Amor Before Moriarty - A Sheriarty Fanfiction (Sherlock)

Oh, Sherlock's Lips. Oh, His Sad Eyes.

(A/N - I have a few friends with anger management, but I don't totally know what it involves. It would just explain some of Moriarty's behaviour. I hope I don't offend anyone - if I do then tell me, and I'll change it. X)

-him. But instead I eyed his angel-face as he sensed something was wrong and quickly tried to talk my anger out of me. 

"Well, you said make yourself comfortable. And I knew I would feel a bit more comfortable if I knew a bit more about the man whose room I was in. And on my entrance I had noticed that one of the floorboards were loose, so I prised it up and there it was. I didn't think you'd mind.... Why don't you write the date?"

Oh God. I quickly looked to the ceilling. My breathing was heavy. There was stuff about him in there. And being gay. And Eliza. Oh god, here it comes. I looked around desperately. Sherlock had carried on talking, uneasily.

"It was really quite easy to find - you should of hidden it under your pillow. Too obvious; most people don't think to look here. Also they'd presume-" I stepped up to my desk and slammed my fist into it. I did so with a lot of force. Sherlock stopped talking. I tipped by head back to the light bulb above me, and breathed in: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. And out. 

I looked at the scared Sherlock, and smiled. He composed himself remarkably. "Please excuse me; anger management. So, you read my diary. That is a bit of a naughty thing to do, but nevermind! What do you keep prattling on about the date?" Sherlock eyed me, genuinly curious this time.

"Well.. it's just that most people write the date in their diaries - but you always avoid doing so. Are you bad at remembering them?"

"Oh. That. I remember things that I think are important. I don't remember most dates, but instead things that mark out points in time. Or if my mind is somewhere else, then simply that it is 'sometime'." It felt weird to tell him why I write things the way I do in my diary. Sherlock looked at me like he owed me something.

"You know... people look at me that way." Sherlock frowned. "A lot of people say I'm a psycopath." I looked at him. He shrugged, and gave a half-smile. His black curls bounced. Most of his body carried on like usual, but his eyes. They looked sad. Unfortunatley, I had been given the stare - that I mentioned in my last diary entry - enough times that I knew what he was talking about. I sat down on the bed.

"I don't think you're a psycopath. Maybe a sociopath,"  I winked. Sherlock looked intrigued.

"A socipath! I quite like that... yes I do suppose I am." Sherlock smiled.

"A high-functioning one, I would say..."

"Well, of course." Sherlock smirked at me and I returned it, in mutual understanding. Then my eyes droppd to his lips, and my heart started heavily drumming once more. My mind cleared of anything but those lips. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Can I see those notes then?"

"Of course!" I said, awoken from my trance. I grabbed them from my desk, and handed them to Sherlock. He read them, asked a few things, and then looked at the clock  that Jack had put up.

"I better be going..." I nodded. But then, at the door, as Sherlock thanked me, he paused, looking down at me.  It felt slightly daunting as he loomed over me. But then he brushed his lips against my cheek in a kiss, and was gone. I was so startled, it took me a while to close the door and go back to bed. 

I forgot to ask him what he meant, when he said I was...

Does he kiss everyone like that? Or is he...

I still can't believe he read my diary. I will have to think of a different hiding place now, and never leave him alone in my room. 

If he ever comes back.

Oh, I hope he comes back.

Oh, those lips.

Oh, my fist hurts.

Oh, those sad eyes.

Oh, God!

Oh, goodbye.