So Sherlock Holmes seems to be controlling my mind, here's another short drabble. Still on Hiatus though, I promise I'll start working on those others again soon, as in....in April... Patience is a virtue.
Standard Disclaimer applies.
"You!" The word spat, venom in the single syllable, in the exclamation. This man was a menace, no a monster! My hand rose without thought on my part, delivering a nasty jab into the taller man's chest with more force than I would've expected. He slumped back, moving away without a word. The look of defeat ghosting across that normally impassive face only serving to irritate me further. Worse was the smirk he always wore, a tiny up-turn at the corner of his mouth. The implication that he knew something I did not.
"You!" The word harsh and low; I couldn't seem to get beyond my rage to complete the sentence; couldn't seem to muster an insult that would serve to show him just how low he really was. His snobbish demeanor and the way he always knew everything; the way he thought he could read people like they would read books. The subtle hints he would find that most overlooked.
Squaring up to jab at that bird-like ribcage again I saw the tears shining behind his eyes, begging to fall. He made me sick. My fist closed, landing with a sickening thump to the brittle bones protecting his vital organs. This time I went for his face, he still made no move to block or return the blows, wheezing from the last hit. "You-" But he cut me off with one of his insane little giggles right before my fist broke his nose.
Blood pattered on the floor, and he had the nerve to laugh, looking from me to the floor then touching his nose gingerly; it would be bruised tomorrow, maybe he'd have black eyes. I bit my cheek trying to keep from killing him. I wanted to kill him, the rage boiling over, being expressed physically upon his body.
Each fist tossed at him only serving to drive me ever closer towards madness. One on the cheek, he spit a tooth out. One in the gut, he doubled over, which led to an elbow to the back of the head. He fell to the floor, emitting more of those irritating snickers. Drawing my booted foot back I kicked his side, watching as he curled in on himself, "You...."
His eyes met my own, he showed no remorse, but all it took was one word from him, "Watson." His breathing ragged, hyena laughter still escaping even as he lay in pain on our floor, blood from his nose and mouth leaving a halo around his head. He was pathetic.
And yet, somehow, he seemed to have a power over me. With that one word I stopped. I turned on heel and left the flat, stopping to tell Misses Hudson that Holmes may need her help, if she would be so kind.
As the door to 221b Baker St clicked shut behind me and the wind blew his smell away I felt remorse. It was how I knew we were different. I was human. My gaze shifted to the light in our window and I saw Holmes, pipe in hand watching me walk away, emotionless mask back in place, marred by blood, bruising already beginning. He was something else. I turned away, headed for the pub. My stomach twisting at what I had done to that man I considered a dear friend.
Maybe I was the monster after all.