Warnings: Angst, Dark!Fic, References to TATM and Snowmen, Canon Character Deaths Mentioned
A/N: Written for who_contest's Prompt: Green (Perfect Drabble). I wasn't really sure how I was going to tackle this prompt - but then this popped out and it laid itself down with nary a poke from me. All I could see was Vastra's parlor and it was just too much to resist. This section of time in the Eleventh Doctor's era will (likely) always fascinate me, so I felt compelled to take another peek into it. As always, mostly unbeta'd and written in one go, so please forgive any mistakes and/or blatant vagueness. I apologize for any repetition, misspellings, sentence fails, grammatical oh-noes and general horridness. Unbeta'd fic is overly-thinky/blithery/dark and unbeta'd.
Disclaimer(s): I do not own the scrumptious Doctor or his lovely companions. That honor goes to the BBC and (for now) the fantastic S. Moffat. The only thing that belongs to me is this fiction - and I am making no profit. Only playing about!
He left green-blue dimness and peace for this: Vastra now pale emerald at the darkness he carried within; her parlor stretching life and warmth of spring over him. He never thought he would come to hate it, that spark, that newness –
But then he would remember the green of moss on their gravestone and his hearts would tremble with sorrow, with anger.
Life only announced death.
New things only withered and died.
"I came to ask you to stop," the Doctor said quietly. "No more messages. No more 'cases'. I wish to be alone."
Old friendships could do the same.