Untitled ( Jim Moriarty / Sherlock Holmes ) ( Mature ) ( TW Gore, Blood )
Jim kisses Sherlock. Right before he shoots himself.
"Thank you. Jim's face was beautifully full of relief that Sherlock let him leaned forward and kissed him. Sherlock instinctively closed his eyes and tentatively kissed back as somewhere inside his mind, a voice was screaming bloody murder that this was wrong, that this was Jim Moriarty, criminal mastermind that just a moment ago had threatened to kill his three friends.
No, no, Sherlock argued. This was not wrong because - he never felt more not alone in his life.
Ever since he was born, he had felt detached from the rest of humans. Even his brother, with all his intelligence, had his feet set firmly on the ground while Sherlock was lost somewhere on the clouds. Even John - even though Sherlock cared deeply for him, even though John would risk his life to save Sherlock time and time again, John would never understand.
You're me.
Yes.
I am you.
I am you.
With what felt like a tiny bit of desperation, Sherlock wrapped his hand around Jim's waists, tugging at the westwood, tugging /him/ closer, to -
He could feel Jim smiled, pushing his tongue against Sherlock's lips. Sherlock gasped, letting Jim in, letting him stole his breath, when he heard that ominous click.
Sherlock had only opened his eyes when an ear deafening bang filled the air, sending him fall on his arse.
There was blood inside his mouth and on his face - or maybe it was the pieces of his brain, scraps of nerves and tissues that once made jim jim -
Sherlock could hear the voice inside his head got more and more hysterical, so he decided to /shut/ everything. Only the emergency 'logic' program was running, yet he couldn't stop his hand from trembling as he reached for his phone.
In front of him, jim was still smiling.
"Thank you. Jim's face was beautifully full of relief that Sherlock let him leaned forward and kissed him. Sherlock instinctively closed his eyes and tentatively kissed back as somewhere inside his mind, a voice was screaming bloody murder that this was wrong, that this was Jim Moriarty, criminal mastermind that just a moment ago had threatened to kill his three friends.
No, no, Sherlock argued. This was not wrong because - he never felt more not alone in his life.
Ever since he was born, he had felt detached from the rest of humans. Even his brother, with all his intelligence, had his feet set firmly on the ground while Sherlock was lost somewhere on the clouds. Even John - even though Sherlock cared deeply for him, even though John would risk his life to save Sherlock time and time again, John would never understand.
You're me.
Yes.
I am you.
I am you.
With what felt like a tiny bit of desperation, Sherlock wrapped his hand around Jim's waists, tugging at the westwood, tugging /him/ closer, to -
He could feel Jim smiled, pushing his tongue against Sherlock's lips. Sherlock gasped, letting Jim in, letting him stole his breath, when he heard that ominous click.
Sherlock had only opened his eyes when an ear deafening bang filled the air, sending him fall on his arse.
There was blood inside his mouth and on his face - or maybe it was the pieces of his brain, scraps of nerves and tissues that once made jim jim -
Sherlock could hear the voice inside his head got more and more hysterical, so he decided to /shut/ everything. Only the emergency 'logic' program was running, yet he couldn't stop his hand from trembling as he reached for his phone.
In front of him, jim was still smiling.