When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see a dull, black and white world, full of swirling greys that are oh-so-easy to pull apart into separate colours. You see the same large, raven black background of selfishness he sees, the small swatches of tiny grey details that stand out of the black, and to top it off, the pearly, unblemished white of innocence and naivety. Some people have less white--people who have suffered more, have lost so much. Some people, like Mary, paint on greys to obscure the colour underneath. Others, like Kitty, are too eager to paint on blues, reds, greens and purples to realise that there are too many greys and not enough colour. Adrenalin and complicated deducing is the only thing that chases away the greys his older brother has painted for him, but the people he loves--John, Mary, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade--help somewhat, standing out of the grey with their swirling rainbow hues. With him, he sees a battlefield. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the side of the Angels.
YOU ARE READING
The Palette of the Palace
FanfictionHolmes and Moriarty see things as they are--they are, without doubt, realists. But which reality do they decide to see? A tiny thing I did cos I was bored. Idk gon delete later but enjoy while u can.
