Heartless. Or not. Another Sherlock 221B.
Clearly, I have absolutely no impulse control whatsoever. I never planned to write anything in this fandom, as what I've read so very obviously eclipses any tiny writing talent I ever pretended to have. But I'm doing it anyway.
Title: Heartless. Or Not.
Pairing: John/Sherlock, pre-slash
Rating: R for language
Summary: A revelation at the pool. Spoilers for The Great Game
Sherlock was still in the process of blocking out the strong chlorine smell of the pool so he could focus on what was important here when he heard, and then saw, a door open from the side.
John had the look perfected. As far as Sherlock had ever known, he had not seen an ‘I’m resigned to my fate’ expression as perfect as John’s. Opening his coat, John kept speaking as he showed off the most fashionable decked-out-in-explosives vest in the world, right there against his chest and torso. He concentrated on the look again. “Bet you never saw this coming. What would you like me to make him say next?”
The pulses of red light were clear, and Sherlock was certain there were a few aimed in his own direction as well.
“I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you.” His voice, so off-kilter, so filled with anger, the man was surely certifiable. Or, as Lestrade would have said batshit crazy.
Once John grabbed Moriarty and urged him to run, an epiphany formed in Sherlock’s mind, and elsewhere.
He’d assured Moriarty that he had it on good authority that he was, indeed, heartless. Realizing in such a profound way that he and so many others had been wrong about that only took a second. It burned.
Title: Heartless. Or Not.
Pairing: John/Sherlock, pre-slash
Rating: R for language
Summary: A revelation at the pool. Spoilers for The Great Game
Sherlock was still in the process of blocking out the strong chlorine smell of the pool so he could focus on what was important here when he heard, and then saw, a door open from the side.
John had the look perfected. As far as Sherlock had ever known, he had not seen an ‘I’m resigned to my fate’ expression as perfect as John’s. Opening his coat, John kept speaking as he showed off the most fashionable decked-out-in-explosives vest in the world, right there against his chest and torso. He concentrated on the look again. “Bet you never saw this coming. What would you like me to make him say next?”
The pulses of red light were clear, and Sherlock was certain there were a few aimed in his own direction as well.
“I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you.” His voice, so off-kilter, so filled with anger, the man was surely certifiable. Or, as Lestrade would have said batshit crazy.
Once John grabbed Moriarty and urged him to run, an epiphany formed in Sherlock’s mind, and elsewhere.
He’d assured Moriarty that he had it on good authority that he was, indeed, heartless. Realizing in such a profound way that he and so many others had been wrong about that only took a second. It burned.