after all that, it's come to this.

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after all that, it's come to this.

Post  Dahmer Oriel on Fri Nov 08, 2013 12:38 am




THIS IS RAMBLY AND I DIDN'T REALLY EDIT.



              The second he heard the sound of the door snap shut behind Sherlock's departing form, Dahmer Oriel released his breath with an explosive sigh. He peered around a wall, taking in the empty room with grateful relief. And yet as the silence continued, a sharp pang needled its way into his heart as he fully acknowledged his friend's absence. The male wasn't sure how much more he could take – the past few weeks had been a vicious cycle of emotional highs and lows, and Dahmer felt as though he was experiencing whiplash. He would miss Sherlock desperately whenever she took off to do whatever it was she did – and sometimes he'd find himself keeping time until she returned. Then as soon as he felt her presence once again, a different kind of pain would take over. If loving her from afar had been torture, this was a whole new kind of hell. When the male first insisted that Sherlock stay with him while he fixed up her house, he had been excited. The thought of spending so much more time with his beloved friend had thrilled the wolf in an anxious sort of way. He had pictured her living with him a million times before – and this was far from those imagined moments, but it was still more than he ever would have asked for. He had even been ecstatic to discover that the storm caused a great deal more damage than initially predicted. His own home had held up fairly nicely – aside from a few issues with the tree house. Easily fixed. Sherlock's home on the other paw – well, he was intensely grateful that he hadn't given in to Sherlock's refusal when he first dragged her away the day of the storm. There was no way she would have escaped further injury had he let her stay behind. The repairs were going to take awhile.

            He had every intention of taking his time with the repairs, too. Sure, it would make it so Sherlock had to stay even longer... but there really was no excuse for shoddy workmanship, was there? It was very important that he took his time in order to do everything right. If he rushed the job, who knew what kind of issues would crop up later on. This diligent attitude lasted an entire three days before the male's outlook changed drastically. It wasn't long before he was spending as much time as he could over at Sherlock's place, working hour after hour in order to get everything finished as quickly as possible. Still, the carpenter in him refused to allow for a rushed job – so everything was accomplished carefully and thoroughly. And it was taking forever. Every day seemed to get worse and worse. Sherlock wasn't doing anything wrong, either. And that just added to the difficulty. She was a perfectly reasonable house guest. She wasn't messy, she wasn't rude – she was herself. And that was the problem. Before, Dahmer could handle his feelings when around her because he knew that she'd always leave for home and he'd have a break. A chance to breathe a little easier, to not have to censor his every sentence, deliberate his every move. But now Sherlock didn't go home. He had no opportunity to release the pent up tension and frustration he had over his own feelings. He had to sit across from her for hours, fighting the urge to move closer, the need to blurt out how he really felt for her. It was torture. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable... and as a result, he sacrificed his own mental well being.

                 Things got a little better when the female's ankle healed enough to allow for a few short walks during the day. Dahmer had taken time away from the repairs in order to fashion his friend a simple cane. He was well aware that Sherlock would have started walking on her leg before it was entirely healed – at least with a cane, she'd be able to keep most of her weight off the healing limb. She had accepted his gift with a smile and a small look that had stopped Dahmer's heart for what felt like an entire minute. For days the male would fall asleep picturing that expression behind his eyes.
 As the days continued to to pass, Sherlock would stay out longer and longer, pushing her leg further with every walk. Dahmer would grow to count on these walks, gathering strength during the hours she was away. Then just because he never could be content with any situation, he'd find himself missing his friend and would need to keep busy until she returned. That was how the first week and a half passed. Time continued to play its tricks – it would drag on forever one moment, then skip forward effortlessly the next. It didn't help that the passage of time appeared to depend on whether or not he was enjoying himself. Typical. In any case, Dahmer was dealing. He had found a way to manage his feelings, gathering enough strength during her absences in order to go on. It looked as though things were going to be okay. If he could survive just a little longer, the repairs would be done and things would go back to normal. He was better at loving her from a distance.

                  So it was finally looking as though everything was going to be okay. He was visiting Ghost a lot, too. That made things better. Dahmer had even run into Zane a couple of times. Seeing the way Ghost looked at the brownish male and then hearing how Zane talked about her filled the former assassin with warmth. He was happy for Ghost. There was a bit of wistfulness to that emotion as well, but Dahmer was coping with that as well. He was good at that.
 Then Sherlock had to changed everything. Just as she always seemed to do, the female threw Dahmer for a loop, knocking his paws right out from under him. The day had started out like all the others. They had actually set out in the morning together – he was heading to her place to finish up his work on the roof and Sherlock was going to spend a few hours walking around the area. The two of them made plans to meet up late afternoon in order to return home together, then parted. He offered his friend a fond smile and a cheerful wave before continuing on to his destination. The day passed pleasantly enough and thanks to the great weather, the carpenter was able to accomplish a great deal more than he initially expected to. Dahmer called it quits about an hour before evening set in, packing his tools away carefully before setting off to meet his friend. The male even found himself looking forward to spending the evening with Sherlock – usually the prospect of spending any time in close proximity with her would cause an anxious sort of feeling to take up residence in his chest. Tonight, it was nowhere to be found. He should have known better.

                   Dahmer had made his way through the forest at a leisurely, comfortable place. There was a bounce to his step as he moved along, his tool belt jingling against his waist. Days later, he would curse himself for not questioning such a happy mood. For thinking that the two of them would have a good time together. Because it sure as hell didn't take long for it to become apparent that Sherlock wanted no such thing. His cheerful greeting was met with a mere nod and the briefest of smiles. She barely responded to any of his questions, and wouldn't tell him how she had spent her day. Dahmer made a few more attempts at conversation before giving up entirely and lapsing into a stony silence. Inside his head, his thoughts were anything but silent. They crowded his mind, overlapping each other and feeding off his worry. He was hurt and devastated. What had he done? Did he slip at some point and say something to her without realizing it? Had he completely blown it and now she was just too uncomfortable to be around him? As they arrived home, he retreated to his chair and took cover behind his book. Instead of reading though, he spent the rest of his evening going over every second the two had spent together the last few days. But he was at a complete loss. And Sherlock's troubling silence continued on before Dahmer surrendered and retreated up into his tree house to sleep for the night.

                And now here he was, three days later. If Dahmer had felt tortured during the initial stretch of Sherlock's stay, it was nothing compared to what he was dealing with now. Sherlock hadn't offered up a single word in what felt like forever. And he still had no idea what he had done to deserve this embargo on conversation.
 As soon as the female left, Dahmer fell back into his chair. His hands moved to rub at his eyes as he drew a shuddering breath. He was at the end of his rope. And as devastated as he felt, anger was quickly moving in. It pushed aside the hurt and confusion as it made enough room for itself in order to grow. His hands dropped to the chair's arm rests, his massive claws digging in to the material. He hadn't done a single thing to offend her. And yet here he was, once again with the short end of the stick. No matter how kind he was, no matter how helpful he was for her – it was never enough. He was always going to fall victim to one of her stupid moods. So why the hell did he bother?! If he was just going to be screwed over in the long run, why was he trying so god damn hard? He was never going to make her happy. She would never love him and he needed to start properly dealing with that. Right now. The male glared out the window in the direction Sherlock had headed. He was going to confront her. Ask her what her problem was. That would help him cope – finally being able to say the things he wanted instead of keeping them trapped inside. She could be silent all she wanted. It was his turn to speak.

               The door slammed behind him and Dahmer's stride took him away from his home quickly. He paused for a second, delaying long enough to catch his old partner's scent in the wind. As soon as he was able to follow her trail, he picked up the pace once again. She had a little over twenty minutes on him, but Dahmer knew he'd track her down soon enough. He definitely had enough anger to keep him going all day – this had been building up for so long now. Usually Sherlock's silent period didn't bother him. They often coincided with some sort of mental epiphany or need to work on a case. Dahmer would wait patiently and soon enough she'd come back to him, usually with an answer to some issue they had. But not this time. They didn't have a case. There were no problems and she had no reason to do this to him! He always gave her the benefit of the doubt... but now...he couldn't do it anymore. And she was going to hear about it.

                      Dahmer crashed through the woods, shoving branches aside as his giant paws crunched the leaves that littered the ground. He broke through the trees and into a clearing, shielding his eyes against the sudden sunlight. The male glared across the clearing, his gaze zeroing in on his quarry. There she was right there up in the...tree? What was she doing, climbing on that ankle?! She was going to hurt herself again! What if she fell? His exasperation cut into the anger that had lead him all the way here. It dulled his fury, the old familiar worry for her flooding his chest. He was at a complete loss. The male spent several minutes just standing there, staring up at her, incredulous. He wasn't entirely sure what to do – a part of him wanted to just retreat, to give up as usual and run back into the woods. But the thought of spending another agonizing night in silence spurred him on, and finally the dam broke. SHERLOCK! He bellowed, stomping forward. What the fuck are you doing up there?! And what is your problem?! What the hell did I do this time? He was a little alarmed at how loud he was being – his words were tainted by the anger, hurt and worry he felt about her. Another part of him wanted to shake her out of the tree – he was able to repress that urge, though. Instead he brought himself closer until he was almost directly beneath the tree. He was shaking with anger, but as he glared up at the black shape above him, a little worry worked its way into his eyes as well.                  

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Re: after all that, it's come to this.

Post  sherlock holmes on Mon Nov 11, 2013 3:28 am


i'm not the one that you want, i'll only let you down.

The storm that had blown through two weeks earlier had been more devastating than what Dahmer and Sherlock had anticipated. Several trees had been partially uprooted; branches were left hanging loosely to trees they belonged to or blown off by the force of the wind. Dahmer’s tree-house and main home had somehow managed to escape devastating damage, but had still needed some minor repairs- the same, however, could not be said for Sherlock’s own home. When the pair had gone to investigate her home (Sherlock’s first outing with the dreaded, but unfortunately handy, cane), they had found the main door blown off, and several of the glass in her windows were smashed by tree branches which also littered her floor.

Leaving Dahmer to the repairs, Sherlock had spent her weeks documenting the extensive damage and had plans to see the natural progression of healing the trees would do over time. It was on one of her rounds when she had finally had a proper meeting with the wolf that she was certain was going to replace her. However, the meeting hadn’t gone quite like Sherlock had expected. She had expected to find Ghost dull and not worth her time, since all they really had in common was Dahmer. And at first that’s what Sherlock had felt, but then Ghost had begun to absolutely gush with affection about Dahmer which was doing nothing but securing the thought that she was going to lose Dahmer, and lose him quickly. Sherlock remembered the feeling that had quickly arisen during that conversation with Ghost, remembered it clearly as if it was still running through her veins; it had taken her a while to put a name to the emotion, but once she had named it she knew it was correct- jealousy. Having never experienced the emotion before, she couldn’t understand completely why she was jealous of the fact that Dahmer was suddenly showing an interest in someone else; but for so long it had just been her and Dahmer against the world and Sherlock knew that she didn’t want that to change.

Somehow, though, the wolf that was supposed to be dull and uninteresting did something that surprised Sherlock- she clued into something that Sherlock had failed to see. It was at that moment that everything had come clearly into focus, like a lightbulb finally getting enough power to illuminate a dimly lit room. Ghost had accused Sherlock of playing around with Dahmer’s feelings, especially since she’d have to know that Dahmer was head over heels in love with her. It was with those words where everything finally made sense: the reason things had been so tense lately, especially now that she was living with him for the time being, why he had left Jasper Valley those few months previous and why he had been so angry with her. Oh, she always accused others of seeing but not observing, and here she was having done the exact same thing. Sherlock knew that she could be fallible, and that she missed things, but this mistake had been massive- it was the biggest mistake of them all. Sherlock couldn’t believe that she had seen but had failed to observe; all of the evidence had pointed directly at it, and it had been staring her right in the face- but because of her lack of understanding, she had failed to understand what it had meant. Now, however, the pieces were finally falling into place and Sherlock had a lot to think about.

Several days had passed but it felt like mere seconds for Sherlock, as she was busy going over the last few months worth of evidence in her mind. She knew that it wasn’t fair to Dahmer, staying so silent, yet she believed that he would just understand that she was in one of her moods and she would eventually come back to herself. Sherlock hardly paid attention to where she was going, barely hearing the door shut behind her as she left Dahmer’s home for a few hours, hoping a change of scenery would allow her to get some more perspective in this difficult situation. She knew that she’d have to eventually talk to Dahmer about this, otherwise she really risked the chance of losing him for good; but first, she needed time to finish going over everything, before she screwed everything up. With something this large and important, she wanted to do it right.

Dahmer’s words finally broke through Sherlock’s mind, pulling her back to herself in a way that she hadn’t been since her meeting with Ghost. She blinked as she took in the bright sunlight that was shining down on her, in the tree she barely remembered climbing. A few seconds passed before she glanced down at her furious friend, his body trembling with the emotion. His sudden appearance and attitude finally got her hackles up, finding the need to become defensive as Dahmer accused her of having a problem, that he had done something to deserve whatever it was she was doing to him. What you did? What are you going on abo-- oh. Oh, of course. You think I’m angry with you, and that I’m what, that I’m punishing you?

Relying on muscle memory and years of experience alone, Sherlock barely thought as she climbed down the tree with little issue and landed gracefully on the ground several feet in front of Dahmer, feeling only the barest of twinges from her leg. If only things could be so simple! I should be punishing you for what you’ve done, making me become sentimental! Her words were coming out quickly, practically sneering the words without thought. Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side, and you’ve done me the worst possible favour and made me fall in love with you!
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Re: after all that, it's come to this.

Post  Dahmer Oriel on Tue Nov 12, 2013 3:56 am




THIS IS RAMBLY AND I DIDN'T REALLY EDIT.


Already Dahmer was falling into a well known routine. Fall outs with Sherlock always followed a specific pattern and he'd been following their schedules for so long it was almost second nature. They would all start one way – she'd fall into one of her typical silences for no apparent reason and ignore him for however long it took to work things out, or she'd say something callous that he'd take offense to. Whether it was an offhand comment Sherlock wouldn't think twice about – something that would hurt Dahmer in a way that caused him to second....and third or fourth or millionth guess their friendship. His former partner would continue on in her own world, comforted and distracted by her busy and complicated thoughts: the only things that really seemed to matter to her. Dahmer would stew over his perceived wrong for as long as he could before things all came to a boiling point. Then came the confrontation. And even that always went along like a smoothly rehearsed play.

                      As the male stood below the tree, glaring up at the black wolf, he felt as though he could almost count down the seconds before the next part of their production proceeded. Denial was next. He could hear her now – she had no idea what she was doing. Had she really been silent for days? Surely it had only been mere seconds since they last spoke! And even if that was true, what did it matter? Their friendship wasn't based entirely on mutual conversation! They didn't need to be in constant communication every second of every day. That was just frivolous! Talking wasted time if it didn't have a specific purpose. Dahmer was silly to expect something like that. It was a perfectly choreographed routine that had been perfected over the years of their relationship. And it didn't matter how many times Dahmer went through it, or how much he expected it. He fell for it every time. From her feigned ignorance and the denial of any culpability right along until she finally acknowledged his injured feelings. That wasn't the end of it, though – after a great deal of back and forth Sherlock would give in, but without actually admitting any wrong doing. Then - and this was the master stroke -  she would make Dahmer feel stupid and petty for expecting an apology. Every time. It never failed. He always went along with it, he always allowed her to talk him into her way of seeing things. But not now. Not this time. Sherlock could take and mock all she wanted, Dahmer was not going to give in today. She was going to hear exactly what was on his mind. After all this was done with, Sherlock Holmes was going to realize just how hurtful her actions were. He just didn't realize how hurtful she really could be.

                           The sky darkened around them, clouds moving in quickly as though they were taking cues for their dramatic little play. A wind blew in from the eastern mountains, whistling through the bare branches and teasing his fur. He shivered slightly, but otherwise ignored the sudden change in temperature. Dahmer Oriel had been dealing with hot and cold for a long time now – he was used to chilliness and his anger was doing a good job at keeping him warm. He watched as his shouted words finally got through to their target, raising an eyebrow as she blinked against the last of the remaining sun. The female looked down at him, reacting immediately to his angry shouts. Her ears shot forward aggressively, a defensive scowl twisting her lips. It didn't take long for the female to take the offensive, either. The female never failed to make the massive male feel as small as possible. Her dismissive tone was all it took – she hadn't even spared a thought over how Dahmer had been feeling. She wasn't even aware that she had been ignoring him, that he just might possibly be upset! The female moved from her perch in the tree, slipping gracefully through the branches until her paws reached solid ground. No limp or hesitation whatsoever, as if she hadn't injured herself at all. He gave this thought only a second's consideration before focusing on her earlier tone. An angry snarl rumbled in the former assassin's chest and he took another step forward, pausing for a second as his left foot rested upon the cane he had made her. Had she just tossed it aside before climbing up the tree for some dumb reason? Or had the cane fallen from whatever resting place she put it against? Dahmer knew which scenario he'd be placing his bet on. But any nasty comments that were about to slip from his tongue were stalled by the female's next words. Dahmer straightened up from his crouch, the carved stick in his hand. He listened carefully to what Sherlock was saying, surprise and confusion pushing aside his anger. He cocked his head to the side, completely stumped. Now what was she going on about? Sentimental? What the hell was Sherlock Holmes sentimental about? That one mystery one time that was super hard to figure out until her brilliance overcame everything?  He was about to ask just that, but Sherlock wasn't finished – her sneering words continued.

                           This was what he got for assuming a routine would be followed. As soon as the words left Sherlock's mouth and reached his ears, the fight momentarily went out of Dahmer Oriel. He felt the strength leave his legs and it took the wolf everything he had left to keep him on his feet. He couldn't speak. He couldn't react and remained deadly silent for several minutes. The weather took advantage of the dramatic silence and moved in, the sky finally opened up, sending frigid rain down on them. The storm started all at once, pouring instantly instead of starting with a sprinkle. A lot like what was happening now. There was no easing in – it hit him all at once and he didn't know how to react. He was soaked before he even realized what was happening. Where was the routine? Why weren't they following the script? Did she actually tell him she loved him?! The verbal silence continued on and on as Dahmer struggled to come to terms with what was happening, with what was said. The spell was finally broken as Dahmer moved, blinking furiously and pulling in a ragged breath. He was fairly certain that his brain wasn't working – at the very least he was having a stroke and was hemorrhaging internally all at once.   Well. He spoke softly, his words faint. His eyes had been staring through her, completely unfocused as he struggled to compose himself. They turned to stare directly into her own gaze, no longer unseeing as he managed a modicum of control over his faculties. The tumult of his mind was still painfully great, but he figured he wasn't in any danger of losing it. In fact, his next moves were surprisingly deliberate.

                              He moved even closer, ignoring the invisible wall that she'd put up against him for so long. Within seconds, the two of them were almost nose to nose, the closest he'd ever been to her in such an intimate matter.  
He found that it was becoming increasingly more difficult to breathe, but couldn't bring himself to care. The male reached out and ran his hand along the profile of her face, his clawed fingers lightly caressing her cheek before coming to a stop just before her shoulders. He didn't break eye contact. His blue eyes were soft and almost imploring, scrutinizing her as though he'd be able to read her mind if he just watched her carefully enough. But did he really want to know what her thoughts were when the words she did speak were so full of vitriol? No, he didn't. Nothing she could say would ever be good for him. She would never be good for him. He didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve him. These thoughts transformed the look on his face, his eyes hardening abruptly as his lip lifted in a silent snarl. The hand that rested on her shoulder curled into a shaking fist and he had to make himself step away before he lashed out at the tree behind her. There was a loud crack that didn't seem to belong in the moment and the male was at a complete loss until he looked down at his other hand and finally released the cane that had been clenched in his fist. The two separate pieces fell to the ground at his feet and he stumbled backward a few more steps. The shock was wearing off and anger was quickly taking its place. He wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen next. It was interesting – she had told him that she loved him. Something he had dreamed about and wanted desperately for what felt like his entire life. And not a single positive thought was spared for that revelation. All thanks to the callous and unfeeling way she revealed her revelation. She wasn't happy about it. She didn't want to love him anymore than he wanted to love her. The difference between the two was that Dahmer wasn't taking his regret out on her. But Sherlock had no such qualms. In that moment, Dahmer Oriel believed he truly knew what it felt like to hate. Throughout his entire career as an assassin he'd never experienced that raw emotion – he'd always felt adversarial respect for his opponents. And in their death they were never hated, but properly buried and tended to according to Bureau customs. The Shadowrunners and their ideals – all horrible things that he disagreed with vehemently.... but to hate another actual being? Never. Until now.

                          The male's intense gaze never wavered, but his cold glare warmed until his eyes were burning into hers and Dahmer Oriel looked every bit the trained killer he was. He drew himself up to his full height and towering over her, the male finally responded. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time. I apologize for weakening you so. I'd hate to have become more of a liability for you. Especially since we both know how perfectly neat and uncomplicated you prefer everything to be. I was fucking stupid to think that feelings could have entered into the equation at all. His words crackled like ice, oddly formal in contrast to how he usually spoke to her. He just couldn't understand how someone could butcher what would normally be an astoundingly happy confession. Was she really that clueless when it came to emotion? Or did she just not care? He figured that if she was worried about liabilities and weaknesses, love was absolutely the last thing she could ever want. So it wasn't just him – it was anyone. She was just incapable of proper love through and through. This revelation did not make things any better.

                                   I thank you for proving me right, Sherlock. Your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others are all reasons why silence was the best policy when dealing with all of this, rather than honesty. I'm glad I kept my mouth shut and only wish that you had kept yours just as tightly closed. The last sentence was spat angrily and he kicked the cane pieces out of his way, spraying water and mud everywhere. He had spent so much of his time filtering his thoughts and censoring his words when around her – but there was nothing stopping him from speaking the truth now. That was his problem, he realized. Sherlock didn't give a shit about telling the truth, at least not the truth as it appeared in her eyes. She didn't give a damn how her careless words hurt others. What he wanted more than anything was to hurt her in return. But if she didn't care for him like he had her, what damage could his words do? Nothing. She was already too far gone from him. If he ever had her in the first place. No, he never had her love. He was beginning to think that maybe he didn't even have her friendship, either. It was all just for the sake of convenience. It was time to make it even easier for her. Time to cut her loose. You're off the hook. I don't care if you love me or not. I don't care how you wanted this whole confession to turn out. I'm done. You can go. You're free to live with as little liabilities as possible. There was a lot more he wanted to say. A lot more he wanted to shout at her. But at the moment the male wasn't entirely sure he was capable of keeping himself together. For once in his life, he was actually afraid that he might do something dangerous, something horribly wrong. So he forced the words to stop flowing from his mouth, bit his tongue and took another step back, his hands clenched at his sides. The rain continued to pour down around them, the sky almost as dark as night. He stood a ways away from her, his shoulders hunched and his chest heaving. They were finally being one hundred percent honest with each other – the silence was broken and they were communicating. But he found himself wishing desperately for the blessed relief of ignorance and quiet.

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Re: after all that, it's come to this.

Post  sherlock holmes on Sun Nov 17, 2013 1:08 am


as if this could last forever; as if we could last forever.

Sherlock took a deep breath as her words settled in the space between the two wolves, her eyes landing on the cane that Dahmer had been in the process of picking up- the thought that it must have been blown over by the strong wind that was accompanying another storm made a brief appearance in her mind before her eyes fell on to Dahmer’s still form. She had a feeling that she’d already messed this up as what she had said finally penetrated her own mind. She had allowed her emotions get the best of her (and that’s what had gotten her into this mess in the first place) and she was unsure on how to backtrack; she certainly hadn’t meant for the words to come pouring out like they had, but surely Dahmer would be able to understand that, right?

The black wolf opened her mouth to try to start over when the skies opened up and rain started to pour down once again, as if the rain two weeks prior hadn’t been enough. She lifted her head up towards the sky, glaring up pointlessly at it, as if looks would be enough to still the falling water. Instead she turned her gaze back to Dahmer’s form, silver eyes pausing on his face as she watched him try to process her words. Dahmer was still as ice, his face blank as his mind tried to process the harsh words that Sherlock had carelessly spit out. Was that how she looked when she was processing information, when she reached that moment where everything became clear and the pieces finally fell into place? Time seemed to stretch on for what seemed ages while Dahmer processed the new revelation but in reality was only a few moments before Dahmer spoke his one simple word.

Her heart was deep in her throat and she was deafened by hearing her heart beat in her ears, droning out the falling water and Sherlock found it impossible to move as large friend moved towards her, tensing up as he stopped so he was nose to nose with her. There was nowhere for her to go, with the tree directly behind her. It would have been so easy to lean in and bump noses (and where exactly were these urges coming from?) but Sherlock held herself still, instead finding herself content to just keep eye contact with Dahmer. The rain may have been pouring, soaking Sherlock to the bone, yet she found that at this point in time it didn’t matter; at this moment, there was just her and Dahmer.

It felt like years since Dahmer took those few steps in front of her before he made his next move, while logically Sherlock knew that it could only be mere seconds. Sherlock felt herself tense briefly as Dahmer finally made his move, tracing the side of her face with a ghost of pressure- it took everything in her power not to lean into his palm and stay there, but before she could he let his paw rest between her neck and shoulder. If she thought that time had distorted itself before, it was nothing like what happened next. Sherlock found her eyes locked with Dahmer’s soft and imploring, and she knew that if there was a time when she wished Dahmer could read her mind, it would be then. She wished that he could read on her face (that she was so used to keeping guarded, that she didn’t know how to fully let go of) all of the words that she couldn’t put into words- all of the confusing love she felt for him, the admiration, the caring, the dependency, along with all of the fear of acknowledging these new found emotions. Couldn’t he understand that the black female was terrified because she was experiencing something she had no previous data on, no previous experience on handling, that it was like waking up in a pitch black room with no use of her senses? In essence, she was nothing but a newborn, stuck at the mercy of learning by trial and error. Please, please, pleasepleaseplease, she found herself pleading as they continued to stand so close yet not uttering a single word.

All of her hopes were dashed when the look on Dahmer’s face darkened, transforming into a look of pure anger. She had only seen Dahmer look that angry a handful of times, but it had never been directed at her. In fact, it was something worse than anger; anger was something Sherlock would have been able to swallow, at least it would have been better than the absolute look of hate she saw on her friend’s face. The look on his face was so familiar to her, yet so foreign on Dahmer’s face; she was no stranger to receiving looks of hatred and distaste when growing up, before and after she had met Dahmer. She had found at an early age, in order to protect herself that she would have to lock away all of her emotions because of how different her mind worked. It was ironic that after trying to figure out these emotions, what should emerge was even more hate? She knew that she shouldn’t be surprised that she had finally managed to make Dahmer hate her - she had always had a small slice of hope that she wouldn’t be able to alienate herself from the one friend she had ever known – but she hadn’t known that it would hurt like hell.

The snap of the cane between his large paw made Sherlock flinch and finally break eye contact, her eyes going down and looking at the broken cane; she found it quite symbolic of their friendship. What followed hurt worse than the look of absolute hatred on Dahmer’s face - if Sherlock wasn’t standing directly in front of him, she wouldn’t have believed these hurtful words were coming from her dear friend’s lips. Dahmer was always kind and considerate, always thinking about what he said and how it would affect the person he was saying them to, he was the polar opposite of Sherlock. Instead, his words were like knives as he spat them out at her and it took everything in her to stop from physically flinching. The smaller assassin wanted desperately to tell her friend that the she hadn’t meant the words she had spoken when he had arrived, that she hadn’t meant for them to come out that way; she wanted to tell him that she was terrified of these feelings that had been creeping up on her, that she didn’t know how to handle them, but that she did want to figure them out with him. She was about to open her mouth to say something, anything, but Dahmer continued on, wounding her even more, and she abruptly snapped her jaw shut. What was the point then, her words had gotten her into this mess but she knew that whatever she said, whatever she did, it wouldn’t change Dahmer’s mind. The only thing she could do was to do what he wished, and that was to just go – besides, how did you tell someone who was so angry with you that you didn’t want to go?

Thankful for the first time that it was absolutely pouring, Sherlock could pretend that it was just water running down her face. She closed her eyes for a moment as Dahmer’s last words settled around them, dipping her head to her chest while she took a deep breath to get in control of her body and emotions. When she looked back up, her face was a blank canvas, a look of indifference securely in place. It was her typical piece of body armour, something that felt more natural than her assassin’s robes that she had donned with pride during her time at Jasper Valley. Her heart was heavy, her insides hurt with each second that slipped them by, and she was at a loss of words but she still had her armor. This was far from my intentions, but you’re clearly unwilling to change your mind. So I’ll give you what you clearly wanted when you first left Jasper Valley. Her words lacked her usual scathing bite while being as close to an apology as she was able to give, given the situation. Her body felt like molasses as she made herself move passed Dahmer, only allowing herself to say a quiet goodbye.

With every inch of her wanting to stay, Sherlock mentally squared her shoulders continued passed Dahmer, fighting her instinct of wanting to turn around and take one last look at her friend. She knew that she’d be fine being alone, she had been fine once before, but the difference between then and now was that she found that she didn’t want to be alone.
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