[T/W: Violence/Gore.]
Chapter Ten: Ashes
The promise of gifts and the arrival of Father Christmas held no joy and did not turn a smile on the boy's face. Packaged presents laid at the foot of a tree, the lights giving a false sense of cheeriness, and giving the room a week glow. Each present held a carefully chosen gift, sure to please its owner. All of them had bright, colourful paper and finished with a bow. The child was careful as he opened them, using precise caution and care not to rip the paper. His father gave him a small, sincere smile, placing a strong hand on his back. A silent promise that it was alright to rip it, to mess your work. "That's what's fun. Tearing it open, bit by bit, and watching it fall apart at your fingertips."
Four deaths. Four. Two called the morning before. Two adults, the same way. The woman's throat tore open, the man's stomach slit with traces of the woman's blood on his fingers and nails. A day later, two children, but they were different. Much different. It seemed a serial killer, until then. Lestrade wasn't so certain it was Jim anymore. But oh no, Sherlock knew. He could tell, as always.
It was another game.
They'd been there when the children had died. Unable to save another pair, opting for waiting, watching as the light faded from their eyes, their last breath being drawn.
They'd been following one of Sherlock's insane leads, a trace of a biscuit and muffin he'd found in the woman's coat and under her nails. They'd heard the screams, and ran, expecting the worse.
What they had found in that alleyway had made John feel the need to rid himself of his stomach's contents.
There was a boy and a girl, as always. The girl's feet were raw and bloody, the blood sliding and winding down in thick, hot ribbons. Glass stuck out in all shapes, angles, and sizes, as thought she were forced to walk amongst some. Some of the glass caught the light, sending scarlet rainbows around the death scene. The boy's hands too were covered in glass and pools of blood. John wasn't like Sherlock, but it was obvious he had tried to help the girl by removing the shards, only winding up injuring himself worse. The girl's dress was in ragged tatters, her blond hair mussed with black.
Sherlock had knelt, running his hand through it and smelling. "Ashes," he murmured. John watched him, deep bags burrowed under his eyes. "Ashes?" He echoed blankly.
"It's Cinderella." He gestured to the girl's feet. "Glass slippers. The prince put them on her foot."
John's mouth opened to ask how he knew that, how he knew so much about childish fairytale, only the mental picture that flashed in his mind stopped his words before they reached his tongue. Sherlock, falling, the wind rushing past and tousling his already rowdy curls. His arms waving in large, panicked circular motions as though trying to lessen the fall….The doctor stumbled backwards before he could think, hands pressed to his temples.
"L-let's go home," he managed as he looked up to see Sherlock's quizzical look.
Sherlock nodded, ignoring the loud ring of his phone going off, alerting a text.
Text : Received. Unknown number.
Come and play, Sherly. It's midnight. Time is striking. JM
John glanced at Sherlock, going to ask him to check his phone, but was taken by the hand and instead lead to a waiting cab. Sighing, he climbed in, leaning against the seat. Sherlock stared out the window, tapping a few beats with his fingers against the thigh of his legs. Lost in old memories.
The rest of the day was spent in utter silence.
The child sat at the foot of his bed, silently playing with his new gifts. His eyes traveled out the windwo, to where a new snowfall was starting. It fell slowly, lazily. The boy then traveled over to where his plate of cookies rested, and the words, "eat it like a puppeh!" ghosted through his mind, with the giggles following soon after. He blinked and rubbed his eyes as they filled with tears, shoving the toy's off his bed where they clattered to the floor, some shattering, some cracking. The boy stared at the broken toys, wondering quietly if he could piece his heart and mind back the same way he could the toys.
A/N: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. No update. I'm not going to give you excuses, other than the fact that I'm really busy. I have my own personal novel I'm working on, and I'm doing my best to keep this story on the right track. This one's short, only because I have rememberance Day tomorrow that I have something to sing for. But, if it helps, I gave away a few hints as to the final outcome, or my plan...maybe. Curious as to what your thoughts are. I would love your feedback! Please comment, guys!