PART TWO
I present to you my dearest readers Sonnet 116 (Revisited).
Sonnet 116 Revisited
I deconstruct his image
Beauty as Picasso
Will he love my boxes and ?questions?
I know he will and his glory will hang on my wall
I have gone mad as the fiery Fairy Queen wanted me to be
A stranger in a strange land
What I call myself
The atoms churn in my gutturals and escape through my pores
Starved by my own mind
Leap, Stab and Shank
His body engrained in mine
I know nothing else but his ideas
As thou they are mine own
I take his hand
He takes mine
That's all
I take my vows written on a piece of perfect parchment and head to the local Church I detest so much in my guts. As an atheist, any theism whether it's Oriental or from London. It makes me sick. But then I pause and knowingly look out the window. I drop to my knees. The Church is set afire. Love. My Love. What will I do?
I…I…I…wanted this to be my, not my happily ever after but my truest version of my unfortunate reality. But I guess that was just all too much to ask the god i didn't believe in for. They say to never end sentences with prepositions but I just don't care anymore for real this about.
So I'll create my own reality. Come with me if you dare readers.
come.
FADE IN
EXT. HOUSE - INTERIOR
The silent day slowly peers through the broken window in the albeit expensive Victorian estate of SHERLOCK HOLMES (crisp, 30s).
The day is cloudless and one of those days that really sticks in your mind and comes back and visits you when you're laying in bed alone and wishing that someone else was laying next to you. Then you sigh, turn over each vertebrae one by one and stretch your neck to the furthermost corner of your full BED. AND dab your TEARS away with a terrycloth handkerchief. A servant comes to take away the HANDKERCHIEF and you reflect on the most unusual circumstances that have brought you to this mansion, this life, this MAN.
The light slowly yet surely pours into the room. I lie in bed with my husband SHERLOCK HOLMES and we are happy together. WATSON smiles and cocks his head toward his Husband.
WATSON
Oh, Sherlock.
What are we to do this average day in our actual lives?
Sherlock stares at WATSON with a blank expression, almost like he is not for real in the Victorian estate. Almost as if he is a dead ghost.
SHERLOCK, HUSBAND
I don't know babe.
WATSON
I want you to be near you.
SHERLOCK
What if I told you you can't be near me? Not anymore.
WATSON
I want to be near you.
SHERLOCK puts one foot on the floor with such gusto it shakes the oak wooden floor that was installed in the house 100s of years ago but hasn't been updated unlike the rest of the interior design of the home.
SHERLOCK
No.
WATSON
Where are you going? It's late and nothing is even near us. We're not in good London anymore. Nowhere near the city boys.
SHERLOCK
It never was about that and you know that.
WATSON
I don't want this guilt.
SHERLOCK dramatically with purpose throws his other legs over the bed and places his back to Watson's face and ignores his request.
SHERLOCK
Do you think I care about your guilt?
WATSON
Yes.
SHERLOCK
I'm dead.
WATSON
I as well.
But the story always continues. Maybe with someone else. No one's dead forever. I know I was made, was created was birthed from a dark cavity minge for something. I know I'm important. Not everyone is here for a reason. I must be or why would I be here at all? Everyone has a purpose and this is mine. To be someone's partner.
I sleep for what might as well have been a reptile's lifetime because I feel as though I have missed out on everything.
"Mr. Watson are you awake?"
My servants awaken me but I am not having any of it.
I continue to sleep. I awaken again to a large slam of my bedroom door. A doctor has come. Little does he know I am also a skilled physician with more experience and less patience he could ever imagine in his plebe brain.
:Mr….
:Watson.:
:Yes, I did know that. If you would've let me finish my sentence, I would have said.:
"What are you doing here. who are you?"
"I'm your worst nightmare," the man smiled.
