Interesting Things, Curses

The Mourning

This morning was just amazing. I woke and at first I panicked a little as I felt something laying on me, but when I opened my eyes, it was just Sherlock, lying on me. His big, blue and lovely eyes were staring at me in all their glory and his sleekly shimmering black tail was swishing in the air and his glossy ears stood at attention. And that smile, looking so soft and fluffy as it was lopsided but still beautiful. God it made me smile too, and I couldn't stop as he started purring, leaning over me, straddling my hips and licking slowly across my lips.

I chuckled, accepting everything as the taste of him reached my tongue, and I loved every second of it. I would have thought I was dreaming, but that wasn't not really an option, as I had just woken up. But he could easily have been from a dream, he was just that perfect. His curls were soft as I delved my fingers into them, his tongue was wet, hot and tasted amazing as mine danced into it, and him being pressed to me only made the connection all the more intense, but somehow still chaste.

His body lying upon mine was slim but interestingly muscular and graceful as his tail just swished in delight and his purrs reached my throat. The vibrations made the kisses even hotter as he practically rutted against me. But this was all stopped when my mum knocked on the door, as she does every morning, just three simple knocks. I had to push Sherlock off a little to tell her I was awake now.

Sherlock mewled in protest at first, but then realized why I was pushing him off, and he stood from the covers with me as my feet hit the floor. I really hate that all he has to do is wiggle his fingers and everything is sorted out for him. For Christ's sake, he doesn't even have to shower! I'll have to fix that one day…

But anyway, I had just started undressing and was about redress, when Sherlock's fingertips were over my scarred shoulder again. I really don't want to explain that, but I guess I have to now. And we have extra time this morning, as we woke up half an hour early.

Here we go with angst and depression mode, the happy one completely gone. "Sherlock," I turned to meet him and let his fingers then brush over the front of the scarred over wound. "I guess I have to tell you what this is from, yeah?" and Sherlock nodded, his pale blue eyes pleading for me to tell.

"Please? I didn't want to ask, but…" he smiled sorrowfully and I responded with a slant of my lips, I'm not sure you could call it a smile, though.

"Okay," I nodded, sighing, "okay," and I had to tell him now. "Well, you remember how you deduced the whole thing of my father dying?" and he nodded, his brows furrowed, almost coming together in slight understanding of what was to come.

"Would it be easier if…" he bit his lip at that, not wanting to continue.

"If what, Sherlock? It's okay, tell me," I assured as my fingers found his cheek, stroking his cheekbone.

"I have this thing, it's a bit like reading your thoughts, but instead it's memories. If you think about a specific one, you don't have to tell me, I can just watch it as it folded out, of course in your perspective, but you wouldn't have to tell me. Although, it's a bit tiring, I'd still do it," he paused and looked to me from the floor he'd been staring at, "if you want," he added.

"Actually, that would be better," I chewed at my bottom lip's corner, "I think," and suddenly his hands were framing my face and I was made to look at him.

"It's okay, I've been through just as much, maybe even worse. I can't judge you for whatever happened that day, and I sure as hell won't leave you because of it. It's not your fault and this," he ran his fingers over the marred skin again, "is only proof that you're alive and amazing," and I was surprised to find his lips pressed to my forehead when they had closed, finishing the statement that made me calmer. A bit.

"You know, you can be so frustrating sometimes, and then you do things like this, and I just…" I pondered on what to say, "well, it makes me love you so much more," he smiled again, but with that despairing look that I wanted to kiss away.

"I'm sure it does," and he moved his hands so that one dropped to my shoulder and the other just had my chin in his fingers, and I was flustered, but I quickly accepted it when he kissed me. Soft, slow, just the feeling of his lips on mine felt like he was electrocuting me, making me stay right here. But it was so good, and it made me happy for some reason.

We broke for a few seconds for him to get out, "It'll be easier with as much contact as possible. As in, keep kissing me and remember what happened that day," and that was all I needed. If I could keep my body pressed against his, in the sweetest way I know possible, then I can remember this without having a mental breakdown. You're here… I'm not alone… Not anymore..

The only bad part to this was remembering, otherwise, I was like putty in his hands. He could do anything to me, and I wouldn't run, I would stay here, and let him do it. Because I… Because I love him. It sounds so silly with only a week and a few days of knowing each other, but it feels so good, and so… right.. that I didn't care.

Then all I could remember were those lips as my comfort as I went through what happened that morning again…

I felt terrible, asking about something that obviously caused him pain, and I hate to admit that my curiosity got the better of me this time. But I really wanted to know, and if talking about it wasn't what he wanted to do, I suggested that I should just remember it with him.

And it was working, my lips were against his in the most heated kiss we've had yet, and his memory of that morning was flowing through both of us as juice would flow from a juice jug or possibly a carton: thick and cold, but so worth it in the end. That's when I was sucked into his memory, a part of his past…

John was so short when he ran down the stairs at the screaming he had heard and that had woken him early in the morning. This house was different from the flat, for one, it was a house. But it was slightly larger, and honestly, nicer. Though, his attention wasn't on that, so neither was mine.

Little Boy John's attention was on the man holding his mother by the throat, aiming that weapon of destruction at his father. God, his heart was pounding a mile a minute as he knew full too well what was going on. Although, he never knew the details of why the man was here, he still knew what was going to happen if he didn't do something.

That was when he ran out in front of his father, shielding him even though he was so short and barely reached the man's hips. "Don't hurt Daddy! Let Mummy go!" his voice sounded so young, I'd guess around six. Oh jeez, six?! Poor John, but I had no time for that when the man spoke, grabbing both of our attentions and slamming them back to the man with the weapon, a gun to be specific.

His voice was raspy, as if he was sick or had been coughing recently, "Stupid child, do you know what this is?" he asked, now pointing the gun to John instead of the father Little Boy John was guarding, and referring to the gun, As if one wouldn't know what a gun is? Sir, you are officially stupid... What kind of man does that anyway?! He's a fucking kid! … Stay calm, just.. go through it, for John. Come on…

Little Boy John's father tried to tell him to go to his room, but the little idiot was stubborn, "I know what a gun is, and you can't shoot Daddy!" the man was shielded in the shadows, so all John could see was that smile, then his finger pull the trigger, and once again, the bullets landing in the males of the family before pistol whipping his mother, her form falling to the floor.

But what I thought was amazing of John's mum, was what she pulled next. She pretended to faint, the man grinning and chuckling over her, and just when he was to pull the trigger once more, she shot up, grabbing it from his hand, as he was too shocked to do anything, she pointed it to him instead, planting a bullet in him in return, his brain to be exact.

Then she dropped the gun in the horror of what she had done, looking to her hands. But she couldn't do it for long, recovering and running to her child who was cradling his shoulder, tears and snot running as he cried for his mummy to make it stop hurting. She had no time to grieve, all she had time for was calling 999, and call she did.

But once John saw those men helping him, getting him into the ambulance, he was fading in and out. Though, he wasn't trying to stay awake anymore, knowing he was safe, he let the darkness consume his consciousness…

Then it was gone, and I slightly slumped in Sherlock's grip at the fact that it was just us now, and I clung to him as I had done to my mother that morning. I didn't let tears fall, but everything was displayed through the kisses we had managed to keep up. Sherlock tried cheering me up with them, but after that type of despair, there's only so much one can do.

"John," he broke, panting from the kissing and from remembering all of… that. "John, I'm so sorry," he breathed.

"It's fine. It's all fine," I lied, my voice quivering a bit.

"You're a terrible liar," he chuckled and I opened my eyes to see him smiling at me, but he was only partially genuinely happy. The other half of his mouth hung in tragedy of the events of the memory.

"Yeah, well you're a terrible… I don't know, you're just terrible," I smirked and he rolled his eyes, his ears twitching. But then he did the cutest thing. I'll never forget it.

His head tilted to the side, his one ear flopping to meet his curls as that corner of his mouth tilted up to follow the tilted down ear, and it was just so adorable, especially with those eyes staring at me like that. I fought the urge to ruffle his hair and settled for stroking through it to the base of that lopsided ear and he purred, leaning into my fingers.

God, why does he have to be so adorable, then sexy other times, and he just.. He's Sherlock, I guess. He'll always be like that. So confusing of an adventure you want to give up, but you're also intrigued so you keep going.

And I had to laugh when I caught the other ear and he instantly flopped over into the covers of the bed that was close, rubbing at my fingers, purring loudly and smiling like a madman. I swear, if he was in full cat mode, his tongue would be hanging out, too.

But I just quit altogether, sitting down beside him and kissing him deeply, as his mouth was open and I wanted to taste him again. He squeaked into my tongue, but settled and pulled me over him, wrapping his legs around my hips and bringing my body down closer as the taste of him intoxicated me once more. But that was what he did to me. He was my whiskey, I guess. Rough going down, but just the taste of it and the feeling given made me keep going.

Except, of course, I won't regret this later. Actually, do you know what, ignore that. The idea of him being my whiskey, ignore all of that. He's more like my days and nights. I wake up to him here, always shining and keeping me warm throughout the day, and when night hits, he's as bright as the full moon hanging in the sly with the stars that wish they were as beautiful as he was. They're all jealous, and I am as well.

But I am not as jealous, because I get to have him instead of be him, which is so much better. I would rather have him here than be him and be alone. I would rather be kissing him than wondering what it was like to be kissed. So I can be jealous all I like, but I will always love him before I let my jealousy rule out the fact that his personality is something to be cherished, not in wanting of.

And that was why I let his kisses travel from my lips to my neck, open mouthed as he was purring, the vibrations leaving a sizzling sensation against my skin as he placed wet kisses across my neck and part of my shoulder. Then he came back to my lips, the sizzling now crackling electricity, and when he rubbed up against me it was like lightning.

And as lightning strikes, the thunder follows, leaving me moaning and trying to tell him to stop, but his lips had me out of breath and his motions made it so much harder to argue.

The footsteps on the stairs made him stop, though and made me push myself up and back over to the closet to finish getting dressed. I only had my jeans on, after all. And he just did that thing with his fingers and a flick of his wrist and poof, another suit.

The top was navy blue this time and I admired the dark colour against his skin as my mum poked her head through the door. "Oh, you are out of bed, I was worried you just went back to sleep," she teased and we both smirked.

Oh no, it was almost so much farther than sleep… Oh, you cocky bastard. You know you love me. Yeah, I do, God help me because I really do…

I hope it wasn't too much, but the angst had to make an appearance, just once.