How We Unfold (SherlockBBC; Johnlock)

Chapter 13: Monster

Unknown

It's eating away at me again. It starts in the back of my mind, just a hint of a thought. A smudge of ink, bleeding through the rest of my mind like old paper. Then that ink trickles down my spine, it blooms around my chest. I try to resist, but I don't really want to. It's much too pleasing to satisfy. A cosmic ecstasy. But I suppose that's how addictions are. Although, this isn't quite like any other addiction.

I hunger for destruction. It's a nasty little habit. They fear me for it. And they should. I may use any one of them to satisfy it. I can destroy them all. Every last one. And I can destroy myself. And it's such a waste, really. I'm so capable of destruction. What better a thing to destroy than my own existence? Isn't that better than destroying everything else? But I want to destroy everything else. It's better that way.

Maybe that's what it means to be alive, to be flawed in such a grotesque way. But I feel the deterioration of my character so profoundly that I don't even feel human. It isn't a kind of painful deficiency. No, it's rather empty, actually. As though there's no heart to it. No heart to me.

But what's really sick is I can't imagine being any other way. I think there's something about darkness that makes me happy. Some kind of obscure beauty, that I don't know if I can live without.

To be honest, it is a vice of mine: destruction. Even the word is beautiful. It paints my mouth and slides off my tongue. And God, does it taste good.

So what does that make me?

***

"I'm tired of Scotland, Dorian," I announce as my heavy eyes roam the warehouse floor. I stand just outside my office, hands upon the cold rusted metal of the railing protecting the edge of the upper level platform.

He answers with silence, standing next to me, hands in pockets. I sigh. I had only intended on staying in Stonehaven a short time, while I arranged for Volkof's capture in London. The job is done, the next part set in motion. It's time I move closer to my target.

And, besides, I'm bored here.

"Shall I make the arrangements?" Dorian asks after a moment.

"Yes."

"Good. I already have."

"That's my Dorian." I sneak a flirtatious smile at him.

"Careful, they may see you smiling," he turns and walks down the bar grating stairs. His footsteps echo in the stale air until he reaches the bottom floor.

On the floor below, my crew checks the cargo to be shipped today. They seal the crates and draft detailed inventory; I do like some order after all. This month it's weapons, last month organs, next month- whatever a new client may require. They demand, we ship under the radar. It's a perfectly balanced arrangement.

Of course, I don't care much for the trivial aspects of the job. I didn't intentionally seek illegal trade, but it seems a natural talent of mine. As for this little coastal town- I'm only here because it's a convenient location. I didn't get into this business to be a mindless peddler. I want power. I don't care what career path I'll have to take to get it. And maybe that's why I'm so good at this: my not caring.

The warehouse door sliding open disrupts my introspection. A nicely suited man, caramel skin and dark eyes, walks in, followed by two other suits.

Finally. I've been waiting long enough.

His dark eyes find mine and he starts toward me, navigating the stacks of crates and working men.

"Michael." I greet him atop the stairs, giving no notice to his companions.