OK.
SO
I wrote the poem right when I got over this BASTARD of a writer's block, and sent it to my buddies for their thoughts on my literary awesomeness
AND THEN ONE WENT
Holmes/Watson fanfiction NAO.
Very first fanfiction! Yippee! Don't be mean plz...
...
It's almost like really falling, falling through to whatever lies are true
I haven't hit the ground yet, I'm still falling in love with you
Your eyes are the abyss I'll tumble through
Black as night and dark as sin
Caress me, pull me in
It's not me you should be afraid of.
So let it out, let your feelings show
Damn, I've already known
For however long you've held back
I've been watching, right on track
With all your hints and lies
But I can always see the truth in your eyes
Because I haven't hit the ground yet
Because I'm still falling
In love with you.
I can't stand it when he hurts himself. Holmes was always doing that, hurting himself, and I had to stitch him back together and feel the pain he felt when he couldn't get up and dothings. I hated that too, the helplessness, but it was an all too familiar feeling.
So looking into his dark, stormy eyes (they go dark when he's agitated or in pain or upset), it isn't surprising that I lost all sense and professed my undying fucking lovefor my partner in (anti) crime.
"Sherlock," I'd said, then looked at him, reallylooked at him, and in those eyes I saw all his gratitude and trust and faith in me, and I just lost whatever was inhibiting me from telling him.
"Sherlock. I've been lying to you."
"What about?"
"I'm...fucking falling in love with you and it makes no sense but I am, and God help us if anybody found out, but that's not really what I care about because you are the most amazing individual ever. Dammit, I can't tell you how many times I've thought about telling you but wimped out. And now I'm all out of sorts and it's YOUR FAULT. So. Um."
He looks at me, quirks an eyebrow, a laugh playing around his mouth. "I've known for months."
Of course, this sort of thing was becoming all to commonplace, this reading-my-mind thing, but I was still illogically surprised.
"Do you really think I don't notice how much you 'secretly' look at my ass? I thought you were smarter than that, Doctor."
I blush a little, which ticks me off because it's all this BEAUTIFUL MAN's FAULT but I can't help it. He gets to me like no one else does, and despite his odd habits, the violin at 3 in the morning, violent and utter lack of self-preservation, I love him.
I love him.
This revelation must have shown on my face, because I blink and all the sudden his lips are on mine and I'm pressing up against him and it's nothing except him, him him.He even smells like danger, and I have a brief flash of worry, but that's totally swept away when he gasps into my mouth, breathing hard. I take the opportunity to slip my tongue in his mouth, moaning at the shock of hot, wet. He tastes like coffee (black with two sugars) and something musky, almost bitter and entirely Sherlock.
I'm in his arms and I love him with all my goddamn heart.
What a wonderful world we all live in.
