Everyone has at least heard of Arthur Conan Doyle's literature masterpieces, Sherlock Holmes. Whether you've read them or not, you might know that the stories are comprised of two main characters-Sherlock Holmes, a slightly impulsive, abrasive, genius consulting detective, and his partner, Dr. John Haymish Watson. In the books the story is told through Watson's point of view, his adventures with the detective.

In recent years, writers/directors Steven Moffat (who also directs-and I believe writes-Doctor Who, who is also known for killing off every freaking person we love) and Mark Gatiss took up the enormous project of making Sherlock Holmes into a 21st century BBC TV show. And oh dang, what a hit.

The pair, Benedict Cumberbatch who plays Sherlock and Martin Freeman as Watson, work brilliantly together, and it showed in the massive positive response of the first season. It was breath-taking to see the reactions from the fans. Ben and Martin were beyond spectacular in keeping the original character of Doyle's original Holmes and Watson. Insane. It wasn't just they way they played the character, in just one layer, if that makes sense. The actors really did connect with their characters and developed a very deep emotional attachment to them. Ben and Martin gave them emotional depth and layers that you could really look into and analyse. John was thrown into Sherlock's world, just barely recovering from wars from across the world and is dragged into the danger again with the his slightly autistic flatmate. You would never guess the two would become best friends.

Admittedly, I didn't start watching Sherlock until a few months ago. My best friend kept bugging me to check it out because of the brilliance of it. I wasn't thinking it was as great as she-and millions of others-claimed it to be, however it definitely was. With the two men's acting finesse, I was hooked incredibly quick because of the way the actors portrayed their characters.

On the outside, if you don't really get into it, Sherlock is a one-degree figure: a sociopathic detective. That's how some people see him. But for me, Sherlock Holmes is so much more than that. It wasn't until the second season that I really got it and put the pieces together from the previous one, that I saw so much of that man in me. I'm your typical 15 year old sophomore. Nothing incredible about me, unless you really get to know who I am. Wow that sounded conceited. But bare (bear?) with me.

To others he seems basic and generic and boring. A bloody psychopath. (Although he never fails to remind you-a high-functioning sociopath) But I see more. Much more. In the first episode of season 1, we see his brash and straight-forward attitude. He isn't afraid to voice his opinions out loud, for why should he? When he first approaches John, he immediately rambles off his deductions about how John needed to find a flatmate, clearly seeing that he was a war veteran from a third world country with a psychosomatic limp. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" questions Sherlock straight away. A bewildered John wonders how in the world he knew that. Sherlock was expecting this reaction, as he always gets this kind of thing from people. His off-putting, slightly rude deductions always stem this kind of response. He's not afraid of what people think of him, but not in the, "I'm beautiful no matter what people say! I'm my own person!" kind of way. More in like the, "I literally could not care less" way.  He really just doesn't give a single crap.

Sherlock is not one you would associate friends with. You wouldn't think he has any, given his offensive and determined, "I know I'm right" attitude. But John became the most unlikely, though loving friend the detective ever had. Straight away, Sherlock yanks John along into a case, already deciding he was his friend and if he doesn't like it, well too bad. He can suck it up. John was expecting a nice quiet flat where he could enjoy civilian life again, but got dragged right back into the trouble and danger. And he wouldn't have it any other way. Sherlock's only friend is John. He cherishes John quite a lot, although for some it's hard to see that. If you look past his cold, hard shell you can see that he is capable of loving, in his sociopathic way. It really is there. There isn't a lot of people-any person-that Sherlock would call a friend. But finally, in the third season, he chokes out that John is his best friend. And John admits it as well. Sherlock is a unique character that could be very, very hard to love. But through all of it, John sticks with him, and although he never actually admits it, Sherlock is extremely grateful for it. Sherlock needs John. It's quite clear, if you think about it. Sherlock's rock and only support is John Watson. He needs him. The two clash more than they should, but since their personalities are so opposite, they get along in their awkward, twisted way. It's brilliant.

This is just my opinion and deductions of Sherlock and his character. I believe that he is breaking, dying, rotting inside. He had no one before John came along. And no matter who you are, no matter how unlovable and cold you may seem, you always need someone. I don't care how strong and magnificent the detective thinks he is-he's a complete wreck. He needs a shoulder, a rock, a friend to balance him out and keep him on the right track. Sherlock Holmes could have, and still very well be, suicidal and depressed. If you think hard, and really look at him, you may be able to see it as I do. As a teenager myself, I happen to suffer from the same: depression and suicidality. The feeling of complete hopelessness and worthlessness. I see that in Sherlock as well. It may not be very prominent to you, but to me it is. It's partly just how he's wired-a sociopath who is cold and closed-off. But also, I know it's not just that. He's crying out, begging for someone, anyone to just simply be his friend. To be with him and hold him when he feels the world crashing down. He had no one for so long. His brother hated and abandoned him. Sherlock confined himself to rotting in solitude. He refused to get sentimental with others, simply because he had been alone for so long. He was so broken, but so used to it. "Alone protects me," he snaps at John right before the confrontation with Moriarty on the roof of Bart's hospital. And it hurts-physically hurts-to see that that's they way he wanted it for a very long time. The moment it all hit me-how much he wanted to die, how much he is in love with John Watson, how he's willing to die for the one's he loves because he's wanted to end his life anyways-was the scene spoilers for The Reichenbach Fall ahead in The Reichenbach Fall when he sat against the white counter, staring into nothingness and bouncing a blue stress ball repeatedly against the cabinet opposite. That's the moment everything snapped into perspective for me. I still remember it. I was at home alone, sitting on the floor with my hands stuffed into my blue hoodie. I remember, the instant it all clicked, a gasp, a bolt of physical pain pierce my heart, and a whimper that evolved into a choked sob. I remember pausing the TV and dropping my head into my hands. I remember crying, feeling hot tears soak through my fingers. Oh Sherlock, I remember thinking. I get it. I finally, finally get it. I understand. It's okay. I'm sorry. I know exactly how you feel, Sherlock Holmes. I know how you feel... I'm so sorry... I remember it all because that was the moment I understood. I never knew how much I connected with him until then. I always felt drawn to Sherlock, but never could quite figure out why exactly. Then, in that several second long scene, I got it. Just the simple act of watching him bounce that ball against the cabinet... I finally saw every terrifying thought race through his dying mind. I finally realized why he meant so much to me. Because, in a sense, this fictional character was me. Broken, dying, crying out, but staying silent for the sake of those around him. He never wanted to hurt or worry John, because he loved him and that's why he never said anything. He knew that in his confrontation with Moriarty minutes later that he would find a way to fake his death, but it would be for John's sake. If he didn't have anyone to live for, he would happily die on that rooftop. But John carried him, loved him, protected him and saved him, whether the doctor-or Sherlock-knew it or not. So the detective found a way to fake his suicide just for John. Moriarty was planning to shoot John, Ms. Hudson and Lestrade if he didn't jump, but I have a feeling that he only jumped to save John in the end. John had no idea he did this to save his life, but lying to his best friend, the man he loved, was the only way to protect him. No matter how much it hurt and destroyed them both.

Sherlock loves John. There's no denying it. We all know it's true. This suicidal, depressed, hurting man had one person in his life that kept him breathing. John saved his life in so many ways. But like I said earlier, I see so much of myself in Sherlock. My brother, Levi, is the John to my Sherlock. He's helped me carry on more than he realizes. So when I saw Sherlock jump, I felt a piece of me die with him. Just ten minutes earlier, the scene with the stress ball, I realized why I love Sherlock. Why I felt such a passionate, intense love and connection to him. It hurt me to see him hurting. I knew what he was thinking, what it felt like, how it is to be suicidal and depressed. This man made me realize that I am not alone, and the person that's saved me is right there if I know it or not. I feel this deep, fervent need to help him. Just knowing that this man, this brilliant man was dying just as I was, hurt much more than anything I've ever experienced. He doesn't deserve this! He's loved and cared for. But then, so am I. Sherlock helped me notice that, hey, maybe someone does need me here. Maybe someone does love me. He felt like a brother to me. A piece of me. Sherlock was a character that I knew would stay with me for the rest of my life. Because I am him. And that is the most powerful thing I've felt in a long time. But ten minutes after that painful realization, he was gone. Sherlock. Jumped. Just like that, he was gone. I cried out, screamed, when Sherlock let his phone clatter to the ground and let himself fall. It wasn't some sad character death that you get over in a few days. I felt a pain in my heart I cannot describe. It's like watching your brother die. I couldn't. I just couldn't do it. Sherlock was... gone? No... no! Please no! Please, Sherlock! I love you! I'm sorry, I know it hurts! Sherlock!

And that was it. Sherlock Holmes, the one man who I loved more than almost anyone, the one who I desperately wanted to save, was dead. He saved me, so I felt that if I knew what he was feeling, that somehow I could save him from his inevitable death. But alas, he was gone... We were so alike in some twisted aspect, I knew I needed to help somehow. But could I? Of course not.

Then later we see that Sherlock is in fact alive, but at this point, I was so traumatized and broken I refused to believe it. I believed he was just a figure of John's imagination, who he wished he could see but couldn't because Holmes was dead.

The experience numbed me completely. Days after, I couldn't get out of bed. I kept seeing flashes of Sherlock stepping onto that ledge behind my eyes. It hurt. Everything hurt. I hurt. At school, I couldn't even look at the top of the building without crying. He was gone, but I needed him back. I needed this fictional character. No matter how weird that sounds. I did. I really needed Sherlock back. But he was gone. A piece of me is gone which I will never get back. That is, until, January 19th of the following year. But until then, I felt so hollow and lost. This man was in desperate need saving, just for a bit longer. Someone to hold Sherlock off from his suicide until it all passed. Someone, anyone to save the detective. He saved me. But I failed to save him.

I don't know if you really understand this, or if you ever will. What is her problem? He's a made up character! Why the dramatic reaction? She's just some over-obsessive fangirl. Well, you see, when you're so completely broken, you're desperate to hold on to something, anything. And I chose Sherlock Holmes, because he knew what it felt like. He saved me, whether you chose to accept that or not. He is more than a made up person. He is a piece of my heart.

I believe in Sherlock Holmes. He believed in me.