this one goes out to Fantasia Sedai who requested some kissing in the rain. It might have ended up more angsty then originally planned...
Shit.
I cant see him. I cant see anyone, anything. Darkness and smog and a few street lamps, the corner of a building and the heavily graffitied wall maze around me, nothing else.
A shot.
Shit.
My heart's beating completely out of time, I can feel blood pumping furiously, my body screaming out to me I do something, to move. But I'm rooted to the spot, mind totally blank.
Then there's another shot and my head reels, suddenly a flood of thoughts and emotions that I know can't help me. What if he's hurt? What if he's dead? 'No, don't think about it' I tell myself, spinning round and picking a filthy street corridor to run down, 'don't think about that..' but I can't help myself, what if he's dead? What happens to me? What would I do? How would I go on?
I stop at yet another junction, turn to stare feverishly down the different options and start to truly panic. What do I do? Do I shout? Part of me wants to, to scream his name out and get this over with and hold him and be safe and go home and never leave. But should I? That would give away my position, what of they've got him? What if I'd be pulling him right into a trap?
I don't know why but it's the rain that makes me do it; large drops hitting my head, slowly at first, then faster. The heavens open and I'm drenched within seconds. Pounding water as hard and fast as my pounding pulse. Puddles start to form around my feet and drips out of overflowing gutters, and somehow this increases the urgency.
"Sherlock!" I yell into the rain and the blackness.
Traffic in the distance and the rain is the only response I get.
I pick an alleyway at random, there's no point thinking about it, it's just chance, luck, and right now I need all the luck I can get. "Sherlock!" I shout again, but again the only noise is my splashing, slapping footsteps on the uneven concrete.
Shit, crap. Where the hell is he?! My head is filled with memories and flashbacks of afghanistan, I failed my team there too; getting hurt and loosing people. No, don't think about that, he's not dead, he's not going to die. He's not...
Tears start to force themselves out of my eyes and slip down my face. 'No', I tell myself again, pushing the heel of my hand deep into my eye sockets, forcing them to stop, 'it's fine, I'm fine, he's fine, don't panic...' But I can't lie to myself.
Another shot.
I flinch, backing against the wall for a second, breathing heavily. Frantic, petrified, but utterly still. The rain has plastered my hair and cloths to my freezing skin, the icy water creeps into my shoes and numbs my toes.
Once more I yell out for him, starting to run down yet another labyrinthine passage.
Furious heart rate, heavy breathing, aching head, sloshing footsteps, driving rain. Then silence as I turn yet another corner.
No, not silence...
Footsteps?
Oh god. It's them. I freeze; they're coming closer, speeding up. Any minute now there'll be a gun at my temple.
"John."
It's not them, it's him. Never in my life has that voice been more welcome. I spin around and lunge at him, throwing myself into his chest and wrapping my shaking arms around his neck, burying my fingers into his soaking hair. And then I'm pressing my lips so firmly against his I'm surprised he doesn't fall backwards on the slippery pavement. All that panic, all that fear and dread turns to relief and warmth and passion. He tastes like damp; rain and sweat and salty tears, my tears. Our cloths are sodden and the water wrings out and is re-absorbed with the movement, the familiar blue scarf is almost black and presses so close against my neck the moisture seeps down my collar. The relentless water still drums on our heads, but i can hear my elevated heart rate clearly over it as I always can; even above cat calls and experiments and loud 'mutterings', when he kisses me I can hear my whole body reacting. In the rain his usually free and bouncing curls hang in charcoal black rats tails. My fumbling fingers twist into limp ringlets, winding tighter and tighter, not caring that the water I squeeze out dribbles down my sleeve. His soaked and unrecognisable fringe hangs further down my forehead, it tickles. But I don't care. I thought I'd lost him, thought I'd made another terrible mistake and hurt someone as a result, but it's ok. He's safe, I'm safe, we're safe together.
awww, well it made me awww. tell me what you thought :)
