Sherlock Holmes Pov
A mad dance.
Here's where you've just thrown my John, at the center of the camp of the gypsies of the beautiful Madame Sim, in this amazing night.
We were greeted with curiosity and suspicion, perhaps, but now it seems that we are born, among these eternal wanderers, that look like, thinking about it, the essence of our love, John, whose path is endless, at least in my personal intentions.
Now you're married, in fact, have put a dividing line between your new life and those who breathe with me, I have taught you anything lawful or unlawful as the dance, like sneaking in the apartments where we were looking for clues.
Thieves feelings only, I wonder, when I walk in front of laughing like a madman, or entitled to a bond untouchable.
You probably are no longer mine, when but I'll always be yours, John Watson.
Irresistible: all this is damn and when I grabbed it, throwing into the fray, I can not escape, emigrated from that place on my ridiculous dance.
The night sky seems to fall upon him, you are completely drunk and wine, wonderful people of this: they are free, nobody seems to give weight to our hugs and you're kissing me now.
You have to be right in the throes of a massive hangover, my sweet soldier, your juicy mouth and I would not want to abandon that you do not do that John, at the end of this adventure.
"Stay with me forever ..." - you whisper, a step away from tears.
I'm depressed, suddenly, stupidly added for the agglomeration of favorable events for this idyllic, sheltered from the Victorian narrow-mindedness, in a world that does not exist and which is not really belong to us.
I drag them to a sort of cabin, undressing and touching me all over, after sealing a wooden door crude.
Within this hovel, there are curtains, pillows, a bed canopy, silks and brocades, in stark contrast to the external appearance.
It's actually a caravan and I would like it to start, for an unknown destination, far from what I have left, or nothing, without you John.
"Asp-wait ... I do not want ..." - protested weakly, but I can not help but cling to you, love.
"You do not want? ... And 'our honeymoon ... I have the right ... "- and chuckled.
"Good Lord John, I'm not Miss Mary!" - Exclaimed disappointed, but you fixed me, smashing my anger - "I know Sherlock. I am quite sober and terribly in love with you ... ... "
Let him kiss me, shaking his bare chest, put on our pants now only more wrinkled and too much.
They are abducted, subdued but rebellious spark triggers a reaction in me broken.
I'm angry and I wriggled Corinth in a corner, between golden trinkets and a bedside lamp in a green brocade.
"So will not help John! Make love, once again, could be the last or the beginning of a murky deception, to the detriment of your new bride, what pride in all of this! What shame .... "- And swallow a sob fever, at least what your irises, which seem to glow.
We hoisted up, clenching his fists and then the eyelids, as if not wanting to watch the motion of your own revenge.
"You'll never change Sherlock! Your selfishness is at least as large nearby Paris, but what I say, goes far beyond! I was terrible at your side in moments, saving his life, assisting you lovingly, giving up friends, opportunities to work more rewarding! I never cared about, rather than lose your esteem and affection, that I longed for the first time! And if I had not taken the initiative, exposing your taunts tangible, we would have never ... "- you stop abruptly, in the absence of oxygen.
When you resume, it seems empty: I collapsed on the mattress, holding his aching head - "I'm so tired Sherlock ... I've brought to the altar, I relied on your support and understanding ... ..."
"Yes, John ... a wife for you and a death in solitude for me, these were the terms." - I say sarcastically, getting up.
"Here you see, start again ..." - murmurs resignedly.
"Enough! What should I do John, not to disappoint you more then ??!!"
Lay my life with your palms in a gesture full of sweetness.
Take me under you, both moving in the middle of this broken bed, like our beats.
John, what your eyes see, changing his expression, at this very moment?
As a reflection of us, has changed your venom in spasmodic compassion of my frail body, only when we are united in an alchemy of happiness, that no one can ever take away?
I wonder, while lunges repeatedly between the meat, torn by bullets, fists, explosions and scratches, nothing your own thunderous and devastating impact inside and outside of me.
The pleasure delete the regrets, disappointments, we are back to us, as at that time before the union of love with the governess, who has robbed me of you.
She loves you, I respect her for that and then I admire his tenacity in winning your last name ... Mrs. Watson, Mary Watson.
Explode, then sit on his knee, tangled to you, I love to feel so lost in discontinuous tremors.
Want to leave me, but I'll stop you.
No! John ... no ... not allow it ... I'm ready to throw my heart into the fire of hell, that Moriarty is spreading in our lives, even if you do it six unconscious.
There is a reason for each of my choices, even the most incomprehensible to you, now, but let you go until you are safe and I will not have any more reason to live without my man next door, without John, the only source of joy for me.
It will happen soon, now rested, warms my heart until dawn, heals my wounds incurable, will reopen to all your good-bye.
Inevitable, right?, John Watson as the love you until the end.
THE END
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