"You are so utterly DAFT!" Sherlock's scream echoed against the walls of 221B. Later, Mrs. Hudson would insist she had heard nothing. But later, everything would be a complete disaster.

"No." John points a finger at his flatmate. "No. You cannot just say things like that and expect me to...no, Sherlock."

"But why can't you see?! Why can't you just live with the truth?!"

"These kinds of things are difficult for me." John's voice drops to a soft mumble that Sherlock can barely hear. But his ears strain to listen for the words he longs for.

"I know they are, John. But if you are not even hearing me, please just listen right now." Sherlock inhales deeply and clenches his pale hands into fists. They turn even more unaturally white, ghastly almost. Just like his feelings. "I am in love with you."

"Stop it." John's voice cracks.

"I am in deeply in love with you, John Hamish Watson. You cannot tell me to stop, and you cannot tell me to shut up because this is the complete truth."

"Sherlock..."

"I'm speaking to the universe right now, but the one man I want most to listen isn't hearing anything. God, John. Why can't you just hear me?! Right now. Just for this single moment."

"Because I'm not like you, Sherlock!" John exlcaims. His voice is filled to the brim with grief and destruction. But Sherlock isn't listening. He isn't hearing this. He chooses not to. Just like John is choosing not to hear him.

"What?"

"I'm not like you. I'm not some freak," John spits out the word like it's poison. To Sherlock, it is. It's the one word that is most venemous to him. It kills him inside every time he hears it. And to hear it come past John's lips is the most murderous. And he can practically feel his heart shattering like glass; the broken pieces push against his chest in the second most horrendous pain he has experienced today.

"Don't you dare say that." Sherlock squints at his best friend.

"I'm not gay. I don't find joy in experimenting. I don't even care for your stupid deductions."

"You're a liar."

"Stop it."

"You were the only one who appreciated me. You urged me to love you, John."

"Those praises were stupidity."

"Not to me!"

"Do you even think I care?"

"Yes," Sherlock whispers the word before taking a single step forward. "I love you."

"You can't expect me to love you back."

"You're right, John. I can't just make my imagination reality. I can't yearn for the one thing I want most in the world to actually happen."

"Just stop it now."

"You're the only person I've actually ever loved before."

"You're a human. Of course you've loved people before."

"I'm not a human, John, as you so put it. Remember? I'm just some gay freak who's in love with an army doctor. Oh wait. He's a soldier, as he always keeps reminding us! But the soldier can't handle mere affection from his friend."

"STOP!"

"No, John. I will and can not stop because my love for you will and can not stop."

"Just shut up, Sherlock. Shut. Up."

Sherlock's parted lips press into a thin line. They press so hard they turn white like the snow that falls in the winter. Just like the snow that is freezing Sherlock's soul.

They had always called his brother the Iceman. If only they had searched a little further to find the small child made of slender, alabaster limbs and pure hate. If only they had found the freak they called Sherlock Holmes.

"I love you," Sherlock whispers. He can envision the white cloud of icy breath leaving his lips forever. But all he can see is him.

They had always called his sister the Drunk. If only they had searched a little further to find the small boy composed of sandy blonde hair and muscle and pure love. If only they had found the doctor they called John Watson.

"Stop," John whispers. He can envision the murky cloud of alcohol leaving his lips forever. But all he can see is him.

They were the two most misunderstood people on the planet. Sherlock Holmes. Famous consulting detective. The real Iceman. And John Watson. An army doctor. The real Drunk. Both never would admit their true sides. Both would never admit that when they met the other, they were changed forever. Sherlock finally felt the burden of ice lifting and soaring away. John finally felt the burden of drunkeness grow wings and fly far into the sky.

But because of an Irish man known as Moriarty, their true identities just came swinging back with a vengence. Sherlock found the ice; John found his alcohol.

But Sherlock fought the frigid cold until all he could bear was a sliver of an icicle hanging precariously off his warmed heart. John was the only person who could melt the remainder of the Iceman. But John had never gotten past his alcohol the second time. John didn't realize that all he needed was Sherlock. Just like Sherlock needed him.

"Then leave," Sherlock says.

And John wants to. He yearns to.

He can't.

"Sherlock."

"I love you. But please leave."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"I love you," Sherlock repeats.

"I know."

"Do you?"

"No."

"I need you."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"You need me too."

"Yes."

"Like the moon needs stars."

"Yes."

"Like the leaves need water and sunlight."

"Yes, Sherlock."

"Like the freak needs the doctor."

"Most definitely."

"I love you."

"I know."

It was then that the Drunk finally realized that he really did need the Iceman. It was then that the Iceman realized that he really did need the Drunk. Just like the moon needs stars.

~~I don't know what that was, and it went into a million different directions. But I kind of liked it, and I hope you did too! Leave a comment or a vote or just fangirl. Also, this is dedicated to TimeForCoffee. She's kind of amazing. So please go follow her and check out her stories because her writing is literally the best. Thanks for reading! <333~~