Just a little thing. I am not trans* so I hope I haven't offended by trying this. My hands hurt, so this is a pathetic fill, but I may get to it later
Despite what the popular opinion of the uninformed public might be, there was never the moment of Eureka! Sherlock didn't suddenly decide one morning that she, with all the proper bits and all the proper mannerisms, felt like a he. No; there wasn't anything like that. It all began with confusion, realization, and then most importantly: denial.
She, or rather, he, was faced with denial. He denied the part of himself that felt right for months—probably even years. Whenever John referred to him as a woman, regarding the beauty of his figure; eyes lingering at the curves of his hips and the swell of his breasts, he felt like a fraud. He felt like he was deceiving him in some way, despite knowing he was absolved of any blame whatever the case may be.
John and he were in a relationship, quite happily, but with this newfound information, this identity crisis, Sherlock needed a plan.
Firstly, how was he supposed to tell John what was going on? He was a military man, and those types of people could be crass, crude, and the least understanding of people from his experience. Put twenty men in a shower and misogyny and sexism on all levels was bound to come up.
But this was John. Kind, caring John; surely he would understand?
No, Sherlock decided. John was a straight, heterosexual, very sexual man that would scoff at the idea. He wouldn't understand.
God, he'd been thinking about this for days. Weeks if he counted passing thought. Sherlock slammed his head against the table, his long, curly hair pooling by his head. After turning his head and resting his cheek against the cool wood, Sherlock appraised his long locks. He could probably rid himself of that first. He didn't particularly like long hair, but in regards to the general public, men were more willing to listen and underestimate a girl who looked very pretty.
But that wasn't who he was anymore.
Biting his nails, Sherlock punched in a phone number and started to plan. This wasn't something that would happen in a day, or maybe even a year, but it was going to happen. Standing afraid and alone was not something he was used to, and he wasn't about to start now. This was his life and he was taking control.
Sherlock swallowed. Whether John agreed with it or not.
Baby fill for ya
Despite what the popular opinion of the uninformed public might be, there was never the moment of Eureka! Sherlock didn't suddenly decide one morning that she, with all the proper bits and all the proper mannerisms, felt like a he. No; there wasn't anything like that. It all began with confusion, realization, and then most importantly: denial.
She, or rather, he, was faced with denial. He denied the part of himself that felt right for months—probably even years. Whenever John referred to him as a woman, regarding the beauty of his figure; eyes lingering at the curves of his hips and the swell of his breasts, he felt like a fraud. He felt like he was deceiving him in some way, despite knowing he was absolved of any blame whatever the case may be.
John and he were in a relationship, quite happily, but with this newfound information, this identity crisis, Sherlock needed a plan.
Firstly, how was he supposed to tell John what was going on? He was a military man, and those types of people could be crass, crude, and the least understanding of people from his experience. Put twenty men in a shower and misogyny and sexism on all levels was bound to come up.
But this was John. Kind, caring John; surely he would understand?
No, Sherlock decided. John was a straight, heterosexual, very sexual man that would scoff at the idea. He wouldn't understand.
God, he'd been thinking about this for days. Weeks if he counted passing thought. Sherlock slammed his head against the table, his long, curly hair pooling by his head. After turning his head and resting his cheek against the cool wood, Sherlock appraised his long locks. He could probably rid himself of that first. He didn't particularly like long hair, but in regards to the general public, men were more willing to listen and underestimate a girl who looked very pretty.
But that wasn't who he was anymore.
Biting his nails, Sherlock punched in a phone number and started to plan. This wasn't something that would happen in a day, or maybe even a year, but it was going to happen. Standing afraid and alone was not something he was used to, and he wasn't about to start now. This was his life and he was taking control.
Sherlock swallowed. Whether John agreed with it or not.