Work Text:
Freak.
He knew that Donovan didn’t mean it in the way his brain interpreted it to be, but it was difficult not to think that way.
She meant it in that ‘joke being disguised as a genuine opinion’ towards his sociopathic tendencies way. He knew that. But still, it was like another part of him, a more sensitive and vulnerable part of him couldn’t help but change the context in which she made that comment.
It wasn’t a one off thing, either. Every time they crossed paths.
Freak. She doesn’t mean that. Freak. She doesn’t mean that, not like I think she means that. Freak.
And suddenly everything is too much. It’s too bright, too loud, and he is swarmed with his imperfections. Scars, a double incision running across his chest due to his previous size, rendering him incapable of anything less obvious. Badly healed, still too red in comparison to the milky colour they should be. Although he had to blame himself for that one. Poor care taken post-operation. Cheekbones, prominent, feminine. Curvature to his hips and sides. Across his whole appearance, it seemed impossible to him that they hadn’t figured it out by now. Although it was clear they had not.
In their minds, he was Sherlock. He was male. Born and raised, always had been and always would be. No subconscious alterations of his appearance, no slip ups on pronouns that would never have occurred before acquiring the knowledge that he was not, in fact, biologically male. He was just Sherlock.
But that changed nothing. He was used to it by now. He wasn’t Sherlock. He wasn’t a man. He never would be. He would only ever be a freak.