may, 2014
it was only when john wasn't around that sherlock truly broke down.
his friend had witnessed many of his low points: his rages, his drug cravings, his drug crazes - but the one thing sherlock didn't want john to witness was when he got like this.
he could sit for hours, motionless, silent, whilst he was in his mind palace. he could do the same when he thought of her.
he could become so full of anger without warning. he was usually good at holding it back, but sometimes when he thought of her, he just couldn't.
when he thought of her, it made him question his status as a sociopath. the emotions were too intense, too present, too there, to belong to those who claimed to have none.
today, although he seemed perfectly calm at a careless glance, it was particularly bad. he wasn't sure where john was, nor did he care at that moment, as harsh as it sounded. he couldn't have cared even if he wanted to; his mind was only permitting the calamity that was his care for her.
he sat in his chair in the living room, his hands clasped in a prayer-like manner, his confusingly coloured eyes listless as he gazed at nothing.
he had been sat like this for almost two hours.
just thinking of her, relieving every tainted memory, and suffering as he did.
✦✦✦
march, 2009
"why are you busking?"
the woman holding the guitar took a sharp breath, and glanced up, still strumming her melancholy melody. her eyes were met with the owner of the voice - a tall, slim man with dark curly hair, a long coat, and a cigarette between his gloved fingers. he was leaning against the wall opposite her, a crinkle between his brows and a searching look in his eyes. she sighed, and looked back down at her guitar as her fingers danced easily across the frets.
"i need the money." she finally answered
the man frowned deeper. "no, you don't." he was looking at her as if he was dissecting her. "you're a doctor, quite an achieved one, at that. oh - rather, you were..."
the woman blinked, and the music came to an abrupt end. "i'm sorry-" she began, propping her hands on her hips, too perplexed to be aggressive with the man, but he cut her off with ease.
"your hands used to be steady -" he pointed to them, "- everything about you that isn't recent is proper and neat - but the way your hands shake tell me you made a mistake. a fatal one. you let a patient slip away from you."
the woman stared as he continued, the confusion on her face growing with every second. "so, filled with shame, you left your job. you had enough money to last you a good while, but it's running out. so, in the day you search for jobs. at night, you beg. my mistake - you do need the money."
"it's not begging, buddy."
the man looked sceptical. "you're exhorting money from strangers with your sub-par music. i'd say it's begging."
YOU ARE READING
crimson writings ➝ sherlock
Hayran Kurgu❝DEAR SHERLOCK...I'M SORRY IT HAD TO END THIS WAY.❞ She stole his stone heart and took it with her to her grave. She was afraid to give up her own heart to him. So instead, she poured it into the letters. ( rated no. 156 in #sherlock ) on hold; a b...
