I own nothing. And judging by this, it's probably a good thing. Though, if I did, we'd be seeing season three a whole lot sooner.
…
London loves her two madmen- the iceviolinblackwings one that knowsand sees when others wear blindfolds and the gunpowderwoolwolfeyes one that actswhen others would remain still. So she wraps them in a soot-and-cinders embrace fueled by a thousand factory fires and builds them a pebble path of gaslamp-ghosts that lit the way for two others so very much like them once (because the main players are far too interested in the game to leave it for very long.)
London loves her two madmen, for though they leave her sometimes, they always return, tasting sometimes of sandandsteel and other times of iceandsmoke but never of home, and she welcomes them with a wind that ruffles hair and coats and reminds them where they belong and what they have missed.
London loves her two madmen- the ones who seem to know her better than she knows herself. So she will keep them safe- or as safe as they can be when they dance with the devilofmanynamesnandfaces, and she will catch them when they fall.
London loves her two madmen as story after story playswillplayhasplayed out in the streets where gutters flow with bloodinklies and the winged one stares down from above while wolfeyes prowls in the dark, and there is teeth and claws and sometimes blood, but hardly ever theirs.
London loves her two madmen, for they beat back the crimson-edged shadows with words and wits and gunpowder sparks so that not everyone who wanders into the shadows fails to wander out again. And in return, she keeps them safe- with warmer rivers and softer cobblestones and bridgeable gaps and bullets that don't quite make their mark, because they are hers and no-one can take them away from her, not for long.
London loves her two madmen, and they love her in return, weaving themselves into her story until they are as much a part of her as her soot-blackened brick-bones. Their faces are illuminated in torches and gaslamps and streetlights, and cloaks and capes and coats catch in breezes that twist between buildings. They will be there until the towers crumble and London is nothing but a story, but everything's a story in the end, so it might as well be a good one.
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John leans against the warehouse wall with a weary sigh. There is good cause for it, however- the last case lead them halfway across London, over seven rooftops, and through an eight-kilometer stretch of maintenance tunnels. But the murderer is in handcuffs, and Sherlock relaxes beside him, mostly unharmed, though his arm might be sore for a few days.
"You were incredibly lucky, you know."
Sherlock's only reply is a noncommittal hmmm? as he turns the finer details of the case over in his mind. John presses on. "A fall like that should have broken something vital, or at least fractured that arm. But here you are with only a rather impressive bruise." He smiles ruefully. "Honestly, it's like something out there's looking out for us."
Sherlock chooses to launch into a tirade about the many incongruencies relating to theological belief, while John listens with half an ear and tries to think of a good title for the blog post. Perhaps The Koh-i-Noor Affair?
…
London loves her two madmen. And as the rose-tinted clouds fade to opalescent ink, she whispers them back to the flat where they belong, and smiles a sunset-on-windows smile. Because they are hers and she is theirs, and neither would wish it any other way.
…
So, a line thought up in French class and scribbled in a notebook turned into…this. I'm not really sure what to call it- probably a cross between a character study, a writing exercise, and a drabble-y oneshot. Anyhoo, it was quite interesting to write, though I did find it a bit difficult to capture the thought process of a sentient metropolis. What do you think? Should I abandon this style, or perhaps keep going? Feel free to leave a review on the way out.
P.S. Two Doctor Who references in here. The first person to point either of them out to me in a review or pm gets the pleasure of me writing a oneshot using the prompt of their choice. Check again!