"We are made of all those who have built and broken us."
- Atticus Poetry
He had played his part, done his duties, solved a case and sowed a seed- it was time to leave. It was their time now, the time for them to enjoy their evening of celebrations and congratulations, their time to just be. The warmth of the day had managed to hold tightly to the darkness which had now befallen the beautiful setting, its humid hum hanging to the garden surrounding it. However a sneaky and sharp breeze permeated with every gust a slight chill, a reminder that not all warmth remained. Pulling his coat over the top of his suit he adjusted the collar as he always did, a habit that he seemingly could not break, as he strode purposefully between the flower beds. At its edge he turned to look back, the glow of merriment and varied affections bled from the windows, the symphony of music entangling itself between its threads of light. All those present coerced into its merry dance and play, except him.
His hand plunged into his pocket, seeking out the solitary cigarette he knew resided there alongside its lighter. In swift and well rehearsed movements he placed it between his lips, and lit it accordingly, allowing the scent and sensation of such a habit to take hold. Another Watson, three Watson's to be exact. Before he had time to allow that thought to settle and stew, a slender hand glided into the free hand that now hung by his side. Their fingers slotted in-between his in a manner of familiarity and comfort, they had been there before. Her words didn't startle him, as his gaze remained fixed forward and his attention purely on his smoke,
"Leaving so soon? Shame, you could have so much fun with that pretty little thing." Her crisp and precise tone broke through the air, in a way that incurred some kind of emotive response within, one of yearning if he were to be so dramatic- which he so often was. His lungs expanded with the engorged inhale on his cigarette, before his lips pursed and carried the forced exhale of its addictive smog. His head turned away from her, his eye seemingly unable to fully hold her presence- yet his hand did, before he quipped darkly,
"You can have too much fun." A smirk of humility and amusement embellished its way upon her imperial features, her mind casting back to his reference. The time in which she had too much fun, lost it all but found him. Entranced and engulfed by their game, their merry dance of cat and mouse one of which they took in turns what role to play. God she missed it, her fingers shifted slightly within his, the essence of a caress becoming in her digits before she stated in jest,
"You always liked a long game anyway."
A nonchalant shrug twitched at his shoulders, whilst she turned towards him, her body almost touching his as her fingers sought his other hand and deftly plucked the cigarette. Bringing it to her rosebud lips, rid of their crimson stain, she took a drag before allowing the smoke to spill seductively from them- as was always her way. His voice permeated the space between them, animated but succinct,
"Makes for a better win." Their eyes met and locked onto one another, a solid connection where momentarily they understood the cliché of time standing still. Its linear passage frozen, held within their gazing standoff, the warmth of their bodies spilling into one another and merging into one. Their noses almost touch, and for a moment she delighted at how his eyes flitted to her lips and his head tilted ever so slightly to the left- the age old cue. But they hold still, they stay and be. Her face no longer holds the war paint she had lacquered on so heavily before, a guard, a façade, a mask. Now her natural beauty holds itself true, whilst her dark locks are pulled back into a simple high ponytail, its natural wave and volume creating its own shape and lux. A long, dark structured coat, classic and simple, holds her figure well whilst mirroring his own favoured shape and style. He's the same, but different. At that thought her gaze averts to his prominent cupids bow, before travelling the widths and depths of his face, as she uttered into the night,
"Be careful." His eyes graze over every inch of her, every elegant line and graceful curve of her features, those of which he had strangely missed, before he quipped back,
"Never." Her all too familiar smirk once again took hold, a bewitching show of amusement, before she once again takes a deep and final drag of the cigarette before gesturing it's offered return. He takes it once more and placed it to his mouth, his lungs pull in the toxins he craves, whilst her hands fall to the lapels of his coat. Her fingers trace the seams, adjust their placement, feel their weave, as she responded with every tone of serenity,
"I wouldn't expect anything less." The internal pressure of his lungs and that of the atmosphere, bring forth the exhale he had withdrawn, the gust of smoke spiralling into the night. His arm falls to his side, allowing the cigarette to do so too, it's landing spot by his foot allowed him to quash its light. A crease of bemusement embellished his brow in the animated manner she so enjoyed to see, as he replied,
"Then why ask? You knew the answer." They both know. The want to hear and the want to admit is too strong for both, it's been a long time, a lot has happened. A lot has also not happened. Her head turned back towards the source and reason of this night, her gaze followed the merry dance of all those inside. The tumbling rainbow of disco lights echo in her eyes, as from between her lips a word seeps with reminiscent meaning,
"Sentiment." Her palms rest upon his chest, their touch surely receptive to the heightened physical response he knows he displays in her proximity. Her face however remains in profile, the sharp light of the party casting shadows and highlight on her strong features. In a movement that seemingly required little effort or forethought, he pressed his lips to her cheek, the same place she did to him all that time ago. His senses gather in every inch of her, her smell, her sigh, her skin, her warmth, her being. Her. All her. His lips lingered a moment longer than his conscience wished to allow, an ever telling pause of affection and longing. Her fingers reached up and glided along his cheekbone, taking her time to feel the sharp curve that once could've drawn blood. As she does so she hushed forth, in that heavy whisper that ensnared him so long ago,
"Goodbye Mr Holmes."