Chapter VII
"breath"
The air is heavy, consciousness slipping onto and out of his fingertips. Sherlock is pacing to and fro along the street, rumpling the clothing in his trembling hands. Moriarty breathes heavily, the sound echoing dully in the suddenly empty street. There are less and less girls, the nearer the howling of the sirens echoes across the skeletal buildings surrounding them and yet Sherlock notices neither the ambulance nor a few squad cars, that is, until the driving lights are shooting at him, square in the eyes. He winces, seeing only whiteness for a while.
"Sherlock!" Lestrade's cry fills the air a moment later and soon a slightly bulky shadow blocks the brightness entirely. He doesn't move an inch though, although arms are being outstretched forward and a grief-stricken face swims across his eyes, the man in front of him trying desperately to say something, to utter even just a sound.
A few minutes of unbearable silence last between them and it's only then that Lestrade slowly lowers his hands and roughly puts them into the pockets. Sherlock feels the lemon-like taste of regret slipping that moment past his tongue and he shamefully moves his gaze at the ground, jumper heavy, his fingers feeling boneless all of the sudden.
" Once again enjoying the little spotlight you can get yourself, aren't you now, freak?" Hips stroll to the side out of another car and Donovan smiles sharply, unpacking a fresh pair of latex gloves. They shimmer in the light just as coldly as her eyes and soon she winks at Sherlock, sneering silently. She's clad in that old mottled grey overcoat of hers and is trembling lightly under the wind hitting her fully on the naked throat from time to time. Her teeth blaze against the searchlights while she walks past him, perfumes clinging heavily to the air around her. "Finally tried yourself in the field of killin'? Huh, another bet won."
Sherlock doesn't even bother to acknowledge her comments, still avoiding Lestrade's keen eyes. He slumps his shoulders ever so slightly, moving out of her way when she finally pulls the gloves fully on with a sickening smack, strolling over to Moriarty. She narrows her dark eyes at that, gesturing for a few policemen standing right behind her to safeguard the street with the tape and telling some other to find bystanders at any cost.
"Not too talkative this morning, are we?" Donovan creeps up to him curiously, forgetting momentary about Moriarty. Paramedics are waiting a few feet away from them, fully equipped and ready to take the man into hospital at any moment but she waves at them dismissively, still observing Sherlock from the corner of her eye. He averts her gaze, concentring on the material still being cradled in his arms, trying to memorize every thread, each weave and knot with his fingertips. Lestrade glances at him front time to time worriedly, talking to an officer at the side.
She moves with grace, swiftly and before Sherlock has the time to react, she's already behind him, whispering into his ear venomously, tasting each syllable with pietism and joy "You fool, he left you, didn't he?" There's a distant echo of laughter in that hallow tone of her voice and Sherlock goes numb momentarily, his fists clenching around the jumper and skin blanching slowly until it's ashen white. "Poor little freaky detective once again left all alone?" She blows gently into his ear, tones mixing up in his head quickly, blending into one another and then growing painfully articulated once again.
"How sad." Donovan's chuckle resounds in his skull painfully, needles of her every breath sinking in but before she can say anything more, Sherlock whirrs around and grabs fistful of her hair, yanking her face dangerously close to his own, jumper streaming gently down the crook of his other arm.
"He didn't leave me." His eyes darken and gleam with fury she's never seen before and Donovan tries to back off somehow, suddenly frightened, but his grip is already iron-like, knuckles snow-white in-between her locks, voice as faint as the wind's breath. His whole body quivers, feverish, ragged breath with a minty aftertaste ghosting over her cheeks. With a jolt of surprise she notices within a second his eyelashes being broken and just how blood-shot his eyes are. Her legs are jelly-like and even though Anderson is just a few steps away from them, she can't find the voice to call for help. She's hypnotized, staring into his dot-like pupils, not being able to look away. She trembles at his harsh tone, venom and rage dripping from every sound he whirs. "He didn't, do you hear me? He. Didn't. Leave. Me."
Sherlock sneers for a moment at her, just the way she did all those times at him, her opened wide with shock eyes full of stars. He is inching closer and closer until their noses nearly brush. "Say one more thing, fuck-freak" he snarls, still not raising his voice, boring into her eyes and Donovan winces at the insult in spite of herself finally "and I swear, I take oath, I'll replace that fucking skull on my fire-place's pledge with your pickled head."
He bends down a little and murmurs silkily into her ear, ignoring the chill clearly going through her face. "I am a man of my word, whore."
And then a second passes and his face is once again blank, his hands once again stroking the jumper gently. Silently he walks up to Moriarty and Donovan just gapes at his back with her throat clenched as tightly as never before.