Sherlock fic
It‘s a riddle.
Unfathomable. But with a solution. There’s always a solution.
~~~~
A slow curl of lips, lopsided, something fascinating, not quite a smile, the answer lingering in the background.
~~~~~~~~
He can almost grasp it. It’s there in the moment of glittering fascination, of sunlight in blue eyes, the hint of grey more prominent than ever. And then the head turns and the answer slips away into the shadows.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometimes it hides at the bottom of his teacup, there underneath the perfect mix of tea and sugar and just a hint of milk. Right there to reveal it but instead it disappears in the last sip of tea, leaving the mug as empty as ever.
~~~~~~~~~
In the room full of the smell of chlorine, ever-changing patterns of reflected light along the walls and long forgotten memories.
And John.
Moriarty - John - John is Moriarty. John is Moriarty. John is Moriarty.
Something breaks. And what, why, how - howhowhow?
The answer is right there, jagged shards of glass; hurtful, spiteful, destructive.
And John isn’t Moriarty. The world stops burning.
~~~~~
In the end the answer is surprisingly easy to be obtained.
It’s there in the soft press of lips on lips. Chapped, careful lips.
It’s in the hands combing through his curls.
It’s in the way it leaves him breathless.