Can't Care Too Much

xXx

Don't own because Johnlock is not canon.

xXx

Acid words come from the tongues of murderers.
An angel refusing its wings,
A devil embracing its horns,
the genius' last grasp at hope.

That is a shame, isn't it? But thank you.

Gunshots murder on the roof of the saint.
The angel's plan destroyed
by it's brother in all but blood,
though that could be easily remedied.

Blood falls so easily from the broken, doesn't it? It stains so prettily.

The last wishes of a man condemned to death are whispered.
Barely-heard words and promises,
lies told to numb the blow,
though the heart is still shattered.

Have I succeeded in burning your heart, my lovely angel? I think I have.

Falling is the tool of destruction.
The genius falls to his demise from the saint,
the doctor falls to his despair on the place of travel.
A man, or indeed, an angel, or demon, cannot die without falling.

I owe you a fall, my angel. I. Owe. You. Catch you later.

The deceased breathe again after the living fail to cease caring.
No-one loved is truly taken,
nor are friends truly lost,
but the same goes for those lurking in shadows.

Don't... be... dead. Just... stop this, just stop it.

Those that care will not hate friends for returning.
They will hate them for their absence,
the lies they told to remain hidden,
the things they couldn't share with them.

I don't want to know how, Sherlock, I want to know why. Why did you do this to me?

I didn't want you to get hurt-

Well, you failed at that, then!

There is always hope.
There is never an end to the story,
the last page is a beginning,
and there will always be another chapter.

You're an idiot.

Yes, I am.

… Well I'm glad we're on the same page when it comes to that, then.

Sometimes it is better to be kept in the dark.
Better to stay lost and afraid,
better to be alone and wary
than found by those who would prefer life-blood staining the floor.

Who else knew?

Molly, Mycroft, Anderson had his suspicions, which I proved correct last year-

So everyone but me, then? And Mrs Hudson and Greg, I suppose, don't care about them as well-

Sentiment is a chemical property found on the winning side.
The wars waged in the past,
even those that seemed impossible to win,
show that soldiers fight harder when they have something to fight for.

I care! I care, John, more than you think I do! I didn't even know what caring was until I met you, because then-

Then?

Forgive and forget are the words of fools.
Forgetting means that soldiers will not be prepared the next battle,
but maybe one day they can forgive,
because friendship matters more.

Then... I did. I cared. Too much, I might think.

That's what they always told me, when I couldn't save them.

Sometimes it all works out for the best.
The half-angel will return,
the genius' words will once again be true,
and the doctor-soldier will walk again.

… Dinner?

Starving.

xXx

If you liked leave a review! Also, I have decided that I need to write more poems and will take poem prompts! You can review with them or PM me (though reviews will most likely be faster) and I will endeavor to write them. By prompts, I mean stuff like, 'Can you write a poem about John in the war?' or 'Can you write a poem about the H.O.U.N.D?' If you ask, I will do so ASAP. Ask?

Edit1: Thanks for pointing out those errors, Ozcinefile. *Sighs* I hate spell-check sometimes.

Edit2: Thanks so much to the Guest that reviewed. I think that I would be far from the best but I am not one to call random people liars so I will just accept what you say to be truthful. Thank you :D

Catch you later,
LoS :D