5.
On some indeterminate day in the future, Arthur will wake up and roll over, seeking the heat of another body. He will be greeted with an empty space, but warm sheets.
He will grumble incoherently under his breath before sitting up in bed, rubbing at his eyes. The bedroom will be in a state of disarray - shirts tossed haphazardly around the
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And you know how I feel about this already,, but I'll say it again: there's so much love in this, in every word they speak, in every way Arthur thinks of growing old and doing it with Francis of all people, in every declaration that Francis says and Arthur misses. It's beautiful. And just, yeah, I love domesticity like a purring pretty thing, but there was the odd tinge of desperation in this as well, and my heart, it broke just a little bit. When Francis said one thousand years. It's just. I'm a little bit breathless.
ALSO BY THE WAY - the Sherlock fic? is The Heart, And Other Fleshy Organs, by stickstockstone, I think. It's completely different from this, though; it was the piece about Arthur stapling his thoughts in a box and the heart in the duvet that reminded me of it. ;)
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Thank you so much! And I really do have to thank you for putting up that lovely prompt. If I hadn't seen that, well, this would never have been written. I am so glad that you enjoyed the story and that it slightly broke your heart ;D
AND YAY, MORE FIC! I'll definitely read that soon.
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