(no subject)
Dec. 6th, 2012 11:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iagreewithyouSherlock had thought he had forgotten. He pressed on like he had dealt with it all, as if he no longer cared for what had happened back in London. That much was a lie about as see-through as glass. Joan had, undoubtedly, been able to tell the way he stopped and went cold when she so much as mentioned Irene the first time. Perhaps his shut down on the topic wasn't entirely purposed. Perhaps it was just the cold shot of pain. More agonizing than any physical horror he had ever endured, the pain of loving and trusting and losing and betrayal. The pain of believing in someone and somehow knowing they would fail but still, in the pit of your heart, the heart you had potentially unwillingly gave to them, it burned.
Then came a letter stamped with a distinguishable A that could only be one person; they'd argued over it. Joan was afraid. What it would do to him, what he might do, but after the storm had calmed she was convinced and sleep took her away. Something else took Sherlock away. He thought he had forgotten this, too. It was like any other skill you'd become far too attached to, unfortunately, and it was relearned with ease. He was an addict. One clean stretch didn't clean his hands, didn't wash away all those dabbles from such youth, didn't clear away the mess he left and promises he broke and people he left down as he just drowned himself. Far too much the coward to take the gun and pull it. Some bare thread of hope still there.
He would be found in exactly the state he mentioned during one of their cases. A motel, low end, rough part of town. Cheap locks. The gear put away but the man himself so incredibly spun half naked on the floor.
Then came a letter stamped with a distinguishable A that could only be one person; they'd argued over it. Joan was afraid. What it would do to him, what he might do, but after the storm had calmed she was convinced and sleep took her away. Something else took Sherlock away. He thought he had forgotten this, too. It was like any other skill you'd become far too attached to, unfortunately, and it was relearned with ease. He was an addict. One clean stretch didn't clean his hands, didn't wash away all those dabbles from such youth, didn't clear away the mess he left and promises he broke and people he left down as he just drowned himself. Far too much the coward to take the gun and pull it. Some bare thread of hope still there.
He would be found in exactly the state he mentioned during one of their cases. A motel, low end, rough part of town. Cheap locks. The gear put away but the man himself so incredibly spun half naked on the floor.
no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 12:19 am (UTC)She wanted those relationships, but this way it was safe. Meeting people and making acquaintances as a sober companion. It kept distance while feigning closeness. A superficial closeness. And Holmes refused to play by those rules leaving her to contemplate too heavily the lack of relationships she had now after cutting ties.
"They don't think about how it might go wrong, they just hope it will go right." she says at last, shrugging. "You've let people into your life before... not everyone is as discriminating. Maybe they should be a little, but to be overly so is just as bad."
Joan gave a half shrug, "You might miss out on something-- something worth hoping for."
There was her best answer. A mantra she hadn't even taken to heart lately, but being around him...it made her think. Made her wonder.