![Unusual [BBC Sherlock Holmes]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/171353135-256-k436139.jpg)
Unusual [BBC Sherlock Holmes]
- LECTURAS 17
- Votos 1
- Partes 1
Concluida dom, feb 17, 201918m
His piercing eyes burned with anger as the flame of ice licked within the innards of his glowing irises. White points shone in his pupils, shining with a white-hot sheen.
Ellie Mitchell studied his lips as he spoke in words that she could not hear. She refused to. They were pinker than usual, unlike his pale skin (they always seemed to match it) which was not even beige. His scent was close to her nose, embracing it gently as he bore down on her. It was thick and rich of some unnamed anomaly, but there was this hint of nicotine ― even though he barely held a cigarette between his lips these days.
His raven curls bounced as yet another accusation to her actions arrived. Face screwed with fury, Sherlock stared her down the barrel.
"Never shoot! Never! Do you ever hear me? I told you not to -" he rasped, the loud voice making her wince for it seemed to be stuck in that one pocket of space. The walls of the flat subdued it to a mere loud bomb, like a firework in a single room with egg cartons to keep the sound from leaking outward into the outer world and into the ears of its bound inhabitants.
Ellie was glad John wasn't here to see this. But, with this thought coming in between Sherlock's shoutings, she was sure he had seen plenty of outbursts like this one.
His pale skin glowed in the moonlit room. No lights were on except for a lamp in the corner, but it was barely needed for the full moon was so bright that it could have been considered unnecessary.
Sherlock went on to explain the finest details of her mistake ― which was usual with the cases that he took her along to.
Normal, she tried to say to herself, but it wasn't working.
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Simply exhausted of all colour. Wasted. I didn't lie down. I didn't blink. I just sat there, staring into nothingness, waiting for something to materialise into my vision. Something. Anything. I had kept Sherlock away. Kept him away from his death, for so long. So long. Little did I know, all he needed was a little jump from a rooftop. It wouldn't take me long either, would it? I wasn't going to die. I needed relief. I needed disconnection. Disorientation. Oblivion. Ignorance. Because ignorance is bliss. It was in my hand, now. Like vengeance disguised in forgiveness. Breathe. Steady. Hold. Control. . . . Now. Pain shot through my arms and my palms, like my nails were being pulled out. It spread like fire, like ice cold fire, still burning like coals. My limbs were numb. I fell onto the bed, my mouth pressed into the sheet at an odd angle. I was too fatigued to change it. Too drowned to change it. Drowned too deep. To change anything. I'd never done this. Was I going to die? It'd be better if I died. What would that feel like? Flying? Better that this I suppose. Don't you think, Sherlock? [TW: IF YOU ARE STRUGGLING WITH PTSD SCHIZOPHRENIA DEPRESSION ANXIETY PANIC DISORDERS DRUGS OR ARE TRIGGERED BY ANYTHING ELSE PLEASE PROCEED WITH DISCRETION. GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF NEAR- SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND VIOLENCE AND ZERO CLOSURE LIKE LITERALLY NO CLOSURE]
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