Trust never dies | Sherlock Holmes

Chapter IV ~ Don't turn into me

   Just as he said, Sherlock leads me home, where he waits for me to freshen up, snooping through my sheet music and notes scattered around the living room. I'm not particularly excited about upsetting his entire program, but I know that even if I told him he didn't need to be by my side all the time, he wouldn't take it for a second. 

   I change into my day dress and take my hair out of the braid and put it back before walking into the living room where I see Sherlock focused on one of my sheets. 

   -I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long, I say as I fill one of my bags with a stack of sheet music. 

   -I'm sitting here, lost between words, listening to the rain beating on the windows, he begins to read in his deep voice, and I sigh as I listen to my words. I feel it's transcend earthly boundaries as it's grave echo gets stuck in my mind. Yet here I am, motionless in the center of all that hits me hard and furious. I have to admit, I don't understand what's really going on and a few strangled cries escape my throat. 

   I recognize the text written on an evening weeks ago, when I couldn't take my eyes off the branches of the tree in front of the window that were struggling in the rain. I was then stuck in a loop of ephemeral melancholy and felt the need to write what my soul felt, so I took a random sheet of paper, which I forgot just as quickly. 

   Sherlock gives me a look, and when I don't say anything he continues to read: 

   -I can't move, I'm stuck in agony. My clothes are drenched in water, and even sudden willingness does not rid me of my sense of melancholy. The sound of rain is ringing in my ears, my vision is blurry, my heart has forgotten how to beat and I can barely feel my knees. Feelings, moods, experiences and emotions, these are my raindrops as the storm furrows the starry sky, for it is my jumble of revelations. I can't escape what consumes me, the cold penetrates everywhere in my genes and yet, the rain is my dearest friend that gives me happiness and agony at the same time. 

   -It's not a big deal, I comment when he leaves the sheet on the table and walks towards me. I wrote it in a few moments on a rainy evening. 

   -Elizabeth, it's amazing! he bursts out, cupping my face in his hands and giving me an encouraging smile. Sometimes I forget how talented you are with words. 

   I don't know how to answer him, so I stand up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his for the first time in days. He responds warmly and welcomingly, sliding his hands down my waist and pulling me closer as my arms go around his neck. 

   Sherlock's kiss feels like a release from the time it's been since he last kissed me, and I imagine myself floating on fluffy clouds from the sheer excitement that's charging through my body from head to toe. 

   -I really missed that, I giggle as we part, and he joins me. Shall we? I'll be late for work! 

   I walk down the entry hall and stop when this week's mail catches my eye. Thinking about my lunch break, I throw it in my bag and continue on my way with Sherlock.

________________________________________________

   I finish my music lessons two hours early due to a last minute cancellation, and since Sherlock wasn't coming until I was supposed to finish my program, I decide to walk to Baker Street alone. 

   I haggle a cabman, then look out the carriage window at busy central London as I consider my next move with the freesia giver. 

   Deep down, I hope this ends before it goes any further, but while I tend to always see the good in people, I can't be sure what sick mind is following my steps.