Sherlock Holmes' Pov
They were warm, but also the last for the day, kisses Watson, on me.
"You have to go, John ...?" - I ask in vain, I know the answer.
This time does not even that, just look at his load of guilt.
She sighs, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
I give him away, turning the other side, naked, covered with a sheet faded from use, often misguided, at least three years.
He sweetens me with caresses and whispered words in her hair - "I could stay, if only I could ..."
You could if you had not engaged, she snapped, but I just have this.
A little of his time now devoted almost entirely to the new house, his future wife, the family acquired the studio renovated next door that her parents have donated to the couple, with best wishes.
They were ready to plunge, although there was a subtle reference in these six months of seemingly peaceful coexistence.
Honestly I did not want to know, spying on the remains, which I was granted: after all I was not so special to Watson, no more and the worst was still another thought.
"And 'for guilt, which will come from me, John?" - Wonder, going back to fix it, because I want the comparison, even the battle, even the beating I make alive and part of something that was not the nostalgia devastating, which leaves me to see you all: yes, because a minimum on the illusion too, perhaps became a being who does not know, like a prostitute, paid not with money but with his piety.
Horrible.
My trusty assistant and cunning, in the beginning, then my best friend along the way, then my lover, surprisingly, finally, the love of all life, with strength and determination, his jealousy has always exalted , his sense of protection, content, the carnal contact, sublimated perceptions, which did not even know.
John I have been really happy with you.
My irises become poignant, he realizes it and hugs me - "I know that you can understand Sherlock ... I know you'll forgive me ... you know I love you, I ... I love you."
And you leave.
Ruminate on the night before.
We had handed over to Scotland Yard a criminal recidivist, which infested Piccadilly, bringing it up in person at the police station.
It was pouring rain, the usual London in November but in that darkness, I felt as protected by the darkness and your eyes, ever vigilant about my follies.
The coach arrived in front of our house, oops, I correct myself, my house, more than one.
You have climbed quickly to your old room, knowing that there were still some clothing.
Without saying a word, I take refuge in the chaos of my staff accommodation, a chaos that is both appropriate to reveal my nature instinctive, but confused, especially in front of your naked body: I just could not stop shaking when you showed itself at the foot of the bed, after you've removed the robe, my gift, that it considers valuable.
"I decided to stay ... you ... Sherlock?"
And I nodded, like those porcelain dolls, which have been cut off their heads and then put back to good and better, reducing it to a fake movement and uncertain, behold, I am in such a manner unbecoming REDUCED.
I am an intelligent man, I have a talent that few have yet received the gift should exchange all my deductive knowledge and virtue, for having no compromises, lies, no more than postpone a renewed cohabitation with you, John ...
I love you ... "I love you ..." - again in tears, while you kill me in this cocoon of illusion, gained thanks to your smile, this proposal does not go home, where a beautiful woman awaits you anxious and hopeful.
We are so similar, Mary and I, so wandering in almsgiving attention by a brave soldier in arms, but timid in love ...
I feel bad, cruel, I reject you, right in your becoming, which would give me enormous pleasure, protests, I shake, sink cynical and ruthless, because your enjoyment is inherent in the beast, screaming and demands satisfaction, in every human being without exception.
You have so abused that as well, for me, well ... maybe I do not love me that much ...
I've yelled and I got two slaps, then your crying and then we made love again, your generous kindness, your warm breath on me, our bodies never really full, my heart ... the our hearts, in a single beat, once again, our mouths in a last kiss ... John
John ...
"I do not want to see you again ... and this time I'm not kidding."
We are in a tavern, I demanded your presence here, amid the squalor because only we can sharpen the vision of what we have become.
"Sherlock can not jump out of your life, even if I wanted, even killing me."
Your reply is grim, harsh, but your irises are swinging, like your right knee, which blocks in a vice, when you realize, blushing at that.
"You're talking behind your sentences to these fake, there is no force now, my dear John, no arrogance, you can not get anything from me."
"I already have everything, you, Sherlock."
Says so hard, but the shortness of breath after my frosty silence, your insane certainties are about to crumble.
A tear welling up, then bounce on your left cheekbone, the weaker party, that of your heart ... John
"I will never stop loving you, but this will never prevent me preserve a modicum of dignity ... and that's what I eat now to give you up, as you did with me John, without pity for this old fool in love yourself to death ... you. "
I get up, I feel evil invade, I'm going to pass out and if it were not for that beer, I gulped down without informing the taste, I would be dehydrated even the dull ache that is devouring me.
The street is deserted, and wet cobblestones, I feel the stench of the slums, the laughter of the sailors, for some clumsy joke, the noises of the port, the rotting boards, the smell of tobacco spit on the sidewalk.
I'm finished, I just want your embrace, a safe place, but here there is nothing and no one who can really save.
Someone pushes me, then snatching the watch from his pocket: you left me, with a dedication - § In a sense from you that in my days, I love you § JW
I recover from the surprise and push him against the opposite wall, I start hitting with a violence that desperate possessed.
Only your action, allows him to escape my fury.
I return the stolen goods, like a child, which was stolen from the moon.
I cower in a corner, her eyes locked with agitation, the chest that looks like a bellows, I am upset and ashamed of my reaction, in your presence, because what bothers me is just another confirmation of what you were right: you had everything about me, John.
I succor - "... Sherlock Sherlock, but it could kill you ..."
Hold me, choking with your strong arms, your spicy scent, I get drunk in your neck of this fragrance and I kiss you, kiss you and adore you ...
"I love you ... my angel ... John ..."
"My love ... my love ... priceless" - and I whisper and kiss me and you ... you are my world ...
And here I thought it was your last kiss was wrong.
THE END
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