Sherlock and Moriarty nonsense

[improbablenotimpossible]

with hatesdeerstalkers

Comments

[hatesdeerstalkers]

Don't-! Stop being an idi - nghgh!!

[As Sherlock begins to let go, he suddenly lunges out with that injured hand, despite the pain - and grabs a gloved hand, clinging as tightly as his wound will allow him, his entire arm shaking with the effort.]

Y-You're still! You're still a human! Fate has - nothing to do with this! C-Climb up, damn you!!

[Rivulets of blood begin to run down his arm, pooling on Sherlock's hand...and in those blue eyes of his, there's...desperation, but also - something else.

(He's the original one, isn't he? I'm just - a pretender. With this Authority, I can never truly be human in the way he is, so -

He should live...!)]

[improbablenotimpossible]

[He grunts as the man catches him, his shoulder aching in protest at the sudden movement - and he knew the man's arm was in worse shape.

Those eyes - those eyes are proof enough, that of the two of them, or the both...

It's all back to him, holding the fate of one man in his hands, a man who never asked for this. And yet never forgot why they did this.]

There is one logical choice here.

[His other hand reaching up, at first appearing to give in, to climb, but his fingers fiddled with the small button that held his glove fast, knowing between behind drenched and the slickness of leather...

that he will fall out of the man's grasp.]

[hatesdeerstalkers]

[For a moment - he thought everything would be alright.

And then, he sees what Sherlock is trying to do - and his face immediately goes pale, or paler past the pain and blood loss.]

Don't!!

[But, he can't do anything. Just hanging on is the most he can do, and even his grip is beginning to loosen, bit by bit, to that hand.

Tears finally come to his eyes, spilling over before vanishing in the spray from the waterfall, his eyes wide.]

[improbablenotimpossible]

[He could feel himself slipping, the instinctive desire to live, the beast inside screaming to grab hold - to stop but, he had spent much of his life learning to deal with that voice - silencing, feeding it, now - in his head, he roared at it to be silent.

This was the logical choice, a criminal or a detective - it's obvious whose life is more important to the world]

You're the one-

[And with a hitch, his fingers slipped out of the glove entirely, gravity yanking him down, only seeing those pained blue eyes as he descended, disappearing from sight]