i really fucked it up this time, didn't i, my dear?

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i really fucked it up this time, didn't i, my dear?

Post  sherlock holmes on Mon Nov 18, 2013 10:52 pm


HERE YOU GO, MAH LOOVVVEEEEE. I HOPE IT MAKES SENSE. If not, that's what I get for writing during a hockey game.

The weather was a perfect match for the black female, who was currently soaked to the bone. The rain felt ice cold on her once warm skin but Sherlock barely felt a thing, too lost in her mind to care about such things. It had all gone so terribly wrong, and Sherlock had no idea how to fix it; in fact, from Dahmer’s words, there was no point in even trying to fix it. She’d messed everything up and for once in her life, Sherlock was at a complete loss. Dahmer had been so completely angry with her and she wish she could say that she didn’t deserve those harsh words that he had spat at her, but even Sherlock knew that she did even if it left her insides raw and hallow. Even though she knew it was physically impossible, it felt like her heart was broken in two; it felt jagged and raw, and it hurt like nothing she had ever felt before. She found that she did not like this emotional hurt, these irrational feelings- give her her cold logic over these emotions any day.

Her body had betrayed her in the sense that the locks that she had placed on her emotions had been broken off, they had been eroded away slowly by Dahmer’s constant presence. She knew that she was changing and that he had been feeling differently, but she had been unable to put a name to what it was and most importantly, why; all she knew was that they always revolved around one wolf in particular, Dahmer. It had taken a conversation with a wolf she barely knew (and Sherlock found herself oddly interested in the wolf, in a way she hadn’t been since she had met Dahmer) for everything to finally click into place. Finding out how Dahmer felt about her had made her think about what her own feelings meant. So she had gone through her rooms upon rooms of information and memories she had on Dahmer and scoured them for anything that would give her anything about what she was feeling. She had soon come to the conclusion that she had become sentimental in what she had been raised to believe was the worst way, in a way that gave people something to use against you.

Sherlock, in her confusion, had still been trying to work out what to do with the information that she had fallen in love with her best friend when Dahmer had found her high up in a tree, catching her completely off guard. Instead of thinking rationally like she normally would, she had become defensive and let her fears and unease speak for her, and it had ruined absolutely everything. Sherlock knew that she wasn’t a particularly kind wolf and deep down, she figured she didn’t deserve Dahmer’s kindness or even his love, but she had hoped maybe, just maybe, he would give it to her. Instead, she was left with thinking about the what ifs. She knew that what ifs were utterly pointless and redundant, but Sherlock couldn’t stop thinking about them. What if she had been logical and worded things differently? What if Dahmer knew that she was terrified? What if she knew how to deal with these new emotions? What if, what if, what if? It was enough to drive her mad.


She stopped immediately in her tracks as it suddenly occurred to her that in her blind stupor, she had left absolutely everything behind. Most things she was fine with leaving behind – her assassin’s robes, all of her weapons and tools from her time spent in Jasper Valley (in fact, it would be so much more easier to try to delete Dahmer if she didn’t have any reminds of him) – but she was horrified to discover that she had left without her previous Stradivarius. Bringing her paws up to grasp the top of her head, Sherlock took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down. It was like that old human saying she had come across in a book once – it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Finally one thing too many and Sherlock didn’t know how to handle it or what she would do. She could go back to Dahmer’s den and retrieve it, but that would leave her with the possibility of seeing Dahmer again and the possibility of being at the mercy of his wrath- and if Sherlock was being honest with herself, she wasn’t sure if she was up to that. She had already walked an hour in her random direction and she would be two hours to get back to this spot. Her leg was beginning to ache with the combination of the dropping temperature and the strain she had put it through in the last hour, and with a devastating realization, she knew she’d have to leave it behind. Still, Sherlock found herself looking longinly in the direction behind her, giving herself a moment to drop all of her defenses and to just mourn the loss of everything.
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sherlock holmes
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