(no subject)
Title(s): One Day
Author: julia_dreamer
Fandom(s): Sherlock
Pairing(s): Jim/Sherlock, sort of.
Length: 430 words
Summary: One day you will kill him.
It will break your heart.
But you will still do it.
Note: Written for sherlockbbc_fic
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Doctor John Watson stands on a pier, hands behind his back, straight and proud. Not a tremor in his hand, not a waver in his stance, lips forming words I can’t ignore.
There’s work to be done. That’s how it is, these days. No games to play, not really. Who would understand them? Who would truly, fully grasp my genius?
No one, that’s who. Poor Sebastian is quite hard-pressed as it is. Those silly Scotland Yard flunkies are hopeless. And with John and your sweet brother out of the picture… Well, let’s just say, there’s no one to think of but myself. Consulting criminal mastermind James Moriarty, the man with an empire of crime sweeping across Britain, across the Continent, reaching all the way even to the barbaric Colonies, has no nemesis, no foil, no brilliantly irritating man to stop his plans and halt his glory.
Just what I always wanted.
Seb says he was right, quietly, as he cleans the residue from his gun. “He was more right than you will ever admit him to be, that John Watson,” he says, and it takes all I am not to break the glass in my hand.
It echoes, sometimes. There are days when those words are louder than others. Days when I can’t concentrate, when the slightest annoyance sets my off in a blind rage. Aren’t you always that way? Yes, you’d think that was funny, wouldn’t you. You’d be amused, you’d smile - but not laugh - knowing that little John’s voice is in my head, that he whispered those words but I can hear them shout, that it really is haunting me.
How I long for silence.
Sherlock Holmes kneels beside a pool - a different one, so fitting though - out of breath, flushed, gloveless hands raised. His scarf is undone - strange, the details that stay clear. The weight of the gun in my hand, the moment he licks his lips, when his eyes flicker to look behind me. John too little, too late. The press of the trigger against my skin. The echo of the shot. Nothing’s ever so loud as it is in a public pool, have you noticed that? His hair contrasts perfectly against the marble tile. The water in the pool is pink, swirling and drifting strands of life mixing in.
And I’m not crying as I walk away. I’m not.
One day I killed you. It broke my heart to do it. But I still did it.
Author: julia_dreamer
Fandom(s): Sherlock
Pairing(s): Jim/Sherlock, sort of.
Length: 430 words
Summary: One day you will kill him.
It will break your heart.
But you will still do it.
Note: Written for sherlockbbc_fic
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Doctor John Watson stands on a pier, hands behind his back, straight and proud. Not a tremor in his hand, not a waver in his stance, lips forming words I can’t ignore.
There’s work to be done. That’s how it is, these days. No games to play, not really. Who would understand them? Who would truly, fully grasp my genius?
No one, that’s who. Poor Sebastian is quite hard-pressed as it is. Those silly Scotland Yard flunkies are hopeless. And with John and your sweet brother out of the picture… Well, let’s just say, there’s no one to think of but myself. Consulting criminal mastermind James Moriarty, the man with an empire of crime sweeping across Britain, across the Continent, reaching all the way even to the barbaric Colonies, has no nemesis, no foil, no brilliantly irritating man to stop his plans and halt his glory.
Just what I always wanted.
Seb says he was right, quietly, as he cleans the residue from his gun. “He was more right than you will ever admit him to be, that John Watson,” he says, and it takes all I am not to break the glass in my hand.
It echoes, sometimes. There are days when those words are louder than others. Days when I can’t concentrate, when the slightest annoyance sets my off in a blind rage. Aren’t you always that way? Yes, you’d think that was funny, wouldn’t you. You’d be amused, you’d smile - but not laugh - knowing that little John’s voice is in my head, that he whispered those words but I can hear them shout, that it really is haunting me.
How I long for silence.
Sherlock Holmes kneels beside a pool - a different one, so fitting though - out of breath, flushed, gloveless hands raised. His scarf is undone - strange, the details that stay clear. The weight of the gun in my hand, the moment he licks his lips, when his eyes flicker to look behind me. John too little, too late. The press of the trigger against my skin. The echo of the shot. Nothing’s ever so loud as it is in a public pool, have you noticed that? His hair contrasts perfectly against the marble tile. The water in the pool is pink, swirling and drifting strands of life mixing in.
And I’m not crying as I walk away. I’m not.
One day I killed you. It broke my heart to do it. But I still did it.