always for you.

**Dahmer Oriel** Sun Sep 08, 2013 12:28 am

DRAMA BOOOMMBB.

A storm was brewing. Dahmer was far from an expert on weather, but even the most obtuse of creatures would be able to sense the monster that was bearing down on them. The air felt heavy, an almost electric, unsettling feeling in the atmosphere. It caused the wolf's fur to stand on end, and he eyed the sky warily. The forest was silent, leaves bowing against heavy winds and low lying clouds that were black and oppressive. The old warrior was positive that he'd be able to reach them if he was dumb enough to climb a tree. It didn't take a genius to know how insane it would be to try to touch the sky – even the those who lived amongst the branches were seeking refuge and comfort on the ground. The next few days were going to be ugly indeed, especially for those who hadn't prepared for what was to come.
Fortunately, Dahmer did not belong to the ranks of the unprepared. The majority of the assassin's time had been spent storm proofing his home. The upper part of his place was emptied out and boarded up – Dahmer had no intention of riding out the storm inside his treehouse. So his most valued possessions were removed and stored in a shed made specifically for such occasions. Everything else was put away securely before the male locked up the tree house and prepared to spend the next week or so in the den he'd dug out below the tree. While this area of his home had been made well, Dahmer preferred spending his time in the rooms above ground. But the place would do for the time being. In any case, living there would probably help him develop a long list of improvements he could do in order to make everything better.

Since retiring from his old ways, Dahmer spent a lot of time on all fours, resorting to his two-legged form only when needed – to make repairs on his home or run drills with Sherlock. The wolf planned to spend the duration of the storm with full possession of hands, just in case he needed to perform any emergency repairs on his home.
He used to live entirely as a werewolf back in Jasper Valley. The only time the male would shift back was during the days he had off – and even that was rare. Usually his free time was spent training with his best friend, working to find something that would keep his partner busy. Now that he was finished with that phase of his life for the most part, the male made a point to stay closer to the ground. He was distancing himself from who he once was. He figured that maybe if he managed to change his habits, he would be able to keep himself from falling back into his old ways: thinking entirely in terms of warfare, spending zero time on himself and any hobbies and most of all, waiting around for a wolf who would never come to him. He had entered his own version of a witness protection program – only his past had caught up with him. His new identity was too close to the original, and now things were falling back into place. He both hated and loved it. Just like he hated and loved her.

Speaking of his past, Dahmer hadn't seen his old partner for a while now. He assumed that she had been capable of coming up with her own distractions. Dahmer figured she only came around when her thoughts were especially bad and she wasn't able to drive them away on her own. She obviously didn't need him just now. It was difficult for Dahmer to acknowledge these thoughts, but thankfully he had a few of his own distractions the last little while. The biggest distraction came in the form of a ratty looking wolf who smelled vaguely of home. The male had been astounded when he came across the pathetic specimen. She was skin and bones, wrapped in a matted, unhealthy coat. Her eyes were dull and full of fear, afraid to meet the gaze of anyone around her. He knew her. Well. Not personally, but Dahmer did know of her. At least, he knew of her story. There had always been rumours of a wolf being hidden away in the mountains on Shadowrunner territory. But that's all it was – rumours. And no information was ever considered substantial enough to spur the Jasper Valley clan into action. They couldn't risk a mission based on a few rumours that made it back to their home. Dahmer had often wondered if the stories were true – he could never realize how someone would do that to their own child. As much as whoever it was figured they were protecting the outcast, hiding them away was far from a sensible solution. If they truly had wanted to save her, they would have brought the wolf to Jasper Valley territory, or at the very least neutral land. She would have been taken care of. But as much thought as he put into the whole thing, Dahmer never went beyond that. She was just a rumour, a story other wolves used as an example of the consequences of war and the Shadowrunner's distorted sense of right and wrong. But Ghost wasn't just a rumour - she was the real thing. When he found her and finally discovered her story, Dahmer spent many nights wide awake, struggling with the guilt that gnawed at his insides. Just looking at her was painful. And he could have saved her, prevented her from ending up the way she did. All he had to do was ask for a special mission – hell, he could have even gone after her alone. Sherlock would have joined him – maybe not to help a stranger, but certainly in order to discover whether or not the stories were true. But he hadn't. And now all he could see was her damaged form. He had to fix things. He had to fix her.

So when the male wasn't working hard on his own home, Dahmer was spending his time with Ghost. He made sure she had plenty of food and had dedicated a day or so to making her a place to stay. Originally he had dug the female a safe and roomy cave, but was astounded when her reaction was to turn away in fear. Confused and a little hurt, it took the male a great deal of cajoling to learn why the female looked so terrified of his gift for her. It took everything Dahmer had within himself to maintain control of his fury. He wanted nothing more than to stalk Jahre through the cities before ending her miserable life. That wasn't possible, so he used his anger for a more practical cause: a perfectly comfortable and open home above ground. The entrance to her cave was in the corner of one of her rooms, accessible in case she ever needed it – although Dahmer seriously doubted she'd ever be desperate enough.
Which is why Dahmer set out for Ghost's home just before the storm. He was halfway there when the rain began. It took less than a minute for the male to be soaked to the bone. He gazed upwards at the canopy of trees above him, amazed at how ineffective the thick leaves were at keeping the rain out. It had to be coming down hard – most rain storms were light and unable to truly soak the forest floor thanks to the trees. It wasn't the case here – anyone who wasn't tucked safely away in a deep den was in trouble. His heart went out to Ghost, and the male quickened his pace. As soon as Ghost's home was within eyesight, Dahmer was about to call out for his new friend, when another wolf arrived on scene. The massive male froze in his steps, hanging back. He watched silently as the large brown wolf entered the home without knocking, his movements quick and sure. Dahmer would have been concerned if it was anyone else – but he knew this wolf vaguely. It was Zane, and he was the reason Ghost was doing as well as she was. Dahmer didn't know the fellow very well, but he respected him immensely. Zane was kind. And judging by the look of concern that the male had before he entered Ghost's home, Dahmer knew there was no reason for him to follow through with his visit. Ghost was in capable paws. She would be okay.

A small smile graced Dahmer's lips and he turned around in order to head back home. Ghost would be fine. Maybe with Zane there, she'd even be able to endure the confines of the den. Dahmer and Ghost had become very close over the past couple of weeks, but he didn't provide the comfort Zane was capable of giving her. He couldn't compare. A part of him was a little sad – but if there was anything Ghost deserved, it was an entire army of close friends and family. Zane made her happy, and for that Dahmer would always be grateful.
Thinking of the way Ghost spoke of Zane forced Dahmer to think of his closest friend. He felt guilty that he was only recalling her now that his previous plans were cancelled. Sherlock used to be in his every thought. Even when he hadn't seen her in a while. He would wonder where she was and whether she was doing okay. But since Ghost arrived in their area, his thoughts had been preoccupied. Normally he would have sought her out by now – not content to go so long without seeing his beloved. When he arrived home, he spent a few minutes making preparations before heading out toward his old friend's den. He knew it wouldn't be safe enough during the storm. And Sherlock would never willingly admit it, or end up at his place without him asking. She probably wouldn't even do it if he did ask. Thinking about this angered him, picked open the wound inside of him when it came to her. He was nursing it slowly, hoping to one day heal it completely so he wouldn't need her in any way. But as things stood – distractions or not, he worried for her. He didn't want to; he was desperate to not give a shit either way. But things weren't like that. And he couldn't stand to see her hurt. So there he stood, just outside the female's house. He was drenched and cold, his eyes bleak and determined. Dahmer wasn't sure what he wouldn't give up in order to be able to walk away without knocking...but it wasn't in his power. Instead, he took a deep breath, raised his left hand and found himself knocking anyway.

sherlock holmes Sat Sep 14, 2013 2:03 am

THIS IS SO UNREALISTIC BUT I DON’T CAARRRREEEEE

She had thought she had been fine, in fact she had been fine after her fall through the abandoned warehouse a couple weeks prior. She had considered herself remarkably lucky when she had first taken stock of her injuries (multitudes of cuts and bruises, which were to be expected); she had honestly been expecting a broken bone at the least. When she had finally picked herself up, and after ensuring Dahmer that she was perfectly fine, no need to worry about her (and in all honesty, she had just wanted to hide in shame and lick her figurative and literal wounds) they had called it a day and had slowly made their way back to their dens. The only issue she had had that day was her left leg being quite tender, and she thought that was going to be her worst injury (besides stiffening up during the next few hours), considering she had been fairly certain that was what had hit the floor first when she had landed.

The next day she realized how wrong she had been when she had tried to stand and had her left leg collapse underneath her when it tried to hold all of her weight. Her leg was a constant agony, pain traveling up and down it, having no real source to pinpoint where the pain began. It was the most frustrating thing, and no matter which shift she was in, the pain was immense. Sherlock found herself wishing that she could ignore the pain and go seek out Dahmer, which was weird in and out of itself considering she never liked showing her weaknesses to anyone, especially in front of her dear friend. So confined to her padded bed on the ground, Sherlock spent the first few hours of that day glowering at the bright sunshine that was teasing her and promising her about how beautiful a day it was; it was in total contrast to her mood and Sherlock found herself wishing Dahmer would show up to check on her. In fact, he would check up on her, wouldn’t he? She shook her head slightly, a small smile on her lips- of course he would, it was Dahmer.

However, Dahmer hadn’t shown up that day, nor the day after or the day after that. Normally Sherlock wouldn’t think too much about the length of time they went without seeing each other (except that her heart felt strange when they went without seeing each other on a regular basis now and she couldn’t exactly figure out why) but she found herself wanting to see more of him. Since she physically could not seek him out, and for whatever reason he wasn’t visiting her (and a little doubting voice in the back of her mind was beginning to wonder if maybe she had done or said something that made him want to avoid her), the ebony female had been busy composing, and her den was definitely showing signs of her frustration of not only being unable to go anywhere, but also not being able to write anything she found acceptable- sheet music was thrown around in balled up clumps, pieces half-finished or finished but just unacceptable.

After a week had passed, her leg was slowly on the mend. She was finally able to walk on it but only for short distances and unable to make it to Dahmer’s section of the woods (she knew from experience, having grown fed up and had made an attempt to go visit him but had to admit defeat not even halfway there when her leg had started sending searing red hot pain up and down it once again; it had forced her to turn back around, angry that she was letting her body get the better of her), but she was slowly becoming successful in her composures. She had several inspiring pieces being developed, although her den was still littered with the pieces she had thrown aside.

The storm that had been brewing all day was finally letting itself be known and Sherlock was grateful that Dahmer had helped to build her a proper den. With her violin tucked under her chin, bow against the strings, she began to tune it so the strings would take the humidity into effect. Her eyes strayed to the pouring rain outside and with half her concentration on tuning, her other thoughts wandered to Dahmer and hoped that he was out of the weather, although knowing the large male, he probably wasn’t. Had Sherlock not been cooped up on the ground (and it was a testament to how much her leg was bothering her, since she preferred to play her violin standing up, arguing that the sound was better that way), she would have sought Dahmer out and spent the storm with him, as they used to do back in Jasper Valley.

She stilled her bow across the strings and listened carefully, trying to pinpoint the noise that had barely caught her attention over the music and the rain. There! Someone was knocking on her den, and not just anyone, but Dahmer – she could recognize his knock anywhere – and a genuine smile graced her lips, her heart picking up speed at the idea of seeing her friend after his unusual absence. Oh for God’s sake, Dahmer, just get in here. Judging by how hard it’s raining outside, you’re already uncomfortably soaked and standing out there isn’t going to do you any favours!

**Dahmer Oriel** Thu Sep 19, 2013 2:55 am

Okay. This got long and complicated quickly. I also took a LOT of liberties with this post, 'cause once Dahmer realized what had to happen, he'd move quickly to make things better. BUT. It involved a bit of power play. SO. If you have any issues with it at ALL, tell me and I'll fix it!

As soon as he let his hand fall away from the door, Dahmer once again realized just how awful it was that so much time between now and the last time he saw Sherlock had passed. He searched inwardly for a real explanation as to why he'd avoided seeking her out. There was still a bit of anger there – resentment over the way the female had reacted to his attempts to tend to her wounds. All he wanted to do was to be able to help her – fix things so that she'd never have to be in pain. It had nothing to do with romance; he had been so worried and so scared when she fell. Between the time he saw her disappear through the roof and he found her in that old warehouse, Dahmer really hadn't known if she was dead, dying or lying in immense pain. Years ago, the male had vowed that nothing like that would ever happen to his friend again- and he made that promise strictly as a friend, not a hopeful lover. It had nothing to do with how he felt about her romantically.

He would feel the same even if he didn't love her that way. But she wouldn't let him love her in any way. She kept him at a strict distance, refusing to let him in – never allowing herself to appear vulnerable in any way. She built walls to keep him and everyone out. Fuck, she probably had moats filled with alligators as well. And Dahmer was just so sick and tired of trying to navigate around all the pit falls and obstacles she insisted on constructing. For once he just wanted her to let herself be loved – let him take care of her, especially when she needed it most. So he lashed out in the only way he knew how – silence and avoidance. It was wrong, but it was the only way he was able to keep his sanity. She could have all the god damn space she wanted and needed. In fact – he was willing to give her even more. All he had to do now was check to see that she was okay, maybe make sure that her home was stable enough to withstand the storm, check a few places for potential leaks. He'd let her make her smart ass comments, make fun of him for a little bit and then he'd be on his way. She'd be fine for the storm, Ghost and Zane were in good shape and he'd be free to ride out the storm in solitude.

Only a few seconds had passed – but with the rain and Dahmer's equally stormy thoughts, it may as well have been a lifetime. It wasn't as though he could get more wet. The male scowled up at the patches of sky he could see through the trees. It was late afternoon, but with the thick clouds and torrential rain, it could have been late evening and he wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Thoroughly grumpy now, Dahmer was about to yell at his friend when her voice piped up from somewhere within her home. The male's blue eyes narrowed angrily, his lip lifting slightly in a silent snarl. Of course she couldn't be bothered to actually get up and open the door. That would involve effort, and God forbid Sherlock exert herself for her supposed friend. For a few seconds, the male considered staying out where he was. He could verbally check in on her and then take off. Even that would involve more effort on his part than anything she'd ever put into their relationship. The male paused for a second, seriously weighing his options, before moving toward the door. He would have loved to be able to walk away – but that aching need to see her face won out over the anger, and before he knew it the male found himself opening and walking through the door. He paused on the threshold in order to shake himself as best he could – he was soaked through to the bone, so it didn't make much of a difference, but Dahmer was nothing if not polite. He'd be lying though, if he denied feeling a sort of satisfaction at the idea of soaking her floor.

Dahmer put effort into sounding indifferent as possible before speaking up, his gaze focused not on her, but at the storm outside. Hey, Sherlock. Just figured I'd check in on you before the worst of the storm hits. You good for food and supplies for the next few days? He was working hard to keep himself from looking at her for as long as possible. If he could remain detached and avoid interacting with her directly, he'd be able to get in and out quickly without engaging with his feelings and falling victim to his desperate need for her. The trick was just to avoid eye contact and...well, pretty much everything. At least he'd be able to count on her sarcasm and own disinterest in him to fuel the anger that was currently burning within him. Focus on that, and you'll be okay. He told himself...without much confidence. It had only been a few minutes and already he felt the need to look at her. He just had to – besides, going the whole visit without acknowledging her properly was just rude. He was angry, yeah – but Sherlock was still his friend, no matter how much she acted otherwise.

He took a deep breath and focused intently on the frustration he still felt, using it as a shield against his other feelings before giving in to gravity and allowing his gaze to focus where it most wanted to be. In the end, his feelings didn't matter. As soon as he turned to face his friend, all the anger and frustration in the world was powerless compared to the sight that stood before him. The bitterness and hurt flew from him, melting his stiff and combative posture, and sharpening his focus to a point – nothing else in the world around him mattered, there was only him and her. The male's ears flew back and his eyes softened with concern, the sneer on his face transforming into a devastated frown. She was hurt. She had been hurt from a while. How long had she been stuck where she was, nursing herself back to health? He could have been here, helping her in any way he could. Making things easier instead of the way they were. Once again, Dahmer's struggle to distance himself ended with him failing her. He would never be good enough for his friend. No wonder she didn't love him.

Why.....why didn't you tell me? I could have helped you. He was well aware that he needed to put everything into perspective – Sherlock was far from dying. Her leg was hurt, yes – but it was on its way to being healed. She could probably even get around with some effort at this point, maybe with the help of a cane. But that didn't matter. She could have a hang claw or a fucking splinter and the fact would remain the same: she needed him and he hadn't been there for her. Yes, she had turned away his attempts to help. But that was just who Sherlock was. She didn't like to show weakness, especially when it involved an accident like her fall. It was his job to ignore her protests in order to make sure she was okay. But like an idiot, he had let his own disappointment and frustration prevent him from giving her the care she deserved. What was wrong with him?!

Dahmer took a deep breath and moved forward silently, approaching his injured friend. He noted the mess around them, the papers and books strewn along the floor. She was sitting in the chair he had once spent days making, her injured leg propped up on a stool. Sherlock's violin lay in her lap, the bow resting along the neck of the instrument. She hadn't been able to go anywhere, but of course Sherlock's time hadn't been spent idly. She had been composing. He briefly recalled the music he had heard while approaching his old partner's home. It was something unfamiliar, something he hadn't heard before. This meant two things: either the injury wasn't bad enough and she was able to easily focus on her music...or the pain was bad enough that she needed to lose herself in the comfort of making something new.

Dahmer came to a stop just past his own chair, bringing himself to stand before her out stretched leg. He knelt, his eyes focused intensely on the injured limb. Earlier he had resolved to barely even look at Sherlock, and now he found himself unable to stop his arm as it reached outward. Carefully and deliberately, he ran his hand down along the lower length of Sherlock's leg, stopping just before he reached the injured area. His touch was light as a feather, barely grazing her fur. The male's brow was furrowed with concern, his eyes full of remorse. He glanced up at her for a second, his frown deepening. He didn't think it would be possible to hate himself more than he currently did. It was written all over his face as he struggled to find the right words in order to voice his apologies. Nothing came to him, so he remained crouched where he was, silent as ever. Lightning lit up the sky outside, thunder rumbling in its wake. He glanced at the window, wincing as the panes shook against the wind. Storms like this hadn't been on his mind when he made this place for Sherlock. It was a decent enough shelter during the best of times, but he was well aware it wasn't safe in this weather. She couldn't stay here. He wouldn't allow it. He may have let her down already; but there was something he could do to make things better for her in this moment. She was not going to be happy about this. He knew Sherlock would be furious at him for what he was about to do. But how could she hate him any more than she already did? He had nothing to lose, and no time to bother asking for permissions she wasn't likely to give anyway.

The trick was to move quickly and avoid giving Sherlock any opportunity to refuse or fight back. He felt bad enough for the pain he was about to put his friend through, but his guilt steeled his resolve. It was all about the big picture, right? The final result would make up for the preparation... well, at least that was what he was telling himself. As soon as Dahmer became convinced that his plan was the only option, he stood quickly and solemnly regarded the injured wolf before him. He forced his expression into a business-like mask, working hard to keep the worry and guilt from his eyes. He did not succeed. Defeated, he turned his gaze from hers and looked around the main room, hoping that what he needed was on paw. Over there! When Dahmer first built this place for Sherlock he had made sure to keep it stocked with plenty of supplies and any tools she might need for its upkeep. Well, they were intended for Sherlock to use, but for the most part Dahmer was the one to perform repairs on the place. While Sherlock was certainly a detail-oriented wolf, the details in question were only things she was interested in. Theories, experiments, exercises. General chores and repairs did not fall into the 'interesting' category for the brilliant wolf. That was why she had Dahmer. Of course, she'd never outright ask him to do anything like that for her – but he would have anyway. Every time he visited he would find one thing or another that needed his attention. He didn't mind – in fact, the male actually enjoyed it. It gave him a sense of purpose and made him feel more comfortable about dropping by. He'd be occupied with his own things, and she hers.

Amongst the shelf of tools, nails and other supplies Dahmer had left a length of rope. He crossed the room and grabbed the neatly coiled thread. We need to get out of here. It's not safe. He left it at that, knowing full well that Sherlock would begin her refusals soon enough. Grabbing a knife, Dahmer measured out a couple lengths of the rope, cutting them quickly and neatly. He returned everything to its place and approached Sherlock once more. Her leg was elevated on a stool, resting on top of an old blanket. This was where things got even more difficult. It was also the point at which he was certain he had a strong chance of being injured by his companion. But what else could he do? She was never going to give him her permission. And he had already fucked up by listening to her before when she had insisted that she was fine and didn't need his help. And look where that had gotten her! She'd be furious with him for this, but if it meant that his friend would be safe and comfortable in the long run, Dahmer felt that it was worth it. Let her hate him. He could take it. He was sure he could.

Don't....fight me on this, okay? Just sit still. Dahmer didn't give her a chance to respond, working quickly. His movements were quick and sure, his massive hands surprisingly gentle. This was going to hurt, but not for long. He grabbed the two ends of the blanket and wrapped them around Sherlock's leg, taking extra care not to put too much pressure on the area of the fracture. Holding the blanket in place with one hand, Dahmer looped one length of the rope around Sherlock's leg, tying and pulling it tightly in place with his teeth. He moved up to the other side of the fracture and repeated this exercise while making sure her leg was braced properly against his side. He finished quickly, ensuring that the ropes wouldn't come loose when jostled. The blanket offered more than enough padding as well, and Dahmer was satisfied that it would do the trick. But now came the hard part. He stood back for an instant, managing to look the female in the eye for a second before making his next move. Please don't hate me. The words were soft and pleading – and he knew they were completely useless. She would do what she pleased.

Dahmer took the violin and bow from Sherlock's grip. With the way her leg was, she wouldn't be able to stop him. Not physically, anyway. Verbally – well, that was another story. He kept moving anyway, quickly tucking the instrument into its case and snapping the lid shut. He turned to face her again, placing the case into her arms. Hold on to that. Okay. Come on, Dahmer. Just do it. Dahmer had pictured a million different scenarios that would call for him pulling Sherlock into his arms. This was not one of them. But contact was contact, and he would take what he could get. He moved swiftly and efficiently, scooping the female up and into his arms. He positioned her carefully, working hard not to jostle her much. His heart was pounding and he was painfully aware that she could probably hear or feel it – but there was nothing he could do. He was half elated, half horrified at what he was doing. But he needed to remain focused on the task at hand. They needed to get out of here and to his place as quickly as possible without any incident. It all depended on Sherlock. Was he going to have to carry her, kicking and screaming? Or would she cut him a break, just this once? The male turned to the door and moved toward it. With graceful maneuvering he managed to get the door open without jostling his passenger, nudging it wide with his foot. Dahmer paused just on the threshold, squinting out into the rain. Only now did he give Sherlock the chance to react. Are you ready? The question was just a courtesy. She could yell and hate him all she wanted, his only concern was getting her to safety. Nothing else mattered. For now, anyway.

sherlock holmes Sun Sep 22, 2013 1:00 am

--

As her voice had left her throat and settled in the stillness of den, Sherlock waited to hear the telltale sign of Dahmer entering inside. She frowned as the seconds ticked by and didn’t hear the front door open. Had Dahmer not heard her call out to him? Had perhaps the storm outside drowned out her words? Just as she was about to call out to him louder, she heard the door quietly squeak as her friend finally entered inside, out of the rain. From her seat in her chair, she waited for Dahmer to finish shaking himself off and look at her. She shifted slightly and glanced down at her offending appendage, feeling embarrassed over it all over again. While Sherlock had found herself missing her friend during his unusual absence, she did admit that, for the most part, she was glad that she had been able hide away with her weakness. She didn’t understand why Dahmer cared so much for her, and while they had been friends for what seemed like ages now, Sherlock still found it difficult to understand why he did care, when no one else did.

With another shift and a slight hiss of pain as she moved her leg a bit too forcefully, Sherlock watched as her friend looked out the window and viewed the storm and refused to actually look at her as he spoke. He held his body tightly, his fingers twitching slightly with a hint of anger. He was angry about something, and taking the fact that he wasn’t even bothering to look at her, she figured that he was angry at her. She found herself frowning at this, honestly confused why it seemed that the moment they had finally found their groove again, Dahmer had taken two steps back and was avoidant and angry with her; it was exactly like when she had first followed him from Jasper Valley. It had taken time to get him to relax around her again, and Sherlock found that her heart was heavy at the thought of having to work to get to that point again; she found it odd that she cared about what he thought, and only him.

The only good thing about Dahmer refusing to actually look at her, was it gave her time to think of some excuse about her leg and on how she could downplay how serious it actually was. In fact, she was just about to spout off her observations about him and what he had been up to the past little while (met someone new, spending time with them, keeping himself busy with his hands, possibly building and digging, her brain supplied her as she gazed at her friend), just to keep the attention away from herself, when he had finally turned and looked at her and in that instance she saw all of his anger vanish from his face, only to be replaced with guilt and worry.

She had some excuse on the tip of her tongue in response to his words, about how it wasn’t as bad as it looked, but apparently her brain was betraying her today. I… tried. But I couldn’t get to you. She looked out the window at this admission, a slightly frustrated frown on her face, wishing she hadn’t sounded so pathetic. She nearly jumped out of her skin as she felt Dahmer’s unexpected feather light touch on her leg, hissing slightly as she jarred the injured foot. She saw all of the concern and guilt refuse to leave his face, and Sherlock wanted desperately to make that look disappear. She wanted to tell him to stop worrying about her, that she wasn’t worth the effort, but couldn’t find the strength to voice it. Instead, she remained voiceless as their eyes finally met for the first time since he had entered her den. There was such self-hate written all over it, and Sherlock found herself wanting to run her fingers over his face to dispel that hate, especially because she knew he was hating something that had been out of his control. Finally able to finally find her voice (and what a strange oddity that was, having issues voicing her opinions), Sherlock tried to ease her friend’s guilt as he picked himself up and stared at her, like he was planning something, Dahmer, really, it’s fine. The injury is frustratingly dull, but it’s not your fault, it lies all with me. I saw, but I failed to actually observe.

With a frustrated huff, Sherlock watched as Dahmer turned away without even acknowledging her words like she was just talking to herself (and granted, she did talk to him all of the time when he wasn’t there, so absorbed into her thoughts that she failed to notice that he wasn’t even there to bounce her ideas off of) and instead watched him as he started collecting supplies for God knew what. And then he spoke, saying how they couldn’t stay in her den (and she glanced at the shuttering window and figured she’d be fine in here, as long as she stayed away from the window). Dahmer, in case you failed to notice, I can’t exactly walk out of here...

Her words trailed off as he came towards her with both the cut up rope and old blanket and she finally clued in to his plan. No, absolutely not! I’m fine, I’ll be absolutely fine here alone! Stop being stupid, Dahmer, I’ll only slow you down if you try to take me with you. Once again, her words fell upon deaf ears and she could do nothing but sit there and softly growl in pain as he secured the blanket around her injured leg, her hands gripping both bow and violin neck more tightly than what she was comfortable with to help deal with the momentary pain.

Sherlock let out a breath of air as he finished up, loosening the grip on both bow and violin as her friend took them out of her hands. She watched as he carefully put them away, all the while thinking about how she could never hate him, that she could be (and was) absolutely furious with him, but no, she could never truly hate him. Logically she knew that Dahmer was doing what he thought was best, both for Sherlock and himself, but Sherlock could argue that it was more trouble than what it was worth. Instead of fighting him on this physically (because that would only serve in causing her even more pain and she’d rather try to avoid that) she clung to her violin case and fought the urge to hit him over the head with it as he lifted her up into her arms.

As Dahmer settled Sherlock in a firm yet gentle hold in his arms, she felt humiliation wash all over herself and multiply tenfold when she was forced to grip Dahmer behind the neck with her free hand as he began moving. She turned her head to the side, purposely not looking at Dahmer as he stopped to open the front door. Sherlock let his question hang in the air for a silent moment before giving him a petulant grunt, refusing to give him a worded answer- she might be letting Dahmer get away with this stunt without fighting him on it, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t let him know she was none too happy with it.

**Dahmer Oriel** Tue Sep 24, 2013 12:03 am

FALALALALALALALLALALATHISPOSTISWEIRD.

He tried not to be bothered with how obviously uncomfortable Sherlock was in his arms. He knew she didn't feel that way about him – and he was aware of just how furious she was with him. He could feel it in her posture, the way she deigned to respond verbally to his questions. An angered grunt. That sucked. But what hurt more was the way sure turned her head away from him, claiming any distance she was capable of putting between the two of them. He took a deep breath, and stepped outside into the rain. The door slammed closed behind them, causing the windows to rattle. He repositioned Sherlock's weight in a way that let him hold her away from his body. He knew she was already miserable as it was, being that close to him was probably making things worse. He'd move as quickly as he could and then it'd be over with and she'd be safe. They both would be.

The rain hadn't lightened up and it didn't take long for the two of them to become soaked. Dahmer cursed himself inwardly as he moved forward, quickening his pace. He should have gotten a blanket or something to cover Sherlock. Her leg was bad enough, she didn't need an infection on top of everything to make it worse. He'd probably get blamed for that, too. And maybe she'd be right. But she could make it easier for him! I realize that you're pissed at me right now, but you can maybe attempt to give me a break. His words were bitter, fueled by the anger created by his perceived rejection. He kept his eyes forward, refusing to look at his friend. His arms were held out and away from his body. He moved along quickly, breath even as he made his way home. I just want you to be safe. You could help me out with that every once in a while, you know. You don't make it easy. He paused. His voice became quiet. You don't make anything easy. Especially loving her.

It hadn't always been so strained between the two, had it? Weren't the two of them at one point considered the best team of assassins in Jasper Valley? You didn't gain that title by fighting all the time. They used to be comfortable together, words were never so difficult. It was part of the reason he ran away – sometimes silence and distance were just easier to deal with, rather than struggling to find the right words. What made it hurt even more was the fact that he knew exactly when things became so hard between the two, and it was all his fault. His feelings had changed. He was the one to alter their dynamic. Sherlock was the same as ever, and that made it worse. He was irrevocably changed by the realization that he loved her as more than just a friend or family. It had been so terrifying for him – and then to realize that he was the only one who felt that way... well, that ate away at him. He spent so long trying to keep everything to himself. He maintained his distance, remained completely professional and kept his fucking mouth shut. If she realized something had shifted, she never said.

But Dahmer knew what that meant – Sherlock never missed anything. She caught on to the littlest details and shifts in moods, picking up the slightest change in any circumstance. Of course she hadn't missed something so big as Dahmer's realization. It had changed his entire life: the way he looked at things, how he approached missions, how he felt about having her along when things got messy. So she knew. And the fact that she never brought it up spoke volumes: she knew how he felt, but she didn't feel the same way. So she kept silent. And he did too. But his silences became longer and longer until he just couldn't take it anymore. She may not have changed, but he had. And he needed out.

And yet here the two of them were, together once again. They weren't exactly working in tandem and Sherlock was far from compliant in this particular adventure, but there they were. The two of them rounded a copse of trees, moving into the clearing the two usually used for target practice. Almost home. Eager to get Sherlock out of the rain and somewhere warm and dry, Dahmer gave up on trying to keep the distance between the two. He pulled her closer against him, tucking her into his chest before breaking into an all out run. He was as careful as he could be with her leg, but speed was the objective right now. The rain couldn't exactly drench them anymore than they already were, but the biting wind was definitely a concern for him. They crashed through the last stand of bushes and finally found themselves within sight of Dahmer's home. As soon as it was in view, the male let out a grateful huff as he sprinted for the door.

Once inside, Dahmer moved directly to the edge of the main room. There sat two chairs that were almost identical to the pair that lived in Sherlock's home. They both had favourites and Dahmer deposited his friend into hers. Before setting out to his partner's place, the male had returned to his den in order to prepare for her arrival. He had pulled the two chairs closer to his fire place, knowing the exact distance Sherlock preferred to keep between herself and the heat. A fire was crackling merrily before them, and Dahmer paused for a second in order to enjoy the heat that swept over them. Sherlock was still silent. He had set up the music stand he kept here specifically for the musician, pulling it close to her chair. The male moved away and out of sight for a moment or two, coming back with a few blankets. Between the fire's warmth and the blankets, Sherlock would be warm and dry in no time. His worry decreased, but he took extra care in tucking the blanket around her. It took everything in his power to stop his paws from lingering, and he failed once or twice. Once he finished, Dahmer turned to settle himself into his own chair before swearing out loud. Her leg! Of course he hadn't set anything out for her to rest it on. She needed to keep it elevated. Gimme a second.

He rushed out the door and back into the rain. Dahmer had no use for stools – he had assumed that the chairs were all he would need. He did have a footstool that he'd left up top with the other possessions he didn't need for the storm's duration. Thunder rumbled above as he made his way round to the tree house's ladder. It was slick and freezing, but he wasted no time in climbing it, slipping only a couple of times on the rung. His footsteps fell heavily on the deck as he crossed over it and pulled the door open before letting it slam heavily behind him. The inside of the tree house was dark, his only source of lighting available only when the skies lit up outside. The male moved along in the darkness carefully, pulling things aside in order to find his target. He had piled everything along the walls, packed neatly and safely away from the windows in case anything happened. A few moments and several curses later, Dahmer was able to head back to the door, successful in his quest. He was about to yank the door open once more, but was stopped in his tracks by the brightest flash of lightning yet. He froze, shielding his eyes against the sudden light. It disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving him darkness again. Then came the thunder, just as strong as its counterpart. It reverberated through the trees, shaking the walls around him. Holy shit! He cried. There was another loud crash that sounded a lot closer. He whirled around just in time to watch a shelf collapse, its contents plummeting to the floor. He winced, cursing once more as a tool made a giant divot in the floor. If it was loud up here, he didn't want to know how bad it sounded from below. And judging by how close the thunder and lightning appeared to be, he did not want to be up here any longer. The shelf and everything else up here would have to wait. He needed to get back to safety.

With the footstool tucked under one arm, Dahmer secured the door carefully and moved toward the ladder. He narrowed his eyes against the wind and rain; and gripping the stool tightly, made his way down. Halfway to the bottom, he gave up on being careful and slid all the way to the bottem instead. When the sky lit up again, he was going to make sure he was tucked safely inside. The male hit the ground with a heavy and soggy thud. He rushed back to the other door, swinging it open and then closed behind him in a matter of seconds. Once inside he allowed himself to stand still for a moment, gathering himself. That had been too close and now he was adament that neither of them would cross that threshold until the storm blew itself out.

Dripping wet, Dahmer made his way back to the fireplace and set the stool down before Sherlock. We're gonna have to change the blanket around your leg. You need it wrapped tightly right now, but it needs to be dry before things get worse. He doubted she'd bother responding to him just as she hadn't before. The strings can be reused, at least. Without waiting for the go ahead, Dahmer got to work. Within a short (but probably painful) minute he had Sherlock's leg unwrapped. The majority of the blanket was soaked, but her fur underneath was still dry. Lucky break. He thought to himself. Things would have gotten a lot more difficult if he had to dry the leg as well. Even in her current condition, Dahmer knew Sherlock wouldn't have let that happen without a fight. So at least something was going in his favour. He had the leg wrapped nice and snugly soon enough. He gently lay her leg across the stool, ensuring that it was close enough to the fire to keep it at a comfortable temperature. Not too hot or cold.

Finally finished with his task, Dahmer stepped away, determined to keep a good distance between the two of them from now on. She wouldn't have to lean away from him anymore. He got the hint. He was also still soaking wet. A puddle had gathered around his feet – he had been too focused on making Sherlock comfortable. He took a blanket and ran it over his fur, shaking the water loose from his pelt. Once he felt he was dry enough to let the fire do the rest of the work, Dahmer threw the blanket aside on a table and approached his own chair. He ran his hand over his head, causing the fur to stick up in awkward spikes. Oblivious and focused on something else, the massive male paused for a second, considering the arm chair's placement before pushing it further away from his company. No need to make things any more difficult than they already were. He settled into his seat silently, taking care to avoid Sherlock's gaze. Instead he grabbed a thick book that was resting on the table beside him. Once he opened the volume and began reading, Dahmer was able to relax slightly. Sure enough though, he made it only through a few pages before his thoughts turned back to Sherlock and he found himself incapable of moving forward in the story. He couldn't move forward at all. He was stuck. And as safe as the two of them were here in their own world, he couldn't help but think that it was not a good place to be.

sherlock holmes Tue Sep 24, 2013 11:07 pm

This is kinda all over the place, so forgive me!

Sherlock was still adamant that this was the stupidest thing that Dahmer could think of. Even though her den technically wasn’t the most ideal shelter for this unexpected storm, it was definitely a lot better than traveling the (albeit short) distance to Dahmer’s den. The rain was still pouring heavily and now to top it off there was a cold wind that chilled Sherlock to the bone. It would have been better had Sherlock been able to walk on her own, then their progress wouldn’t have been twice as long and would have been much more comfortable. With each step that Dahmer took, no matter how gentle he was trying to be or how well he had wrapped her leg up, it jarred her leg just enough for her to wish that they were back in her den.

She had planned on keeping her mouth shut the entire trip but her friend’s bitter words caught her attention. With a frown planted on her face, her ears pinned back to stop cold water from seeping inside, What are you going on about? I could be fighting tooth and nail, Dahmer, instead I’m letting you carry me like some helpless invalid! She paused, her head finally facing him but with slightly narrowed eyes at his last comment. What do you want from me? I can’t change who I am, Dahmer, you know what I’m like, you’ve known from the beginning. That being said, didn’t Dahmer know how much she had already changed since meeting him? She had been nothing but cold logic when they had first met; however, slowly but surely, little bits of emotions were starting to seep through and sometimes Sherlock absolutely despised it.

As Dahmer tightened his hold on her and pulled her closer to his body once again, she tucked her nose into the space between his neck and shoulder to stop her head from being jostled about. It was then, when she took in a deep breath, that she smelled the very faint but very distinct scent of a female wolf and put two and two together – Dahmer had obviously found someone. As his friend, Sherlock knew that she should feel glad and be extremely supportive of his decision (because why else would he still smell faintly of this strange female wolf if he hadn’t been spending a lot of time with her?), but all she could feel was a heavy heart and a small simmering anger that she really couldn’t put a name to. She pulled her nose away from Dahmer’s fur and held herself stiffly the rest of the way back to Dahmer’s den.

Once deposited into what she deemed ‘her’ chair, she let out a content sigh as she felt the heat from the thoughtful fire begin to warm her, all other thoughts completely forgotten for the moment as she closed her eyes and enjoyed the perfect distribution of heat as it both warmed her and started to slowly dry her fur. She opened her eyes at the sound of Dahmer pulling her music stand closer to her and gave Dahmer an automatic smile in thanks before she remembered she was still mad at him. It was shortly after that that he wrapped her up so delicately in a blanket and Sherlock just felt the fight leave her body, now that she was settled.

Sherlock was just in the midst of stretching her leg out in front of her when she heard Dahmer curse from his chair which made her head snap up. She watched as he stopped mid-sit and spring back up and towards the door and suddenly she knew where he was going. Dahmer, Dahmer, just stop! It’s fine, don’t go out there, there’s a storm out there you...idiot. She sighed as the door slammed behind him at the tail end of her sentence. Why can’t I make things easier on you, indeed; why can’t you just stop making things so difficult? With a frustrated sigh, Sherlock took hold of the blanket that was wrapped around her and started to use it to dry her soaked fur as much as she could. She had gotten most of the soaking water out, leaving her fur damp and spikey in places. Just as she was setting the now damp blanket aside, an unusually bright flash of lightning lit the room up and Sherlock’s eyes were drawn to the door that Dahmer had exited through. The crash of thunder that followed almost immediately had Sherlock standing straight up and out of her chair, remembering at the last second not to put any weight on her injured leg and instead used the back of her chair to help steady her.

Her eyes were locked on the door and she was about to make her slow way towards it to check on Dahmer when he came rushing inside, the door closely loudly behind him. At the sight of her soaked friend, Sherlock let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. That was idiotic, she muttered mostly to herself as she eased herself back into her chair. Now that they were here and, judging by the storm outside, would be staying here for a while, Sherlock nodded her consent this time as Dahmer unwrapped the blanket and she wasn’t sure what was worse, the secure pressure on the fractured bone or the lack of pressure.
Once the leg was protectively wrapped and elevated, Sherlock picked up her violin case and was in the midst of opening it when the sound of Dahmer moving his chair backwards. She frowned at this but didn’t question it, figuring this was just one more step in Dahmer’s attempt at distancing himself from her. With another sigh (and how many times was she going to sigh, all of these emotions running through her today were annoying and exhausting all at once), she turned her attention back to opening her violin case. Finding her sheet music tucked protectively in the case, Sherlock placed it carefully on the music stand that she had repositioned in front of her. With her violin in hand, tucked gently under her chin, Sherlock turned her attention back to Dahmer’s form as he read his book.

I don’t mean to always be so difficult. The words were out of her mouth before she realized it, but she was unsure if Dahmer had heard her soft words. Instead, she sat there plucking at the strings of her violin, sending random notes to settle around the den while she idly gazed at Dahmer. She let her eyes pick up all of the little details that told her the story about what he had been doing for the last week or so, with his new friend. She knew what was going to happen now, now that Dahmer had this new female in his life. He’d slowly draw away from Sherlock, like he had been doing slowly anyways, and then one day he’d just disappear out of her life. In all honesty, Sherlock shouldn’t have been surprised that this point in time had finally arrived, in fact Dahmer had stuck around longer than anyone – and maybe that was why she found herself not wanting this to end. With a heavy heart, she knew she’d need to take everything she could from what would surely be one of their last times together- and for that to happened, that meant she’d have to be civil and try not to anger her friend. So, what’s her name? Still plucking idly at her strings, Sherlock hoped that her voice hadn’t sounded as sad as it had to her own ears.

**Dahmer Oriel** Wed Sep 25, 2013 4:06 am

Dude. You made it impossible for me to not reply right away.
ALSO. This got dramatic and bitter quickly. WE NEED TO GET THEM TOGETHER. THE ANGST LEVELS ARE OVER 9000.

there's no doubt in my mind that if you could you would try
to crack my ribcage open and pull my heart right through

As Dahmer leaned further back into his chair and looked up at Sherlock from behind his book, the male found himself hating every inch of distance that he had put between them. This was a familiar and well-versed story for the wolf. He would grasp at and take any distance he was capable of achieving, but no matter how angry he was, he'd always wish to give it back. It was an endless cycle of hurt feelings and bitterness, a track he had no idea how to break free from. And as he remembered the feel of her nose pushed into his fur, he found himself wishing desperately for all of it to be more simple. With any other wolf, maybe it would be. He knew that things with Ghost would never be as hard as this. She had her issues, sure – but there were no walls built up around Ghost. If anything, he was helping her build a few. She wouldn't be afraid of loving him and she certainly wouldn't be scared off by his feelings. The two of them would be matched nicely – fragile and naive, Ghost needed someone to lead her gently, to take care of her. Dahmer could do that. He'd be great at it, he was always great at taking care of others. His only problem was wanting to care for those who refused it.

It was tragic, just how easily Dahmer could see a better life spent with his new friend. He could picture it so well, if he wanted. It wouldn't take much to move things forward, either. Ghost was kind, she never pushed him away. They were able to talk about anything and make it feel as though the conversation really counted. Nothing was too trivial. With Sherlock, everything had to have a point. She had no use for frivolities, especially in discussions. If they didn't have a set destination, she became frustrated and unwilling to participate. Nothing was ever for fun – it was always an investigation, an experiment to prove some theory or other. All of it was just an excuse to keep her boredom at bay. Sometimes it was difficult for him to understand why he went along with it. But as Dahmer sat there silently, his thoughts circled back to the way he felt when she pulled herself closer to him. The way his heart had pounded, causing his blood to rush and his thoughts to scatter. Ghost was a nice wolf, maybe even the better choice for him, the safer option. But she couldn't drive him crazy like Sherlock did. She wasn't who he was thinking of when he woke in the middle of the night. It was all Sherlock, and it always would be.

He let the book lay in his lap as he moved his hands to cover his face, utterly in defeat. He felt like crying. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to go on like this, completely broken? He couldn't function. He wouldn't last. Dahmer lowered his arms and took the book up again, forcing himself to read a little more. He managed to make it a sentence or two further before his thoughts intruded once again. As rainy and dangerous as it was outside, he found himself wishing that the two of them were still out there, making their trip. There hadn't been any distance between them, and as furious as Sherlock was with him, he longed to have that proximity back. How awful was that? He was well aware of how uncomfortable being close to him made her, how much she hated it and here he was wishing for it to happen again. What kind of wolf did that make him? It was a selfish love at times, and it often made him put his wishes and needs over hers. The male felt a deep loathing for himself, gripping the book angrily in his hands. The cover bent easily, but Dahmer was far from noticing or caring. If he was stronger, he'd leave again. Make it so she couldn't or wouldn't follow him a second time. If he was better, he'd find some way to stop loving her like he did. He'd respect her wishes and take her friendship and it would be enough for him. But nothing she offered was enough. He wanted more. Dahmer wanted everything. If he could bring himself to forget about Sherlock and maybe start over with Ghost, it would fix everything. Dahmer knew it would make it all better – but he just couldn't drive thoughts of his partner away. Ghost was perfect for him in every way, but not in the one way that counted most. He wished that he could force himself to feel more for her. It would change everything.

The idea of changing things brought Dahmer's thoughts back to something Sherlock had said before. Recalling the words now made the anger simmer in his stomach. What do you want from me? I can't change who I am, Dahmer. You know what I'm like, you've known from the beginning. His eyes narrowed slightly as he went over the words in his head. What did he want? He pictured himself grabbing the black wolf and shaking her, telling her exactly what he wanted. She said she couldn't change – but what she meant was that she wouldn't. Not for him, anyway. He wasn't enough for her. She built those walls and made them indestructible. He had been climbing them for what felt like his entire life and from where he sat now, it looked as though he hadn't made any progress whatsoever. He did know her from the beginning – he knew how she was, better than anyone else. That was why he was her partner – Dahmer was the only one willing to work with her! Did that not count for anything? He tried so hard to be good for her. He put up with her selfish antics and shrugged aside every single hurtful thing she said to him. He did it because he loved her, he loved being with her. But how would he ever be able to make her understand that? Sherlock was always like that, and the infuriating part is that she had no clue how awful she could be sometimes. It never occurred to her. Like she said, it was who she was. And who was he? The guy dumb enough to spend his life thinking she'd change. For him. A small fraction, that was all he needed. Just enough so that she was able to tell him how much he mattered to her. So he didn't feel so worthless.

While these poisonous thoughts clouded his mind Dahmer had been staring straight ahead, his gaze aimed as thought he was looking right through her. When she moved to take out her violin, his eyes immediately focused on her. He kept quiet, watching as Sherlock set up her music and placed her instrument beneath her chin. Then she spoke so softly that he found himself leaning forward slightly to catch her words. It was far from what he hoped she'd say, but coming from Sherlock the words were a milestone. The quiet syllables felt like a soothing balm for his aches, and Dahmer fell back in his chair, an explosive sigh escaping from his chest. He was able to offer a slight smile, although it was a weak one. As grateful as he was to hear the acknowledgment, the male made no effort to reply. He listened quietly as Sherlock plucked at the strings absently, still managing to sound as if she was pulling the notes from the air. Giving in to his feelings, Dahmer let himself enjoy the moment, for once content to leave things as they were. Until Sherlock spoke again.

As soon as Sherlock referred to Ghost, Dahmer's posture became rigid once again. His tiny smile slid from his mouth, replaced by a stiff frown. His eyes hardened and he scrutinized his companion's figure. Ghost was never intended to be a secret, Dahmer had learned long ago that subterfuge just wasn't possible in this relationship. That being said, he hadn't thought the subject would come up so quickly. He had no idea how much he wanted to reveal and which details he wanted to leave to speculation. Sherlock wasn't one to beat around the bush, though – she got right to the point. Dahmer's hesitation was obvious, through both his posture and the way he faltered with his answer. Ghost? The male intended to speak absently, as though his new friend was no big deal but his tone clearly stated otherwise. As he spoke her name and thought of all the things they had done together, he couldn't help but smile – larger than the one he had offered Sherlock. His eyes softened and warmed before he continued. She's....a friend. Dahmer stumbled on the qualifier and cleared his throat. I met her a little while ago and I've been helping her settle in. There. That was all the detail she needed – Ghost was hardly someone that Sherlock would be interested in. He knew that to his partner, Ghost would be of little consequence. The tiny and ragged wolf wouldn't be interesting to her and so Dahmer kept the details short. Already he was thinking of other conversational topics to keep them occupied. So was that new music I was hearing earlier? He spoke a little too eagerly, making it obvious that he was bidding for a change in topic. It sounded good. Have you been working on it long? Hopefully Sherlock would take the bait and leave Ghost be. Otherwise this was going to be an insanely long day indeed.

sherlock holmes Sun Sep 29, 2013 7:11 pm

Our wolves are retarded when it comes to emotions. And talking. EMOTIONALLY TALKING.
Also, the music Sherlocky is playing is a combination of this (starting around 2:13) and this. I REALIZE THEY ARE QUITE SIMILAR BUT THEY’RE BOTH PRETTY. SO THERE.

It would seem that Sherlock just couldn’t do anything right today, as she watched her friend’s posture become rigid and uncomfortable. This was why Sherlock tried not to get sentimental; it left her uncomfortable and unsure of herself, something she wasn’t accustomed to feeling. She felt like she was always failing and some deep part of herself was desperate not to get anything wrong when it came to Dahmer, but here she was, constantly failing – constantly disappointing him. She watched as he scrutinized her – and unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of that look – she found it difficult to keep her gaze locked on his, her eyes wanting to stray desperately to her violin. Instead, she steeled her resolve and watched as her friend struggled with what he wanted to say, clearly uncomfortable with the choice of topic Sherlock had chosen.

It felt as if he hadn’t smiled at her in ages, and even though it was such a small little thing, Sherlock found herself wanting to pause that point in time and keep the smile there forever. She wanted to capture it in what the extinct humans called photographs, something she could physically look at instead of having to resort to going to her mind palace for. She remembered a time when Dahmer used to give his smiles away freely to her; large and real ones, not these ones that seemed to be forced, like it was such an effort to make his face form a smile. It felt as if he hadn’t smiled at her, truly smiled at her, since before he had left Jasper Valley (and although he had smiled at her during their last outing, that one had been a rarity) and it was terrible because Sherlock had grown accustomed to them and had grown to love them (not that she’d admit to such, outside of the protection of her own mind). But the smile that Dahmer had seen fit to give her was nothing compared to the one he gave when he began talking about Ghost. She wasn’t quite sure, but at that sight, she swore her heart broke in two and her fingers slipped from the strings of her violin momentarily, giving off an out of tune note that sounded harsh in the air.

That’s... that’s, uhm, that’s good. She cleared her throat, for once in her life unsure of what to say. Oh, she knew what she was thinking, but even she knew that they would be a Bit Not Good. She could see that even after a short time of knowing this wolf – a week and a half at most – had already had quite the effect on Dahmer. He clearly cared for her, this new wolf, and it was almost ironic that the female’s name was Ghost; surely that’s what Sherlock would become to Dahmer soon enough. She could see it now, when asked about her, Dahmer would most certainly respond that she was just a friend in such a way that it was clear that Sherlock had become an afterthought.
She had been stuck inside of her morose thoughts and nearly missed the beginning of Dahmer’s words, having to think back and recall the words that her mind has just barely caught. Music, right. Her new composure. It was clearly his attempt at changing topics, and Sherlock would grant him that. She could talk about music, it was always a safe topic with her, a safety net. She absently licked her lips as she went over his words. He had described it as good. Why good? Why not lovely, or brilliant? She knew it was hardly finished, and far from being perfect, but Dahmer had always described her music as lovely. Was the change in adjective important, or just a slip up, something she was looking too much in to? Realizing she was letting the silence settle around them, she finally put a stop to her spastic thoughts. It’s just something I’ve been working on for the past week or so, it’s not nearly complete yet.

Sherlock could have asked if he would have liked to hear it, but she had taken his topic change to heart and just assumed that he would; and if she turned out to be wrong, well, he could just tell her to stop. She carefully picked up the bow and placed it against the strings of her violin, taking a deep steadying breath before slowly moving the bow along the strings, teasing an arpeggio out to warm up. Once she was satisfied that her violin was as tuned as it was going to be in such a short time, she took a glance at the sheet music before closing her eyes and losing herself to the music. She forgot her sentimental thoughts and feelings as she lost herself in her music, swaying in her spot and seeming to come alive as she played, even though what she played was incredibly sad. Oh, how she longed to get up and walk around as she played, where she could contort her body in just the right way and make it seem like the music was physically in front of you.

The composure started off low and soft, having almost a haunted quality to it. Often times there would be points in the melody where Sherlock would still the bow but continue a vibration of the string as the note slowly ended then pause for half a second before playing a new note, slightly higher than the one that had just been played. Soon, however, the song reached even higher notes, a comparably faster pace to what had been played at the beginning, until it tapered off back to slightly lower notes until the music ceased all together. Having finished playing what had been written, Sherlock stayed where she was, bow against the violin and eyes closed. The piece wasn’t complete, at least not to her, but for someone who didn’t know it, the piece would have sounded complete. Slowly she opened her eyes, blinking as she adjusted once more to the light. She glanced at Dahmer before lowering the instrument and resting it upon her lap, not wanting to say anything and ruin the relatively peaceful moment that seemed to have settled over them.

**Dahmer Oriel** Sun Oct 27, 2013 1:47 am

OKAY. THIS HAS AN ABRUPT ENDING, BUT I COULDN'T WAIT ANY LONGER.

For a few seconds, Dahmer was afraid that his old partner wouldn't be willing to change the subject. Whenever Sherlock felt she was on to something or following through on a hunch, she became an even more relentless version of herself. Half-answers and attempts to redirect her attention were responded to with a leveling stare that communicated just how determined and serious Sherlock was – her search for the truth would not be in vain. For now though, it appeared as though the female was willing to let things go: and for that, Dahmer Oriel was immensely grateful. Things with Ghost were too new and sensitive to withstand any scrutiny, especially from an expert sleuth like Sherlock. Whether she wanted to know about Ghost's past or what was going on between the two of them, Dahmer knew that his new friend wouldn't fare well against his partner – Sherlock wouldn't bother to check herself when it came to asking questions. The pallid female possessed a fragile past and even more delicate psyche and if Dahmer were to combine those attributes with Sherlock's ruthless need for information and her refusal to cater to others feelings...well, that was just a recipe for disaster. He wasn't willing to put Ghost through that, not this soon after her ordeals. The wolf knew that his former partner didn't necessarily mean to come off so callously – she just found the pursuit of knowledge to be the most important objective. Feelings didn't come second in the equation, either. They didn't even factor in for her. She wasn't like that consciously – Dahmer knew that. If he hadn't, there was no way he would be in love with her. Sherlock Holmes wasn't entirely an unfeeling, robotic and only logical being. Obtuse, maybe. But definitely not intentionally cruel. Despite all of this, Dahmer wasn't letting Sherlock within twenty yards of Ghost, at least not until his new friend was on more stable ground. Ghost had come a long way in a short time thanks to distance and new found friends, but there was still a ways to go.

In any case, Sherlock allowed Dahmer to steer the conversation to easier paths. He knew she'd be willing to talk music – it was a subject Sherlock enjoyed immensely, whether it was merely talking theory or putting it into practice. Dahmer was woefully unskilled when it came to playing any instrument, but he was an avid listener of anything his friend played. He loved watching as Sherlock became an entirely different being – music transformed her, allowing her to become a less guarded version of herself. She would become intensely focused on the notes as she played, her brow furrowed and her eyes closed as the sound transported both of them to another place. Dahmer honestly couldn't decide which he loved more – witnessing Sherlock in this defenseless state, or hearing the music itself. It was a tough call – much like with everything else she did, Sherlock brought a certain focus and perfection to her music. Whether it was a piece she learned from books of old classics, or something she composed herself – every note she played rang loud and clear, her arm moving furiously to coax masterpieces from the strings. While she played her features would soften as she lost herself in the notes, carrying Dahmer along for the ride. He listened to her now, becoming relaxed in his friend's presence for the first time in what felt like ages. The male leaned back in his chair, his arms relaxing by his sides as the music washed over him. A soft smile played at the male's lips and his eyes slowly closed, his thoughts drifting back to other times when they two of them were together like this. It never got old – and it never failed to improve his mood. He stayed just like that for the duration of Sherlock's song, not moving until the last note rang from the instrument. When the silence rushed back in between the two of them, and Dahmer's eyes opened. His gaze rested on his companion as she slowly came back from wherever she went when her music took over. Sherlock's softened features disappeared and she blinked against the light, glancing quickly in his direction before focusing on the violin once more. She didn't speak. He didn't want to, either. The two of them were unwilling to break the peaceful silence that had developed between them.

Would it always be like this with them? As much as he loved her and their friendship, he was weary of the fits and bursts that always seemed to crop up between them. Apparently it was impossible for the two of them to have an easy relationship without any of the pitfalls – whether they were caused by his feelings for her, or her not so compromising personality. As silly as it seemed now, Dahmer had figured that meeting Ghost would change things for the better – take the pressure off, allow him to focus on something either than his desperate need for his old partner. Instead it gave them this – silences that the two of them were too afraid to break. He just wanted things to be simple with them again. He wanted to be able to talk about Ghost without worrying about what Sherlock would say. He pondered her reaction from earlier – she had mishandled her violin, the sharp note ringing out between them as she stuttered her response. Sherlock didn't stutter. She never misspoke, either. What had that been about? It was fitting that she'd be struggling for words when with him – it had been his own problem since the moment he realized how much he loved her. He found that he was always having to censor his own words – to work hard in order to prevent himself from blurting out the wrong thing. He had been doing it for so long now, it almost felt like instinct. But after spending so little time in her presence in the last month and having Ghost as his company instead, the massive male was out of practice. With Ghost, he could say anything that was on his mind and frequently did. With Sherlock he needed to be careful, needed to filter himself. After being able to speak freely for so long, he was finding it difficult to adapt again. It was sad.

And that was another thing – her music. As beautiful as the song was (even in its unfinished state), Dahmer was struck with how sad it sounded. Sherlock's music was all different – with songs all along the spectrum, but none had ever sounded like this. It was haunting, in a way and listening to it had caused a sharp sort of pain in his chest. He wasn't entirely sure how Sherlock went about writing her music, or what her creative process involved – but he found himself fervently hoping that the music wasn't a reflection on how she felt. As frustrated and angry as he was with her at times, he never wanted his friend to be sad or hurting. And as the two of them sat there in their mutual silence, he hated himself for not being able to ask her the questions that could matter most.

Dahmer forced himself to think of other things – things that could break the quiet without bringing anymore unease to the party. The winds continued to blow outside, the rain battering angrily against the window panes. He knew there was still a long ways to go before the storm blew itself out. By the time everything was over and done with, Dahmer knew there'd be a lot of damage to fix. As hard as he worked to storm proof his home, the storm was proving to be just a little stronger. And if his place was taking a beating, who knew what kind of shape Sherlock and Ghost's places would be in at the end. It was going to take a while for him to get everything fixed. And if the damages were bad enough, where would Sherlock stay? As difficult as things were between them, he knew that he had to make her stay with him until everything was fixed. Dahmer was well aware that Sherlock was perfectly capable of finding somewhere else to stay during repairs – but the thought of her being further away from him hurt more than the difficulties that might arise as a result of them living so close. After all, he could always escape upstairs if things got too intense.
Dahmer watched his friend carefully, thinking before he spoke and finally broke the silence. Your place is gonna need a lot of repairs after this is all over with. And it definitely won't be safe for you to stay in while I fix things. He paused, a little afraid to voice his suggestion – he didn't want to freak her out. You can stay here, while I work. He faltered, losing his nerve. I'll work as quickly as I can, I promise. I just...don't want anything to happen to you. He thought of her back in her home alone, composing her sad music. Dahmer fell silent again, afraid to look at his friend directly after voicing his proposal. He forced himself to make eye contact with her for just a little longer – his eyes soft and sincere. Your music...was amazing, by the way. As always. Really. A small but genuine smile lifted his lips and he directed it at her before losing his nerve and turning away.

sherlock holmes Mon Oct 28, 2013 10:58 pm

and i'm quite aware we’re dying.

Most days, Sherlock was completely content with whom she had become- she was efficient and logical, she didn’t let sentiment cloud her judgement and didn’t allow her life to be ruled by irrational hopes and thoughts; however, there were times where she felt that things would be easier between her and Dahmer if she were different. She knew it was pointless to think such things because wolves didn’t change at the drop of a hat, and it took years to change habits, let alone complete personalities; but some days, when she angered or disappointed Dahmer, she wished it could be done because she found she didn’t enjoy the hollow feeling it left in her stomach.

Pale eyes eventually wandered to the windows, pretending that she could see the beautiful destruction that this terrible storm was causing. Oh, what she would do to be able to walk over to that window and peer out into the darkness, to witness first-hand the destruction that nature could deal out when it wanted to. Now that she thought about it, she would give anything to be able to go out and explore when the weather turned suitable- she itched to see uprooted trees, to study the effect of the strong wind that was currently battling Dahmer’s carefully constructed home and the surrounding forest (and deep down in her mind palace, she heard the faint whispers of “a bit not good, Sherlock,” float up, sounding oddly like Dahmer). Sherlock glanced back at her friend, noticing he had finally opened his eyes and she offered him a small unguarded smile before returning her gaze to the window. Maybe she could convince Dahmer to go exploring with her, selfishly keeping him close to her. Of course, realistically, exploring would have to wait until her leg healed enough for her to get around- or maybe she could have Dahmer make her up a walking stick – a cane, somewhere deep in her mind reminded her – to help her walk while taking the majority of the weight off of her injured leg.

She was just in the middle of opening her mouth to propose the question of him making her a cane when Dahmer beat her in voicing something else. Ah yes, trust Dahmer to worry about the safety of his built structures. What was odd, though, was the way he faltered after his suggestion of her staying here while he made the repairs. She narrowed her eyes in the way she did when she was trying to figure something out, searching his body language in hopes of figuring out what it was she was missing- she was clearly missing something, and she had this dreadful feeling that it was something huge. Was his hesitation a result of him trying to slowly separate himself from her? It surely couldn’t have anything to do with her staying with him, because they had spent countless nights together before, on and off assignments, and there had never been this level of awkwardness before. Just as long as you don’t mind. I know I can be… difficult. I’d like that, though. She wasn’t sure where that last sentence came from, but she knew it was the closest she’d come to saying that she missed him (and how much she would in the time to come, once he fully pulled away).

To make matters worse, Dahmer had to go and compliment her on her music, which just made her emotions and thoughts jumble together. He was sending so many mixed signals that it was hard to keep things straight, though she was busy compiling everything into boxes within her mind palace to look through later on in the night when they could fall into one of their comfortable silences again. Thank you, she said sincerely, and thank you for bringing me here, it’s been… she paused, searching for the right word, instead just settling for something simple, nice.

Warmth and affection and fear twisted all through Sherlock’s stomach, leaving her almost nauseated with the overload of emotions after she fell silent. She hoped she hadn’t said anything that would cause an even bigger rift between the two of them; she found that she truly did not want to lose this, lose this friendship, lose Dahmer. The thing was, Sherlock wasn’t sure how to go about keeping it.

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