I've defeated Moriarty's men. I've killed Moran. And I can see what I've been fighting for all along. Their safety. Yet...
As I sit on the curb of an abandoned apartment strip, with my hair chopped, dyed a disgusting light-brown shade... With the hoodie I pried off the dead druggie a day ago on my head, and dried sweat, tears, definite blood... My eyes begin to hurt and burn.
I have cried before. However, I've done alot of pretending in my time and having the reality of a realistic weep overtake my torso into spasmatic loss of breath, it scares me. There is that glisten in my emotionless eyes that should not be shed in a place like this.
Here, everyone is considered an enemy despite me getting rid of the direct ones. This thuggish wonderland won't wait and see who you are before putting that metallic bullet somewhere in your frontal lobe.
I hear my chokes get louder yet. Because I've realized my machinery ways. The talent I put in my statuesque face when called upon for emotional response. I am finding myself in points I never thought I'd see... My capacity for love and hate and everything in between.
And I will only weep more because I said, "Good bye".