Author's note: This is the first part in a series with unkown amount of chapters. I do not own any of the characters, if anyone thought so. This is the first time I write a "chapter story" and I am not very certain in my skills, so it would be very nice if you could tell me how I get on.


Dear God. It is 3.30 in the morning and John had one of his nightmares again. Since I am no longer the heartless person I once was, I made some tea to comfort him. It was probably more heartless than if I'd just ignored him because I managed to accidently food poison him with the sour milk I use for my biological experiments. I didn't do it with purpose; I can say for my defense, though after drinking it, he had to spend quite a time with his face down in the toilet.

When he got out, I apologized for the very first time in my life. He answered with a face that, from what I could tell, meant that he wasn't mad because there was nothing but this to expect from my cooking skills. Which was true. I may be the brightest man on earth, but my practical skills are the same as a 2-years-old child's, which has resulted in that John is the one who cook.

He went up to his room and I decided to show, in an easier way, that I actually cared, so I went down to Mrs. Hudson's cupboard for cleaning attachments and got a bucket and on my way up to John's room I picked some blankets up.

When I came upstairs, John was already half asleep so I quietly sneaked in and put the bucket next his bed and tucked him in the blankets. Then he moved a little and said: "Sherlock, I am not mad at you; I thought you could read that out of my face downstairs, so why are you here and why are you so caring?"

Perhaps I wasn't as quiet as I thought. But I answered: "Because, like you told me, friends protect you and now you need protection. I made you ill and now I'll make you well." He shrugged his shoulders and said goodnight and I silently went out.

I felt awkward when I came out. It felt as if I had walked in on John's personal space without permission with a good intention that had ended in a disaster. This, of course, was exactly what had happened.

Heavens, it was lovely being a heartless person. I didn't care for people and no one cared for me. Sod John for walking in and being damn patient and understanding and softening. His presence gave me a heart and it was awfully annoying sometimes.

I have been thinking about him pretty much for a while. Why John? Why did I become so attached to John of all people? He wasn't cleverer than other people, he wasn't kinder than other people and he wasn't more interesting than other people. These thoughts are stupid. Of course I know why I "chose" him. He's just as lack of friends as I. We are both lonely and we have both come to the conclusion that we better can be lonely together.

Before John moved in, I had Mrs. Hudson for company but she always talked and didn't have the intellect to keep up with my speed of thoughts. John doesn't either, but he is closer.

Sleeping's so boring. It's like being death except you wake up again. I never know if I want to wake up from my sleep, it depends on where I am in the land of dreams. In my dreams I have seen tales beyond the extreme in the land of obscene and I am not sure if I want to leave. But I most certainly want to leave the nightmares I have.

Oh, great. No I am fully awake and won't sleep a wink more tonight. I better go up and read some of John's poems for his former girlfriends. It always makes the time pass.