Devil

You're sleeping.

Lying there, dreaming (probably nightmares that have yet to escalade into something that will make you toss yourself about), outside of this world and drifting somewhere far over the sea.

I envy you in this state. I envy everyone, really (did you know I'm capable of such a trivial thing?). Off in their own little worlds, buried in day-to-day trivia. It's disgusting and mindless and I want it so, so badly. Especially you.

I always fail to see the little things in front of me

I try, you know (for you). Lately I've been getting better at it, too. I've learned how to hold my tongue tightly behind a cage of teeth, keep it where it belongs (save your wit for when it's needed, Sherlock). It's difficult. Or, it was, until I remembered that it makes you happy (I forget sometimes). I would never tell you (pride) but it makes my stomach turn (good) when I see you smile at me, when you know I'm holding back because you, John Watson, taught me to.

The things that mean so much to you

Say thank you, Sherlock. Be polite, Sherlock. It's only for an hour, Sherlock. Sherlock, stop being such a baby and eat, would you? Sherlock, Sherlock (John), Sherlock.
Oh, I love you.

I want to make you smile more (as often as it happens it's still not enough. Never enough). So here I am, Sherlock Holmes, the superhero in your eyes (you silly, silly man).

A way to let you know that I appreciate the way you always tolerate

Sometimes I fail (Alright, no, I fail often and we both know it). I can't help it though, John. You don't understand (don't take offense, hardly anyone does). Too many thoughts, faces, facts, racing through my mind all at once but none of them, not a single one, enough to keep the boredom at bay. Nothing to fight back the beast that resides deep in the pit of my mind and screams into both of my ears at once.

But sometimes when I medicate

I feel it, when it starts to happen. It's an ache behind my eyes, banging too many times in a row for me to even begin to count. It's an unfathomable hunger, John. A hunger for- for, oh, I don't know. Meandering along in the life of the simple lot is not enough, John. I cannot distract myself with mindless telly or some stupid book.

Sometimes, though, you are there. In my mind. Your face, a dull thing at the corner of my peripheral, looks at me with your sad blue, blue eyes in an attempt to console me. To save me from this leviathan that threatens to wriggle it's way to the surface. Sometimes it does not happen. Other times, it most certainly does.

Frustration in you shows me how you feel

That's when things ascend far beyond a bit not good, Sherlock. That's when you leave for hours and don't speak to me (you have no idea how much that rips me to pieces). It is when you scold me like a child whilst I lie there with my mind perfectly at ease and far above any other man on this Earth.

Why?

That is what you always ask me (it never fails to be the first thing to tumble from your lips). My answer is always the same: bored. That only sends you off into a whirlwind of curses and pleas (why, Sherlock? You are going to die if you keep this up). Yes, my distraction of choice is something that will someday kill me, were I to keep it up.

But I swear I'm not the devil

Although, as of late, your face in my mind is not some dim little flicker of light sitting behind that starving animal in my brain. It is the most intense light (you're blinding me, John), the most incredible warmth that fills every digit on my hands, every tapered end of my hair and every fiber of my being. It's you, John.

You are my distraction (mostly).

Although you think I am

I never thought (ever) that I would want someone. Not once in my lifetime (never wanted it, never needed it). It's a stupid thing, attraction. Affection. Want, need, lust, hunger (I most certainly am a glutton for you).

Along with that, I never thought someone could hurt me as badly as you do. You do it unintentionally (Sarah, Jessica, Jeanette). You do it by going on with your life, by living and loving and being so beautiful in your simplicity (why do I love you, John, why?)

This is childish. It's repulsive (I disgust myself), how much I need you. I need you. You make me human, John. You keep me grounded and so much more.

I swear I'm not the devil

Sometimes you hate me (not really) and sometimes you enjoy my company most out of anyone else you know (happy when I witness this). Either way, I am happy, John. I am happy you are here, happy that after all I put you through (you love it, really, and I can tell), you choose me each and every day.

I hear you mumble softly now, in the quiet of your room (would you be upset to see me leaning in the doorway?). A quiet, sleepy burble of my name and warmth ebbs over my entire body. The fact that I am on your mind, even as you sleep, is one that concludes my hypothesis:

I love and am equally loved in return.