These are the Questions

Chapter 7

Sometimes Sherlock wonders if he has a pulse.

He'll search for it sometimes. He'll look for it on his wrist and along his neck and pressed against his chest. He'll hunt for it until he feels it, the strong steady thumping. Those times he has to remind himself that he is still alive.

Thump-thump-thump, it goes. Thump-thump-thump.

***

How are you?

I'm coming.

I'm coming to get you.

***

John Watson is a bundle of metaphors.

Like his eyes.

Sherlock will not use a simile. Because John Watson's eyes are not like, or as to an ocean. They are an ocean. Vibrant and dark and deep, and there's so much swimming in those eyes; those eyes; those eyes.

Perhaps more than that, though. After all, eyes are the window to the soul.

John is wide and unwavering, he is beautiful, he is endless, he is full and yet seems empty.

He was calm, and then he was crashing; crashing; crashing.

***

There is a limited amount of oxygen underwater, which makes carrying sound much more difficult and murky than it is on land.

But there was just something about drowning.

There is a certain silence about it. Everything stills, hushes, like a dark blanket has been cast over the world to mute out the unimportant details. You're floating. You're safe. You feel safe even as it scorches your lungs like fire and fills your heart whole.

And all the while it's quiet; quiet. You can hear yourself screaming, but above the surface they don't know a thing.

But, there's something about flying, too. There's freedom and wonderful, blissful happiness, and then your soaring. Although, there's not much difference between between flying and falling. One mistake and you're falling, crashing, and drowning; drowning; drowning.

He never flew but he never was quite drowning either. There was the feeling of water choking him but never really destroying him. It was a balance he danced on gleefully.

***

Sherlock wants John.

You think it can't get worse than wanting someone and not having them, but it can. You can want someone, have them, and want them more. Still. Always. You can never get enough.

Because Sherlock had said "One night, one night, one night," and then he had fallen asleep in Johns bed, and then he had left, and he was supposed to stay gone.

Because John Watson, he wants to breath him in. He wants to crack open his own chest, and stuff him inside, keep John there, always.

Bit not good, a little voice says.

Sherlock wants to know everything there is to know about John Watson. His hopes, his fears, his favorite film, what he had for breakfast. He wants there not to be a single thing anybody knows about John that he does not know himself.

Please never stop, he wants to say that night. Don't ever lock your window. Please don't stop. I don't know what I'd do if you'd stop.

But instead all that comes out of his mouth is a question of colors. But that's okay, because then John's answering and smiling, and please never stop.

He falls asleep with his head buried in Johns neck and he is flying.

"I'm coming to get you," the letters had said. And he flies before he falls.

•••
So, yeah.

This is really short, and a bit confusing? It probably is, but it will make much more sense later on. Like, you'll say "Ohhhhh, that's what that meant!" And then you will cry.

But yeah, something I forgot to mention before, thank you very much to @Queen_Mycroft for making this fabulous cover, and correcting many errors, and just being an all-together amazing inspiration.

Anyways, that's the end of this chapter, love you all and see you later!