rough ashes ;; johnlock

Chapter sixteen

hi guys. I love you all. I'm sad but I'm not sure, anyway I think Ectasy is going to come to its final resting place. for one very last time

also I may be getting bored with this so um..

I'm sorry

carry on.

The coldest and hardest people
were once as soft as water.
that's the tragedy of living
n.a

||SHERLOCK||

"I'm afraid John." said Sherlock picking at his shirt, as he avoided John's gaze.

"What's wrong Sherlock?"

"I would have never thought I would ever say this, but I feel -"

"Feel what exactly?"

"Sentimental." he spat out the words like it was venom on his tongue.

"Sentimental," echoed John staring into Sherlocks eyes, "Sentimental."

"Yes. And I hate myself for it."

"Why Sherlock, feeling is a privilege."

"One I am not willing to accept."

"But of all things, sentimental." John looked almost puzzled as he surveyed Sherlock with his eyes.

"Well. God knows why."

"I'm afraid John."

"How very so?"

"It's -" stuttered Sherlock, "It's like as if a great torrent of water has washed me into a wall. Pinned my arms up with stones with jagged edges and began to seep into my clothes my skin, my hear-"

"No need to be so beautifully poetic now."

"You know what, fuck it."

"So," said John, looking cautiously at Sherlock and poking at His knee, "Can we talk about the other day?"

"I was extremely hoping one wouldn't discuss that." said Sherlock a faint blush crawling up he's cheeks.

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Maybe okay will be our always," quoted John, chuckling slightly.

"That honestly is an extremely fatuous book. My god. John I'm disappointed, out of anything you could have quoted."

"It suited the moment."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Don't you fucking dare start again." glared Sherlock his eyes staring harshly into John shirt.

"Okay."

He never knew feeling could hurt so much.
Especially sentiment. It sat inside him, eating him away from the inside to his exterior, like a massive parasite living on his emotions.

And John...?

Well he made Sherlock feel, like any other individual. He wanted to punch John, hit him with a brick, protect him from anything with a possible Hazard sign, he wanted to curl up in a blanket with him and fall asleep on the floor, he wanted to repeatedly stab him, shoot him. kiss him, touch him, kill him...-

He didn't know a person could feel so much.

Especially a person who swore against sentimentality and emotion.

"I love you John."

"Thanks."

He stared straight into John's eyes. And looked away, embarrassed. His eyes were deceived by another sight. The faint white speckles in the sky imitated John's eyes. They were both so captivating. Like fantasy. So beautiful.

He cringed at the thought. It was so cliché, and John deserved a lot more than clichè, he deserved originality, the right to have his eyes described as a body of seawater in a storm.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's play a game."

a.n um