Fic: I ignored...
Title : I ignored...
Author : karlamartinova
Rating: R
Pairing: none
Spoilers: Revelations pt. 2
Disclaimer: I don´t own Sanctuary!
Author´s note: Written for third challenge at watson_love . The idea of James taking druggs doesn´t come from me, I read it somewhere, I am not sure if it is canon, or I read it in some fic, so that idea,Sanctuary and the quote aren´t mine, the rest is:)
It was true. He welcomed the darkness. It made him feel better; it numbed the ache and stopped unwelcomed thoughts.
But when a lonely ray of light found its way through heavy curtains, its power to change all that was indescribable.
James knew that he needed to take exactly a precise amount, just to make the regret and anger away, but as he looked at two empty syringes on the floor, it was clear that he just made a great mistake. He overstepped and now had to wait for results.
It wasn’t long.
“I see, dear friend that you already uncovered the beautiful miracle called opium, “said a voice exactly in James ear and he might be scared or shocked but “the wonderful miracle called opium” made everything different.
It made him see his dearest friend standing in front of him, the one he was sure he will never see again.
“You are just a hallucination,” said James stating the obvious, wanting it to hurt less.
It didn’t.
“Oh, James, James, the genius, the good doctor falling like all the others. What would dear Helen thought about it?” asked John Druitt, a mocking smirk ruling on his face making James want to slap him. But in truth, he didn’t care what Helen would think. She was his friend and was hurt too, but that he was incapable of seeing the obvious, the monster hiding in their friend.
He was feeling guilty, more for Helen, less for himself.
“Go away,” James yelled standing and pacing nervously the room. His body was shaking, probably a sign of overdoses. And the hallucination of John Druitt was following him, mocking him. He really should stick with one syringe.
“No, James. I am here because you don’t understand. You need to ask, you need to know,” said John now sitting on the divan holding another syringe in his hand. This one could bring him peace, death.
James eyed it surprisingly. He didn’t remember buying three of them.
“You couldn’t answer them, you aren’t real.”
John laughed aloud, his strong body shaking with laugher and James wondered why he is feeling it, the small earthquake, the moving of the floor.
“But you know the answer you are so desperately seeking, don’t you?”
James spun around realizing that he is right. He knew it all the time.
He just ignored it.
The smiling vision of his friend was slowly vanishing in the air leaving the guilt he was feeling even more painful.
“Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-piece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction. “
Stolen from this website, a quote from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's tale, The Sign of the Four
Author : karlamartinova
Rating: R
Pairing: none
Spoilers: Revelations pt. 2
Disclaimer: I don´t own Sanctuary!
Author´s note: Written for third challenge at watson_love . The idea of James taking druggs doesn´t come from me, I read it somewhere, I am not sure if it is canon, or I read it in some fic, so that idea,Sanctuary and the quote aren´t mine, the rest is:)
It was true. He welcomed the darkness. It made him feel better; it numbed the ache and stopped unwelcomed thoughts.
But when a lonely ray of light found its way through heavy curtains, its power to change all that was indescribable.
James knew that he needed to take exactly a precise amount, just to make the regret and anger away, but as he looked at two empty syringes on the floor, it was clear that he just made a great mistake. He overstepped and now had to wait for results.
It wasn’t long.
“I see, dear friend that you already uncovered the beautiful miracle called opium, “said a voice exactly in James ear and he might be scared or shocked but “the wonderful miracle called opium” made everything different.
It made him see his dearest friend standing in front of him, the one he was sure he will never see again.
“You are just a hallucination,” said James stating the obvious, wanting it to hurt less.
It didn’t.
“Oh, James, James, the genius, the good doctor falling like all the others. What would dear Helen thought about it?” asked John Druitt, a mocking smirk ruling on his face making James want to slap him. But in truth, he didn’t care what Helen would think. She was his friend and was hurt too, but that he was incapable of seeing the obvious, the monster hiding in their friend.
He was feeling guilty, more for Helen, less for himself.
“Go away,” James yelled standing and pacing nervously the room. His body was shaking, probably a sign of overdoses. And the hallucination of John Druitt was following him, mocking him. He really should stick with one syringe.
“No, James. I am here because you don’t understand. You need to ask, you need to know,” said John now sitting on the divan holding another syringe in his hand. This one could bring him peace, death.
James eyed it surprisingly. He didn’t remember buying three of them.
“You couldn’t answer them, you aren’t real.”
John laughed aloud, his strong body shaking with laugher and James wondered why he is feeling it, the small earthquake, the moving of the floor.
“But you know the answer you are so desperately seeking, don’t you?”
James spun around realizing that he is right. He knew it all the time.
He just ignored it.
The smiling vision of his friend was slowly vanishing in the air leaving the guilt he was feeling even more painful.
“Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-piece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction. “
Stolen from this website, a quote from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's tale, The Sign of the Four