Pre-Series AU: Before Eobard Obtains the Speedforce
"Please, I don't know what I'd do without you."
Eobard barely turned around. His head swung over his shoulder, instead, so he only viewed Sherlock through his periphery. Any more of a direct look and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't run away. Maybe, he'd choose differently.
That shouldn't be a bad thing, he thought. Yet it was. The closer he felt to Sherlock Holmes, the less his goals became pertinent. The less important his success became, and he just could not have that. Slipping down that rabbithole meant a disgrace to the name he carried. Tied to 'Thawne' was more than an expectation of greatness; those who failed to meet the standard were cut out. He had seen the lineage with his own eyes, the brightest parts of the tree were where the names and images blossomed, full colour, thick biographies. Meanwhile, the renegades – the ones who defied their birth requirement – where only remembered as the empty spaces where once an image stood.
A young Eobard would spend much of his afternoon clicking on the names with the most bounteous of accomplishments, and by the time he reached twelve years of age, their lives were engrained in his brain. Like set in stone. Even now, he could recall the entire holographic tapestry as if he were reading it off the air before him. Dazzling, were his ancestors. Awe-inspiring. In his head implanted the notion: I have to be great, too. No, more than that: I have to be better.
Sherlock was going to hate him after this. But, in a small spot of solace, if Eobard truly committed to running away, at least he would never have to face his disdain.
"Then learn," he replied, aiming for robotic and coming up bitter.
A crestfallen sigh was all he allowed himself to hold for. Fingers grazed his elbow, but he pulled his arm away before a grip could settle. He reversed the swell of his heart until only a speck of red peeped through its cold, concrete encasing.
"Don't stop me."
He broke the bounds of a three foot radius by surging forward.
He forced himself not to look back.
Focusing on two things at once proved, scientifically, to be impossible. It was either Sherlock or Speed – love or greatness – and Eobard didn't have it in him to not be great.