NO
HELL NO
Guuughjgh.
Seriously, imagine for a moment that you were dating him. Very difficult, I know, but run with me.
He is so god damned tactile. He’s always stroking something, patting something, running his fingers over something. Now imagine sitting on a sofa next to him or whatever while you’re both absentmindedly watching a movie.
You know bloody well those hands are going to end up stroking your forearm, or doodling along the inside of your thigh, or whatever.
*cough*
To Sherlock Holmes, she was always The Woman, the beautiful Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.
