Prince Charming. I have seen suffering and torture all my life, I needed no man or woman to wrongfully prove my inexperience.

Despite being sturdy in my pursuit towards Moriarty's fall, I felt ashamed for lying to Sherlock. After all, I belonged to an insurgent organization, and I was its bloody leader! John was my wing-man, so to speak, for he concealed my secret from that twat's acquaintances. It was more than difficult, though. John received too many blows for me and I do not think I could stand such sacrifice much longer. I yearned for a recess as ambitiously as he was, but he was my childhood friend and it was only natural to desire his protection.

He has been my brother and my father altogether. Even though I have not been in contact with him lately – Sherlock's keen observation would have disarmed me – we shared a bond that many do not even experience it once in a lifetime. He would be the one to whom I would reach for a shoulder to cry on, or a session of awfully bad jokes, or an advice without which I would be lost. John was truly an anchor, but I feel like I have drowned him already.

I have subjugated him to incarceration, torture and wicked interrogations simply because I refused to divulge my weapon against Moriarty. The time has not yet arrived, but it seemed to own a rather brisk pace anew, given our current locked-up situation.