



Well, Watson, you have done all that a good friend could. You can now disappear from the scene.”
“I must wait and hear his opinion, Holmes.”
“Of course you must. But I have reasons to suppose that this opinion would be very much more frank and valuable if he imagines that we are alone. There is just room behind the head of my bed, Watson.”
“My dear Holmes!”
“I fear there is no alternative, Watson. The room does not lend itself to concealment, which is as well, as it is the less likely to arouse suspicion. But just there, Watson, I fancy that it could be done.” Suddenly he sat up with a rigid intentness upon his haggard face. “There are the wheels, Watson. Quick, man, if you love me!
"What I always found so amazing about this moment is that Sherlock didn’t even consider that John wouldn’t know what was going on, not because Sherlock is rude or inconsiderate, but because Sherlock sees John as an equal. Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t understand. Lestrade wouldn’t get it. Anderson? DEFINITELY NOT. But John, his friend John, would because Sherlock doesn’t feel the same as he did during that crime scene in Study in Pink. He doesn’t assume that John is stupid or anything like that because John has proven himself worthy of his respect. He has come to a point where he assumes that they are equal in intelligence. When he’s with John, he is no longer a giant among insects because he feels that he can look John straight in the eyes without him flinching.
And whether you ship it or not, that’s love. That’s respect and friendship and love.
^THIS