I am, as I constantly find with your writing, slightly stunned after this fic. Because I genuinely do not understand how you can write slow and quiet and fast and noise-hammering-in-your-ears all so well and in such close proximity. These pieces all make perfect sense, which I need, but they all ache, which I love. The idea of Sherlock's inner fear repeating as "If he were a person" is so, so utterly devastating I basically cannot handle it. Because he's extraordinary and unlike anyone else and isolated in his own mind, and thus constantly fails to correspond reality with his self-image. Good good good good good. (And of course bad, for him.)
I don't even know, I just love your writing and this fic is going to require about five re-reads before I know how much better it is than the usual tripe, but I think it's safe to say INFINITELY.
(Also, on a weird soapbox level, the idea of him having all these ages for 'losing his virginity' is wonderful because how could it be so absolute for someone who overthinks as much as he does.)
Gorgeous. I'm going to be replaying it in my head all day. xxx