A/N:
Spoilers for Queen of Air and Darkness.
This has been floating around in my head for a while, so here you go. Based off Northern Downpour by Panic! At The Disco.
Northern Downpour
When people met him for the first time, they would always compliment him on his eyes. They often fawned over how blue they were, how they looked just like precious diamonds out of legend, coveted by mortals and monsters alike.
What they didn't know was that diamonds were worth as much as broken glass to him - false value and fragile promises. Scratch that - even broken glass would have ranked higher than diamond on his usefulness index. At least you could use it as a makeshift weapon.
Steel was better - it was practical, sharp, didn't lie. Maybe that was why he'd always had a partiality towards it. But then again, diamonds wouldn't cut you if you got distracted. If your senses were clouded with disappointment and longing and your heart was more busy tearing itself to shreds than keeping you alive.
Still, you could feed whatever jewelry he had to the sea for all he cared. The greed for material wealth had once been a part of him, but that was gone, only existing now in dreams and memories that he'd long since locked away.
Every night, when the moon rose into the sky, he wished that it would stay up there, that he could remain in the blissful lull of nothingness, where no one could hurt him. And every night, it fell down anyway, taking his solace with it, and leaving him to pine for the past, knowing there was no hope of returning to it.
Some days, the pain was almost bearable, but most of the time it felt as if he was drowning, like his lungs were flooding with the emotions he continually fought to repress, and his eyes would start to trip with the exhaustion and futility of trying to move on. On those occasions he found himself wondering if life was just a meaningless dream, full of foreign tongues and other things he could never begin to understand.
When all was said and done, Kit supposed he'd never really moved on.
Even now, if he could have clicked his heels and made a wish, he would have gone back to the days where he ran around with a chip on his shoulder and another pair of feet to run next to. Even now, if he were to turn into the wind, the weathervanes would all point back to what he'd left behind three years ago.
If he could have one thing - just one thing back from everything he'd lost - it would be to go back to him.
He was the air at the top of his lungs, the sugarcane that brought the sweetness to his life in the mornings. He was the only one who could tear him apart with a single word - though Kit knew he'd never have intended to. He was a moth, fleeting and beautiful, and Kit was a scarf, vulnerable to being unravelled at any moment. He was the ocean in the south, and Kit was the northern downpour, sending his love through his tears.
The world was broken, and so were they. He knew that. But he also knew that they could make it work, that he could, and would, make it his new home.
He would hold on to him, to them. He would continue to chase the better days with ink running over journal pages and daggers thrown into bullseyes, and he wouldn't let the ache in his heart get the better of him.
Because he was Sherlock, and he was Watson, and they were better together, no matter what other people might say.
And they would always find each other again, in the end.