It's the end of everything and the beginning of what will follow.
An unknown of which he knows the features, names of art, faces, habits. He knows who they are and where to find them. His enemies. Easy prey in his work of revenge.
He has few days to get organized. He spends them doing projects, research, schematizing the reality of the coming years. Two, if his calculations are correct. They always are.
"You should sleep" Molly says. She hands him a cup of tea that Sherlock posing on table, in the midst of documents and files opened, without touching it.
Molly looks at the empty seat next to him on the couch with a flash of doubt. Considers the idea of occupying it. She sits beside him, at the tip. She starts to say something, shakes her head.
"You know what they say about tea?" She asks at the end, after other breaks and obvious second thoughts like that. "That is drink to forget the din of the world."
Sherlock frowns, not understanding. Why would anyone want to forget? For him that din is the only reason why life is worth living and even die.
"Is this how you feel? Always, every time? Is this?"
Sherlock stares at her. He is often found to do so in the last days of forced cohabitation.
Molly, pale and petite, has bright eyes, a bright smile - there is no other way to describe it.
No, that's not how he usually feels. The image of the falling darts in his mind - a giant of air that pierces the skin as stabbed; wind in his ears, eyes, like a whistle.
It's a question inappropriate, as it is inappropriate that smile, noisy in its being too lively, too everything, given the context. He has just died and Molly Hooper doesn't show any decency, tact.
But then he thinks to the adrenaline pumping frantic, burning fatigue, light up the synapses.
The rest of the frame that people call "life" for him is only the blowhole of what it really is. An endless race against time.
Molly observes him, Sherlock looks back at her. They look at each other, brazen; are seen. And Sherlock thinks: she realized, she also saw it.
The din is what he lives for? Of which he lives? It is the flame that ignites him and flares up and never turns off really, quieting?
"Yes" he replies.
Molly smiles, looks down in that way shy that is confidential, kindness in giving to others their own space. Even in that way of doing seemingly passive is the din of the world.
AN:
A fragment that caught me by surprise.
The din of the world: beautiful aphorism that I hope you also enjoyed. Happy Easter and a big huge to everyone!
Tea is drink to forget the din of the world. T'ien Yiheng
