Falling (JohnLock)

chpr. 20

John Watson did not fall in love with a man. He fell for an angel. And his angel fell for him. He saw his wings moult away as the wind rushed around his freefalling body, he couldn’t fly.

He could no longer soar across the, now brighter, skies in search for serenity. He could no longer find his way home.

The broken man sat up in his hospital bed, heart pathetically beating and sinking through his chest. His eyes stung with the façade of a happier life, one he dreamt about. One he closed his eyes and saw, laughing, smiling, running with a dead man. He saw bright skies flooding across sunshine smiles and twinkling eyes, musical voice leaking through every fibre of John. Eyes that darted and twitched with intellect, holding and hiding the secrets of humanity.

A warm face that twisted into a hateful glare, lips that now snarled. “It’s your fault”. Pale skin that ran red with every desperate touch John gave. He tried everything, every night, to stop the pain. The sharp, almost unbearable pain in his heart, one that made it almost hard to breathe. It crushed his chest that panicked him and hurt his lungs. They burnt within him, angels reflected in his tears. In his eyes. In his heart. He has no purpose, but to wait. Wait for an angel that was never coming. A betrayed heart that bled violently, sopping through his shirt and into his semi-lucid consciousness.

He cursed himself for being so weak. For not being able to hold himself together, to be the soldier he was. Doctor. He corrected himself. How he could he sew people up if he couldn’t even fix his heart? He shook his head, trying to stop himself from thinking. Turning his gaze onto the only friend he’s had since the incident, he smiled when he saw her drawing quietly. She was getting better. He smiled the warm smile of proud parent.
“What are you staring at, kid?” Olive asked, without looking up.
“Nothing, Olly, just some kid drawing something,” John smiled cheekily and she looked up, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m not a kid,” she called him out, and he smirked.
“Doesn’t matter,” he quoted her and she laughed, “What are you drawing?”
“Nothing,” she lied, going quiet, her laughter retreating.
“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he reasoned, craning his head to try and see.
“It’s nothing you need to worry about, John,” she said sternly and he stopped looking at her paper. Seconds ticked past them, John looking over at her worriedly.
“Life only gives what it knows you’re strong enough to cope with,” Olive whispered, head down.
“Then I guess life didn’t get the memo,” John sighed, frowning. She threw down her sketch book in anger, the lead smudging on the tiled floor. She stood up, and made her way to the door.
“’m going for a walk,” she huffed.
“You’re pretending you’re okay, Olive,” John accused, calling out and she stopped at the door.
“No, I know I’m not. I just got used to saying ‘I’m tired’,” she explained, and walked out. He sighed, feeling guilty for ruining her seemingly good mood, and his eyes wandered to the discarded book. He pushed the thin blanket aside, wincing with the effort, and climbed out of his bed. He bent, stretching to pick up the little book. Turning it over, he scanned his eyes over the detailed picture of Olive and a young boy. His arm reached up, and held her hand, she smiled down at him. He frowned, and closed the book, setting it on her bed carefully.

Life is full of setbacks. Some want to hurt you, most are unwanted. Then there’s love.

Love could be the most valuable gift, or the most deadly curse. Circumstance. It all comes down to your situation. Who are they? What do they want? Love could sweep you off your feet, or cripple you. There is no in between. Love is portrayed as something that will send you flying, happiness spreading through your skin.

They’re wrong. Love is a sacrifice. It is risking everything you know for one person, and being happy about it.

Life consists of ties. Tiny strings in your heart, connected to people, places, and even inanimate objects. Forever pulling you to them. No matter how far you run from them, they will always pull at their strings. It hurts.

A/N: I should never be allowed to be bored because this is what happens