Sentiment (Almost Lover)
'Your fingertips across my skin.'
She never meant to get caught up with him. He was intriguing, though. Mr. Holmes, the genius, the scholar, the virgin. So many possibilities, so many variables with him. She could teach him a thing or two. Of course, he could catch on. He would catch on. He was no moron. But she could use that. She was The Woman, untouchable, and she knew what men like.
She knew what he liked.
(Impress a girl.)
'Goodbye, my almost lover. Goodbye, my hopeless dream.'
He never meant to get caught up with her. She was a number, nothing but a factor. She was supposed to be like anybody else. Stupid. But she wasn't. She was cruel, calculating, a dominatrix. It was her profession. She did not work with her heart. To lend his heart to such a woman? It was ridiculous. Stupid, even. Very stupid.
But in theory, it was perfect. A woman like her, a man like him. Both genius, both clever, both so heartless. So very, very heartless. Somehow, in the end, they were both stupid. Playing the game, were they? It wasn't much of a game when sentiment was involved.
'You sang me Spanish lullabies, the sweetest sadness in your eyes.'
What did he like? That was simple. Himself. What else could he care for? Simpe. He was always looking for approval. Not from anybody, of course. John Watson, maybe. Possibly. That man was sweet, but easily impressed. Sherlock got his full of flattery when he needed it simply by deducing. She could do a little deduction herself.
He played sad violin music for her? He...mourned her? How could that be? The man who never saw outside of his own world, a place of needless yet tangible information, a place where a body was a body, not a man, not a life. Mourning was below him.
He played for her. What could that mean?
'I'm trying not to think about you. Can't you just let me be?'
Sentiment.
The downfall of every great man. It was a poison, untraceable and deadly, one with no antidote. But he saw it in her, in her eyes, in her pulse, in her smile, her glances. He saw it.
And he felt it.
Sentiment.
'Goodbye, my almost lover. Goodbye, my hopeless dream. In trying not to think about you- can't you just let me be? So long, my luckless romance. My back is turned on you. Should have know you would bring me heartache. Almost lovers always do.'
A/N: This muse has been nagging me for a while. I finally got it all down, though. Hope you like it. I may/may not expand on it later. We will see. Song- 'Almost Lover' by A Fine Frenzy.