Free to Love You (Sherlock Holmes fic)
Title: Free to Love You
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 482
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes isn't mine, etc.
Summary: Irene/Mary. love isn't disappointment / freedom isn't found, it's won
Reposted from shkinkmeme - orginally posted Here - fill for mini!declarations of love.
Free to Love You
She really does love John, which is what makes this so hard. When she married him, she knew he was a good man. The very best sort of man.
He will abide by the promise he gave to her, even though his eyes are dark when they drag across Mr. Holmes face. He will give her gentle smiles and touch her as if she might break, and he will stay by her side until one of them dies.
She loves John, but it’s not enough for either of them.
“You’re sure?” Irene asks. She’s out of her elaborate, gorgeous dresses for once-dresses she’s sworn to bathe Mary in when she gets her away, and Mary had laughed, because she’s sure she’ll be more concerned with getting Irene out of dresses rather than herself into them. “There’s no turning back.”
Mary slides a smooth white thumb along Irene’s cheek, and Irene’s lips curl up at the touch. Irene, who knows the subtle strength of a woman’s body, Irene, who kisses her as if she’s the most important thing in the world, who looks at her like Mary wants to be looked at.
They’ve tossed promised and kisses and laughter between them as if they were made to give away, but this-this is something more, this is the end of everything for her. John Watson will come home to a building of ash, and a body beyond recognizing-“I have contacts at the cemetery,” Irene had laughed-and they will both be free.
Free.
The smile on Mary’s face fades as she looks at Irene.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice half-caught in her throat. Irene’s hand slides onto Mary’s waist leaving a warm trail prickling under her clothes at the touch.
“You’re sure?” Irene asks, again, and Mary realizes that if she wanted, Irene would make it all disappear, would leave her to a half-life with John, with home and hearth and emptiness in the place of Irene’s lips and smiles and dark eyes and-
“I love you,” Mary says, breath and air and perfection.
Irene-Irene, who has loved her out loud for so very long-freezes, eyes wide, and then, scanning Mary’s face, realizes the truth behind her words. She lets out a startled laugh and pulls Mary close, kissing her tightly, lips and tongue and promises and love, and Mary grabs her back, because love-this love-isn’t disappointment, it’s adventure and passion and everything she could have wanted it to be.
When they pull apart, Mary is smiling. “I’m sure,” she says. “I’m ready.”
They hold each other close, and watch Mary Watson and her house and her life burn to ash. And then arm in arm, dressed as young lads, they walk away.
There is a world in front of them, and Irene at Mary’s side. There is nothing left for them here.
They're free.
...Finis...
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 482
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes isn't mine, etc.
Summary: Irene/Mary. love isn't disappointment / freedom isn't found, it's won
Reposted from shkinkmeme - orginally posted Here - fill for mini!declarations of love.
Free to Love You
She really does love John, which is what makes this so hard. When she married him, she knew he was a good man. The very best sort of man.
He will abide by the promise he gave to her, even though his eyes are dark when they drag across Mr. Holmes face. He will give her gentle smiles and touch her as if she might break, and he will stay by her side until one of them dies.
She loves John, but it’s not enough for either of them.
“You’re sure?” Irene asks. She’s out of her elaborate, gorgeous dresses for once-dresses she’s sworn to bathe Mary in when she gets her away, and Mary had laughed, because she’s sure she’ll be more concerned with getting Irene out of dresses rather than herself into them. “There’s no turning back.”
Mary slides a smooth white thumb along Irene’s cheek, and Irene’s lips curl up at the touch. Irene, who knows the subtle strength of a woman’s body, Irene, who kisses her as if she’s the most important thing in the world, who looks at her like Mary wants to be looked at.
They’ve tossed promised and kisses and laughter between them as if they were made to give away, but this-this is something more, this is the end of everything for her. John Watson will come home to a building of ash, and a body beyond recognizing-“I have contacts at the cemetery,” Irene had laughed-and they will both be free.
Free.
The smile on Mary’s face fades as she looks at Irene.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice half-caught in her throat. Irene’s hand slides onto Mary’s waist leaving a warm trail prickling under her clothes at the touch.
“You’re sure?” Irene asks, again, and Mary realizes that if she wanted, Irene would make it all disappear, would leave her to a half-life with John, with home and hearth and emptiness in the place of Irene’s lips and smiles and dark eyes and-
“I love you,” Mary says, breath and air and perfection.
Irene-Irene, who has loved her out loud for so very long-freezes, eyes wide, and then, scanning Mary’s face, realizes the truth behind her words. She lets out a startled laugh and pulls Mary close, kissing her tightly, lips and tongue and promises and love, and Mary grabs her back, because love-this love-isn’t disappointment, it’s adventure and passion and everything she could have wanted it to be.
When they pull apart, Mary is smiling. “I’m sure,” she says. “I’m ready.”
They hold each other close, and watch Mary Watson and her house and her life burn to ash. And then arm in arm, dressed as young lads, they walk away.
There is a world in front of them, and Irene at Mary’s side. There is nothing left for them here.
They're free.
...Finis...