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And then they were back.
To reality. To problems. To differences. To anger. To trying to cope up. To trying to understand. To wanting to escape. To wanting to bind. To the real world where they always stood opposite each other. A life which they could neither deny nor accept. To whatever their coexistence was.
A week had passed since their romantic rendezvoused with Yorkshire. Things were better though, better than the time they had decided upon the vacation. So far Sherlock didn't have any difficult days and was contended with his work and Jim. Jim was able to keep a discreet profile in front of Sherlock. So far.
Sherlock was neither a wishful thinker nor a fool. He knew Jim had not and never would change, he was just keeping a low profile regarding his work just to keep Sherlock in good humor. He was making an immense effort in order to keep Sherlock in the dark about his dealings. He was so far successful and so was Sherlock, he was doing a good job of pretending to ignore the issues which plagued their relationship. The truth is that they both knew that this facade won't last long. It was just the calm before the storm. It would take just a small push to tip them off balance again. So when Jim approached Sherlock about a formal dinner party at their place, fully aware how Sherlock hated these things he braced himself for the storm. If Sherlock was opposed to it he would just arrange it elsewhere. This was important. This was for the social mask he wore around to hide the antisocial face. This was the occasion when he reminded all those who mattered of his omnipresence.
Sherlock smiled and agreed.
Sherlock hated these events. He hated being displayed in public by Jim. He hated how in these parties people would try to flatter him to keep themselves in the good books of Jim Moriarty. He hated the false smiles plastered on those faces and those false praises that came out of those mouths. He hated being looked up in awe as Moriarty's boyfriend. He hated being reminded that no matter what the real equation inside their household were, in front of the world he was Jim's personal property. He was under his control, bent by his power, trapped in his life and used for his pleasure. He hated being reminded that there was no way out. There had been many times before when Sherlock had refused to these events. He even had avoided these parties on several occasions. But this time, he agreed hiding his inward reluctance. Partly because he still felt guilty about the last incident and partly because he wanted to reciprocate, he was tired of fighting the inevitable. Fighting Jim was like fighting his own shadow. Jim was just like his shadow, always on the opposite, dark, illusive but as real as he himself. Whatever he was Jim was exactly the opposite, thus being the only counterpart. It was what it was and what it would be. He wanted to resign to what apparently was fate. Ill and permanent. He hadn't been able to refute Jim's last arguments about why things were the way they were and wondered if he ever would be. He didn't want to run anymore knowing full well that he would end up just where he stood. Right opposite Jim. It was odd, they were a couple who didn't stand together. Always opposite each other. They had taken their stand decisively and they had to keep them till death. He braced himself to go through something that was once initiated by him and now was out of his hands.
His life with Moriarty.
