I watched him through the window of Baker Street. He gazed thoughtfully to the street below, unaware of the bullet that could so easily be put through his head.
I so badly wanted to but I didn't have the instruction to do so. He would always say 'not yet' but I knew in reality he meant 'never'. When I first met Jim, I knew he would do damage. He knew exactly how to make you hurt, especially when you deserved it but somehow I hadn't expected him to hurt me like this. To make me pine for him while he yearned for another.
Sherlock. Always Sherlock. His equal and his nemesis. I would never be able to compete with that in his psychotic little mind. I would forever be a second prize, something to fill his needs and do his dirty work.
I wondered if I ought to tell him. How it felt to hear him whisper his name while he slept. A soft sigh of longing. I would watch as his eye lids twitched and his mind showed him his very own fantasies. Jim insisted he relished the thought of ruining Sherlock but I knew him better than that.
What was it about this man? He was superior in intelligence, that much was a given. I knew though that Jim was entranced by my strong physique, by being controlled. The thin, pale, curly haired man before me would never be what Jim wanted, what he needed. I was.
Why didn't the little shit see that? Perhaps he did and this was his way of playing games with me, to keep me interested and on my toes. My finger pulled tighter on the trigger out of my own anger and I pulled back with a sigh. That was too close. Jim would have killed me. No, I would have been begging him to kill me.
Come home. JM
I took apart the gun and made my way back to our apartment. Same as always, not yet.