Where Angels Go to Die~
For the Deductionist , because she suggested I write something happy~
To the One Who gives meaning to every situation. And the meaning is love.
Author's Note: The following is a collection of some very random cases, all strung together in scene like sequence, as if they somehow belong together?
Case One- The Ponzi-Scheming Light Man~
Daylight was a weariness for John today. The sun beat down on him through the clouds ,like a priest that failed to hear the gospel, teaching only the hopelessness of law.
He comes dragging into Baker Street, drained of all color and hope, bleached by the sun, that beat in through his office window, all through out the monotonous hours of a work day gone all wrong.
Would he ever live down the disgrace of being the constant companion of the world's only( somewhat controversial) consulting detective?
He is thankful for the soft darkness of the coming of night fall.
"When...? " he asks himself. When he was a child he was afraid of the dark. As a soldier, darkness gave combat complications. As a man in recovery, darkness was the time when his demons came back to haunt him, the harvesting place for PTSD...
When did he fall in love with the dark? When did he first recognize its beauty, and the safe hidden-away feeling it could emanate? When did he suddenly become the captive audience of its every whispered word, or when did he benefit from the wisdom it concealed?
He closed his eyes, and suddenly he knew. A smile spread on his face, as he leaned against this wall, just as they leaned against this wall, that one night...
"That was the most stupid thing, I have ever done." he hears his own voice say, a long time ago.
So many life times ago. Before the return of Moriarty, and the death of Mary and their unborn baby. Before there ever was any reason to look dreadfully up at the roof of St. Bart's...
Before the days that caused all the brokeness inside him ,there was one wonderfully dark night, when he met the man who had given sinew to the evening.
John feels his bones begin to warm ,like coals in the bottom of the fire stirred back to life, and he feels his lashes grow moist like dew falling before the dawn.
Sherlock had compared him to the light, and that was true, he didn't belong to shadow.
But shadow was his brother, and he loved him more than his own immortal soul.
Was suddenly startled by the depth of his voice, like low thunder in the dim room.
"Hello, John." he could feel him smiling before he opened his eyes.
" Hey..."he whispers, voice as small as sparrow's flight, barely able to breathe, why he doesn't know.
So much loss...So very much loss, and pain in his life.
So very much more love.
Total eclipse, they fell silent. Sherlock's sharp features were blurred by the brightness of the candle in his hand.
"So, umm, is this...like...are you having a séance? Run the Baker Street Irregulars off, and so now it's time to pick off the bone yard?" John quips, voice as soft as snowfall, falling into the coolness of the room, almost undetected save that silence makes everything so much more loud.
"The powers out." Sherlock says, matter -of -factly.
"Let me guess, experiment?"
"For once I am innocent..." Sherlock smiles ,mischievously. "And this time Mrs. Hudson is guilty. She had a row with the electrician, and now he won't help her any more. Of course ,it probably didn't help anything when I came down to see what all the fuss was about ,and deduced that he was involved in a money laundering scheme, was in deep, needed a lot of extra money for himself so he could flee the country and his crime boss, and was charging Mrs. Hudson about 9 times more than his services were worth."
John's mouth gapes. And Sherlock stares blankly.
"Alright, so it probably IS my fault."
Silence.
"You know, actually, it's ok. I don't really mind the dark..." John said suddenly.
Sherlock smiled again, the candle burning low about his face.
"You know, we don't have to hang around the stair's landing. You can come in and take your coat off, and (*mimics Mrs. Hudson*)' have a cup of tea ,dear!'"
John chuckles, and starts to follow Sherlock up the stairs.
The young detective turns to face him with an amplified swish of his coat.
"You do realize that you live here again, have now for around 3 months?"
"Well, yeah."
"Make yourself at home!"