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Koschei tossed and turned on the too-large bed, eyes forced shut. When had the room become so freezing? When had he depended on the feel of lithe arms around his waist and warm breath on the back of his neck to fall asleep?
He turned over, icy blue eyes wide open, a frown etched into his hansom features. He would just have to get used to it. Theta - the Doctor, damn him - wouldn't be coming back. His fiancé probably wouldn't be happy about him sleeping with another man now would she?
Blinking back tears he stared into the darkness. He couldn't believe Theta, his Theta, would be getting married in a few shorts months. He didn't want to.
And what for? To carry on the family name? Obligation to the poor girl? Certainly not for love.
Dear Rassilon please not for love.
He curled up, clutching at Theta's pillow. His whole body wracked with sobs, tired and heavy. How could others stand it? Falling asleep without someone against you every night, no lovely nonsense whispered in the mornings, no sleepy midnight kisses.
For a moment he imagined Theta's body pressed against his, thought of what he would look like. His blond curls would be splayed across the pillow, catching any light and making him look almost angelic. A soft smile would be on his face, so gentle and kind, as he dreamt of the universe and traveling with the one he loved.
Would he be dreaming of her now? Koschei wondered. Would be still be able to see the stars with her like he'd always dreamt?
All Koschei could hope was that Theta would be happy in the end.
He turned over, icy blue eyes wide open, a frown etched into his hansom features. He would just have to get used to it. Theta - the Doctor, damn him - wouldn't be coming back. His fiancé probably wouldn't be happy about him sleeping with another man now would she?
Blinking back tears he stared into the darkness. He couldn't believe Theta, his Theta, would be getting married in a few shorts months. He didn't want to.
And what for? To carry on the family name? Obligation to the poor girl? Certainly not for love.
Dear Rassilon please not for love.
He curled up, clutching at Theta's pillow. His whole body wracked with sobs, tired and heavy. How could others stand it? Falling asleep without someone against you every night, no lovely nonsense whispered in the mornings, no sleepy midnight kisses.
For a moment he imagined Theta's body pressed against his, thought of what he would look like. His blond curls would be splayed across the pillow, catching any light and making him look almost angelic. A soft smile would be on his face, so gentle and kind, as he dreamt of the universe and traveling with the one he loved.
Would he be dreaming of her now? Koschei wondered. Would be still be able to see the stars with her like he'd always dreamt?
All Koschei could hope was that Theta would be happy in the end.
Literature
three years after reichenbach fall (4)
After a while we were lying on the sofa, Sherlock on top, hugging each other and just enjoying the silence. I held my eyes closed and was about to fall asleep, only Sherlock's gently kisses kept me awake. I couldn't say how long we were snuggling and kissing, but it must have been a while, because the sun set, as Sherlock rose from the sofa, after he kissed me once again.
"I'm going to make some tea... or coffee. What do you prefer?", he asked, softly stroking my cheek.
"Tea...", I answered whispering, with a small smile on my lips. "But... no sugar, Sherlock..."
"All right, John. No sugar." Sherlock nodded. "Is it because I'm sugar enough
Literature
Three Years of Flowers
Year 1
John didn't think anything of it when he received the first gift. It was the day of Sherlock's funeral and John was admittedly still in a grief-stricken haze, so it was understandable that he wouldn't think much of a bouquet of flowers, even if it was a very large bouquet of roses. Truth be told, it wasn't until Lestrade arrived that he actually noticed them.
"These are strange flowers to send for a funeral
" he noted, leaning in to smell them. "Why did they send them here and not the funeral home?"
John shrugged, moving stiffly out of the kitchen, his eyes automatically searching for the bouquet in question. He frowned a bit a
Literature
Sherlock BBC- Sociopath
Eyelids shot open, revealing frightened irises of silver-blue darting back and forth, searching for the source of the loud noise like the shattering of china or glass which had awoken the nine-year-old Sherlock Holmes. Another shatter from upstairs and raised voices; Sherlock winced. It was happening again tonight. Through the floorboards, the voices of his mother and father were quite muffled, though recognizable, but Sherlock tried to block them out. He didn't want to hear them again. Not tonight.
The voices got louder and Sherlock wanted to scream- to race upstairs and scream until his lungs ached- to get his parents to notice how much th
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amazing fanfic