You walk home slowly after a Friday afternoon at school. Tears stream down your face. Your head has been hurting from depression, the day has been long and hard. You don't wish to go home, because your parents have been violently arguing for the past few days. Your bookbag is slung across your shoulders, and you notice that rain is beginning to dot it. You become completely annoyed with your life as you wipe your tears with the back of your palm and see a blurry figure pass by.
You can't see him completely because of the tears, but you can hear his voice from behind, "Are you okay, dear?" You find this voice vaguely familiar and rather seductive, but you refuse to say so. "It doesn't matter," you murmur, continuing to walk. He brings himself in front of you, and he stops you by putting his hands on your shoulders. The man is rather taller than you, and you look down at his shows. He has fancy dress shoes. "Don't ever say that. It matters to me," he says, wiping your tear. When your vision clears completely, you see who it is. Those cheekbones, that hair, the lips... It's Benedict Freaking Cumberbatch.
You start sobbing even harder. You think you're dreaming, and oh, it's a cruel, cruel dream. He touches your face, and you realize it's all too real. He brings his face closer to yours and whispers, "Shh, okay, it's okay, you don't have to tell me what's wrong, just do let me get you out of this vile weather, for I can see that you're becoming ill." You're too in shock for words, and you simply nod. "Now, I was just off to the bookstore, and looking into your eyes I see that you're clever, and I shall guess you like books. If you don't mind, afterwards, I can bring you to my residence and make you a cup of tea," he smiled. You giggle through your tears, "I'd love to."
He smiles too, "See, that smile is what I like seeing." His eyes, though, they're like the ocean after the storm, and you look into them and want to /die/. He takes your hand and kissed it softly, you can tell that he knows that you recognize him. "Come on," he says, putting out his elbow so you can walk arm-in-arm. You stay close to his side as you take it. You inhale his scent deeply as you walk to the bookstore at the corner.
Being the polite gentleman he is, he holds the door open for you as you walk him. You thank him quietly, blushing blatantly. He takes you to the poetry section and pulls out a Robert Frost collection. He reads you "Fire and Ice" in his beautiful voice. You tell him how much you adore that poem and his voice, and you accidently inform him that he's slowly melting your heart away. He looks at you softly, smiling, "That's rather flattering, darling." He purchases the book, and he stows it away in his coat, because he has a freaking epic coat on and it fits.
This time, he takes your hand and leads you out. He notices the rain falling into your hair and wraps you in his coat. You thank him softly, and he calls you "darling" again. He notices that you're getting cold, and he puts his arm around you and lets you lay your head on his shoulder as you walk. "I really don't want you sick," he explains.
Violet roses were placed beside his front door. You notice his hair flinging onto his face a bit when he unlocked his door. "Ahh, your hair..." you moan in frustration. He brushes his hair aside, turning to you. "You want to... pet it?" he offers. You giggle and feel like you're dying as you get to pet the sacred curly hair. "You have a gentle touch..." he jokes, as he holds open the door and bids you to step inside.
You feel like you're about to faint as you step inside of his house. He takes off your coat and hangs it for you. "Oh, it's beautiful," you say, as he leads you to his couch and bids you to sit. He sits beside you, and he suddenly brings out a blanket and wraps it around you. "I'll make you tea, darling," he insists as he gets up, already starting on the tea before you can protest.
He makes small talk about the weather, and he comes back with a mug of tea. He hands it to you tenderly as he joins you in the blanket. The tea tastes like magic and hobbits. You thank him again, but he simply pulls you closer and comments about how cold you are. You look into him, and he looks into you. He holds you tighter, and he finds his hand stroking your hair. You gasp a bit, but your hand finds itself onto his cheekbone. "Oh, I'm sorry..." you apologize deeply, taking your hand away.
Your heart starts beating quickly as he pulls you even closer, breaking your personal bubble, and you don't mind, because you're practically cuddling Benedict Cumberbatch. "You know," he starts, "You should really see a cardiologist." You laugh. "I can't help it... you're just so perfect, it hurts," you say truthfully.
His breath is warm, and his hand is now stroking the back of your head. "Are you okay?" he asks softly again. "I'm lovely," you say. "That what I wanted to hear," he purrs.
His record player turns on, and his eyes light up. You stand and he puts a hand on your waist and takes the other. You laugh as he spins you around. You feel his hand growing cold on the back of your neck, because you're slowly losing consciousness because the tea was laced with a drug. He then quietly cuts out your lungs and fries them for dinner.