captain-liddy:

sherlock gets people but he doesn’t get people. he can read their lives and motivations like a menu, but he can’t make friends. he tries to deduce people like, look how clever i am and look how well i understand you, and they cringe away from him and call him a freak.

he put the wind up everybody. we all hated him. so casually. who wouldn’t hate him? and sebastian says that right in front of john, too. why shouldn’t he? why shouldn’t people refer to sherlock with casual disgust and contempt in front of his only friend? sherlock’s feelings mean nothing to people. so why would he acknowledge that he has any? my life isn’t heartbreaking, because i don’t have a heart. please don’t pity me for being trampled. please don’t see how damaged i am.

no wonder he’s mortified by any allusions to his intellectual failings. he thinks all he brings to the table is his usefulness and his usefulness is comprised in his intellect. and his willingness to crawl about on his front with a glass to his face, as mycroft is unwilling to do. he’s a brainy little errand boy who has to fight and claw for every ounce of respect he ever earns, and it’s still always given with a sneer. 

and he meets someone who helps him to see that it isn’t only his mind that’s impressive, it’s his soul. his capacity for goodness and optimism. his thirst for justice. but the work of uplifting himself, he does it himself! he absorbs what he learns from the few people who do actually respect and care about and love him, and it takes him years, and it’s painful and difficult, but tries to be good. he tries so hard to be good. not just right, but good. in part, OF COURSE, because he admires and loves john and wants john to return those feelings. but also because at his core, he is a do-gooder. he is so tough and brave and i am so so proud of him.