This is taking place before the Reichenbach Fall and after the Hounds of Baskerville, when they got home from Dartmoor. James leads Sherlock into an abandoned warehouse and drugs him.
I look at you. I gaze into your beautiful eyes. Blue, green, gold, all mixed together. How beautiful. It's funny how humans can marvel at such thing. They forget all the grayness around them, the dull, boring world. The world is so boring. So agonizing, living in this world, full of stupid and senseless people, mucking up the roads and filling the open space. Sometimes, it feels hard to breathe. Like drowning, in the water, where you know at sometime you're going to drown. Until I found him. My duel.
An opponent.
Something to live for.
I always wanted to get out of this world. This gray, dark world. Nobody can see the things I see. People see all those rainbows and fluffy animals. I see death. Well, and rainbows too. Lots and lots and rainbows, but we'll talk about that later. Rainbows, and fluffy animals…
Are they just NICE?
Seriously if we keep on going on like this, I'm going to get very very bored. And you wouldn't want me to be very bored. You see, cause bad things happened when I'm bored. I like to do things. I like to play with things, lots and lots of things.
I unbutton your shirt as you groan and try to push me away. You're high, drugged, sweat glistening on your forehead. Dark rich curls, clinging to your oh so pale skin. I brush some away, twirling the black locks around and around my finger. I want you, I want you so badly I wrote your name all over the walls. Sebby says I'm obsessive over you. Perhaps I am.
You groan again and mumble something unintelligent. That's so very unlike you. You and your spout of words and deductions, pouring out a man's secrets and love-life. I admire you, Sherlock Holmes, I really do. But sometimes, I just want to kill you. I want to slide those beautifully craved knives in your skin, cutting and watching the crimson liquid leak out and drop down onto the floor. Drip…drop… drip… drop….
I want you but I also want to kill you. I'm just soooo changeable. That is my weakness, and my only weakness. But maybe, just maybe, before I leave, before you leave, we should play a little game. A little game of ours, to cherish, before our deaths. This will probably be the last game we're going to play together, for the ending's… going to be a little more different then last times.
I'm giving you another chance today Sherlock, another chance, to play a game. I'm not going to kill you tonight, nor am I going to harm you. Life is short anyway. No…
Today, I'm going to bring you back home, and you won't remember any of this. You won't remember following me to the abandoned warehouse, you won't remember the needle, piercing into your skin, and your body, sliding down the cold wall, breathing ragged, struggling to reign control on your limbs. Your eyes, fighting to stay open, the blue, green, and gold all swirled together in the colors of the universe. You won't remember me, caressing your face, examining you, remembering every curve, every corner. And most of all, you won't remember those words I'm whispering to you, hinting you, of the last game we're about to play.
I cannot wait, Sherlock Holmes.
I cannot wait.
Written from the perspective of a psychopath.