You were walking through a forest of black and white. Black trees, white leaves, black grass and a white path. The sky overheard was a swirl of red - all kinds of red. Crimson, burgundy, scarlet and carmine danced around each other, almost hypnotic in their movements, almost forcing you to dance around in circles before you could force your head down to look ahead into the seemingly never-ending forest. You had no idea which way to go, if going ahead would lead you out or force you further into the belly of the forest. All you knew was that you had to keep moving forward or that thing - the thing you felt watching you, following you, practically breathing down your neck - would catch up. And that would be the end.
So you kept moving forward.
The forest was exactly the same, the same branches grazing past your face, the same leaves falling just as you passed them, even the same white rocks camouflaged in the white path that constantly threatened to trip you over. You felt that thing creep up closer and closer. You slowly sped your pace up to a speed-walk, then a jog before going into a flat out sprint. The branches that had just grazed past were now slicing into your skin, the leaves had turned to hail and flew after you, the rocks grew into boulders and made a maze out of what had been a simple, straight path. You kept running and running, your lungs on fire, blood running down your face, your limbs going stiff from the bruises erupting from the relentless hail. On and on it went, and the thing just kept getting closer. It kept getting closer and no matter how fast you ran, it got closer and closer until you felt its fingers creeping up your back and around your neck and-
You sat up so fast that it sent what you could see of the room through your sleep-ridden eyes into a spin, but you kept yourself from falling back onto the bed. The phantom fingers lingered on your neck and you scratched at the delicate skin, desperate to get rid of that creeping feeling. You were almost at the point of hyperventilating when hands, someone else's hands, wrapped around your wrists and placed them around your bent up knees. You didn't want to look up. If you looked up then that person - he - would be real.
"Your dreams won't follow you into real life, ______. You of all people should know that."
He started to take his hands away but you clung to them as desperately as you had tried to shake off that thing, just seconds earlier. And finally, you looked up. God, that face just never failed to take your breath away. Those eyes, that straight nose leading the way down to the surprisingly soft lips. You wondered briefly whether he was actually more vain than he seemed and took the time to use lip balm or whether he was just blessed with perfect genes. Probably the latter, the lucky bastard. Dammit, how could you allow yourself to get lost in that face, you weren't allowed, you were not allowed to do that anymore.
You felt his hands pulling away again and this time, your clinging did nothing to keep them attached to your own hands. The face showed no sadness, no pity. No nothing. Not even any regret at what happened. Like he didn't care. He probably didn't. Yeah, why would he care about having anything to do with you? You brought this on yourself, you created this distance, it was your fault, all of this.
But you had to try. You had to try to fix things. And something had happened last night because he started it. He initiated the kiss, all of it and you'd just followed suit. And what did you have to lose? Nothing you hadn't already lost.
You noticed him walking to the door. How did he move so fast? Or where you just daydreaming for far longer than you realised?
"Wait. Please, just wait." His hand kept reaching out for the doorknob. "Goddammit, Sherlock, I said wait! God, how fucking hard is it to just listen to someone who isn't you?" He turned around. And finally, there was an emotion. Amusement, a smirk.
"So you've finally found your voice? It's been radio silence for, how long now? Over a month? And when you finally deign to grace me with your words, you hurl abuse at me. Classic move, ______. Very in character." He was still smiling but there was an anger just behind his eyes, just starting to burn and threatening to spill over.
You stared, trying to think of something witty and cutting to say. And you burst into tears. Not just cute, sniffly tears but full blown sobs, tears streaming down your face uncontrollably and your chest tightening as you struggled to get enough air.
"I, I can't do- do this, any more! I can't- this, it's all too, much!" You wiped away the snot running down your mouth, not even caring how you must look. Okay, breathe ______, breathe. In and out. In and out. Keep your breaths steady, get your pulse back down to normal. Speak. "I...," get it together, ______, you can do this. "I still love you, Sherlock. I love you so much. This past month has been torture. I couldn't stand thinking that you hated me, or still hate me, and all I want is to to go back in time or something, so all that never happened. God, it's all such a mess. I made that mess I know but I need you, Sherlock. I need you and I can't breathe without you. I can't live without you by my side." You let out a chuckle. "Fuck me, I can't believe I said that. It's so cringey." You locked eyes. "But it's true."
It was like you were in an inadvertent staring contest. Neither party wanted to be the first to break eye contact. You were so desperate for him to say something that you weren't even paying attention to the stinging of your eyes or the light-headedness creeping on. Oh shit, you needed to breathe. How did you do that again?
"I can't forgive you, ______." And a big breath out. That was what you needed. Well, not the frankly quite cold words. But him actually talking to you and not being passive aggressive.
"I can't forgive you. You know why and I don't think you, or anyone else, are surprised to hear that. I could say that I'll try to forget but let's be honest, that isn't likely either. It's not unimportant so it just sticks around."
"Which room have you buried it in?"
A genuine half-smile appeared on his face and you could swear you saw a bit of that old teasing, twinkle in his eyes.
"It's an odd one - much like you. It flits about from room to room, usually on the second floor, but I find it occasionally trying to make its way up a staircase. I think it wants to explore a turret."
"I'm surprised to hear that. You're normally so good with keeping all those pesky memories in place," you teased back.
The chuckle was so spontaneous that it was enough to startle you and make you jump. Well, only a little bit still.
That smile was everything to you. It literally lit up the room for you, it took up all of your attention. Hell, it even got you to forget all the fucking awful things you'd done. And then that other voice in your head would wake up.
How you wished it didn't. That was the voice that shouted at you that you weren't allowed to get any respite from the weight of those terrible things, that you didn't deserve to even have a conversation with him, let alone a smile. That was unimaginable, unforgivable. That was betraying him again.
"I love you Sherlock. I do. As fake and as contrived as it may sound, I love you. And I want to be with you. For as long as humanly possible. Maybe even longer than that."
A light. On Sherlock's face. That implied he wanted you to love him. That he wanted you to care so much about him that you would love him even if he couldn't love you.
He wanted to be loved. As much as anybody else. Because once they got a taste of even one drop of that sweet, sweet poison, they couldn't bear to live without it. And you'd both been drinking from the same cup. Yes, you could probably survive without it. Probably. And survive was a very generous statement. You'd exist. But how deeply had he been drinking from it? How addicted was he? And would he still be sharing that cup with you? He was a good man, for the most part. Kind of. He may be an insensitive arsehole with no regard for people's feelings, but he sought the truth.
"Now you know that's wrong, ______. I am nowhere close to being a good man. I just solve mysteries others are too blind to notice."
"Hey, I did think 'kind of'. Could you be slipping up?" You teased him.
That fucking adorable, smug, little smirk.
"Maybe I just like being teased by you."
You barely had time to feel hopeful before he practically launched himself at you. When you kissed, it was like those past months had never happened. Hell, it was like your whole life had been wiped away and all that existed was his mouth against yours, his hands running through your hair, down your back and under your thigh. You both had merged into one body, one soul. Jesus, your mind wandered somewhere so soppy and poetic when you were happy. Truly happy.
It felt marvellous.
As did the sex. God, the sex was fucking fantastic. You couldn't fathom why anyone would want to do anything other than this for the rest of their lives. I mean, apart from the obvious reasons of no income, no food or water and eventual death. But man, what a way to go out.
You breathed a sigh of pure contentment as Sherlock placed soft kisses down your neck, over your chest and down your stomach, seemingly ready for round two. And you let go.