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Still Mine
By : danglingdingle
Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC)
Views: 6493 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC et al. I do not own the series, and make no profit from writing this. - Chapter List
- 1
Death actually becomes him. As calm as in life, if not as blushed when he brushes his hand along
Each stroke as silent as the corpse, gentle, tender, craving for this flesh before him.
Acquiring him from Bart's, bah, blank paperwork, John D. Watson allegedly wanted to be cremated
The person to put this into reality was Sherlock Holmes himself. And here they were. John's decaying,
Hallow body, desirable as in life, pallid and cold and oh, gods, so beautiful, so John, still…
Did that pound really equal soul? Had John really dared leave him alone? No, as he as right there.
One could see the glint in the eyes hen opening the limp eyelids, the gorgeous look with which John had adorned Sherlock
Each wink in the back of Sherlock's mind came back in a rush of his very being, his soul.
So he decided to find what else was there.
Not a speck of dirt was found on the corpse as Sherlock kissed his way up John's thigh. Cold.
Odd, yet exciting. Now he could call John his on. His arousal evident, he kissed the lips…
The flesh was there, but not the responsiveness. No soul, nor withering thighs, low moans of pleasure.
Does it matter? Was he up there, watching, pleased to see Sherlock worshipping the dead man, his love,
'Our lives', they'd promised. Easing himself inside, Sherlock gathered John's limp arms around him
'Us, for better or for worse,' they'd vowed. And here they were. For both, and Sherlock wouldn't let go.
Slight scent of decay wafted from John's mouth, his lips parted for a passionate kiss, lover deep within.
Concentrated on the figure before him. Sherlock loved the best he knew how under the circumstances.
Paralyzed, he came in hot spurts, his heart bleeding for John's legs to wrap around, beg him to come.
All it were was a pound of silence. The beauty was not gone, no, but the man was. He'd left, had left…
Right arm offered to be perturbed, to meet again. A slim arm, and like a hot knife, the razor ate through.
The useless flesh. Useless without John. Meaningless without his words; 'I love you.'- 1
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