đŒ: manipulation, possessiveness, violence, kidnapping, DonĂĄl Finn
Prologue, one ...
'Petal' an accented voice hummed. It's gravitas pulling her from the words in her book during her post-routine rest.
On a particularly regular night such as this, Liliana Forsythe had a mysterious presence following her like a shadow ever since she arrived at the Opera house. That voice, coated in silk and as smooth as whiskey, promised her many things - including his protection.
His voice was a tonic to her long, arduous days of training.
Her head lifted up, desperately seeking to locate where he remains hidden. Her ears ache to hear the delicate sound of him, abandoning the comfort of the plush, rouge seat into the refuge of his soft voice as she stood onto her feet.
Every night, when Liliana was alone, the voice would be there for her.
"Ever since I heard you sing, I have needed you with me to serve me to sing, for my music."
The girl prowled through her room, which barely fit a chair beside a small table with candlesticks, a body-length mirror, and a twin sized mattress on the floor.
Before she came, it served as a costume closet. Old racks of ripped or moth-eaten clothes served as her dressing screen; her fingers swept through the materials as she wandered. Her tired eyes searched between the cracks of the paneling for any figure within the pockets of light seeping through its gaps. As she traced the cool glass of the mirror with the pads of her fingertips, her voice came sweetly through her lips, "Where are you? Show yourself."
It seemed though as if he stood right in front of her; his voice surrounded her, softly - as if to soothe her fears, "I am right here, my lovely." As he inhaled, he clicked the roof of his mouth with his tongue, "Are you quite tired, my Petal?" His question held a firm knowledge of her current state.
"Between what both you and Madame expect from me, I fear I am not as resilient as you believe I am." The girl paces as her worries sit in her mind, "I try to give you everything, but it never feels like it's enough."
The silence does no good, as her haunting thoughts bled into what she deemed real.
Her friendly companion gently guides her to look in the mirror. Her rounded face reflects back at her. Her blue eyes stare dull as her eyelids threaten to close completely in unmistakable exhaustion .
"You are enough, Liliana. What you see may be harsher than what someone else sees, and I see your potential - one that burns brighter than all others. Your voice may be beloved by many, and you will sing, but only for me - no one on earth can give you what I can." The determination in his voice lifts her spirits.
"Now, sing!"
"I don't have the strength."
As she sighed out her reply, his voice followed with a lingering note. Liliana listened to the familiar melody he teased, coaxing her. Within her soul, it felt as if she was in between reality and dreams. Everything fell away as his voice filled her spirit with the sweet, rich sound, soaring into the air - weightless.
With her eyes closed, the noirette once again subdued by her soft-spoken companion. In the mirror, a faint figure watched over the 'snow white' lady, with fondness. As her limbs dangle heavily, the mirror slowly opened. Two large hands caught the girl - holding the world in his arms. Her weight leaned into his form as he lifted her into his secure hold.
He looked at her in utter peace. His eyes ripped away to glance at the ceiling before inevitably seeking her once more.
In a span of seconds, she knew he had lulled her to sleep. Her imagination blossomed into an image, as a man appeared in front of her eyes. As her vision blurred, she noticed his mouth moving, as the delicate whisper floated in her ears - one that was dear to her.
Dividers: @pepsipoet
Inspiration from mutadrc on tiktok 1 & 2
Leave a like, comment, or reblog if you're into that. It always puts a smile on my face. đ„°
The story is slowly building. Stick around and see what happens. Next chapter will be longer.
đŒ: manipulation, possessiveness, violence, kidnapping, DĂłnal Finn
Prologue, one, ...
For years, she'd heard the whispers of the other ballerinas and the stagehands of the rumors of a phantom of the opera. That its spirit has wandered these halls for decades, and during productions, it enjoys listening to the music. The phantom has a special place in box five. When he is angry, things go wrong - lights flicker and turn off, props going missing, or objects break - and several months ago, Lilliana Forsythe had witnessed these strange occurrences for herself. She felt a presence draw to her, and the occurrences lessened. Every night, she had lit a candle for her late father. She would say her prayers - for her father and for his promise.
One evening, the ballerinas had to stay later than everyone, as punishment for the poor performance. The girls were pushed to their limits and ran through the section again with the motivation to get it perfect so they could retreate to bed.
Ms. Giry - the ballet instructor - sent her stick to the ground, causing a loud 'bang', which grabbed the attention of the girls. In a firm tone, she praised them, but not without criticism, "Much better. You may take leave for tonight, but tomorrow...I expect you all to be more professional. We must strive for perfection, hmm?" She paused for a moment before continuing, "You may go, ladies."
The girls quickly exit the stage to find their way to their rooms. Yet, the girl with wavy ebony hair - half messily tied up in a bow, lingered. When the room was empty and dark, she stood there without fear. Rather, she began to pretend she was the primadonna. She twirled around the stage, leaping and humming to herself, which then became a full-on song. She sang out into the empty audience. Her voice reverberated into the corners and crevices of the room; and, it echoed through the walls into the tunnels.
In the darkness, Liliana was not alone. Something was listening to her sing. She didn't see him come out. She finished her song, gazing around the room. There, in the dark, was a figure of someone - a man, a man in a mask.
He had vanished as quick as the fair-skinned girl had made out his form in the inky darkness.
Lily cautiously retreated to her quarters, as her mind fixated on the shadow. She laid in her bed - being an old mattress lying on the floor that she had dressed with bedsheets from the laundry room. Her head rested on a pillow that was used as a prop in an old production, fiddling with a lock of her dark hair. She was exhausted enough after practice, and yet, from that strange occurrence, all the tiredness had gone from her body. Her sky blue eyes - which held a swirling mist of thunderclouds - caught the soft, illuminating glow of the night sky. Within the comforting silence of the night, save for the hush of the spring breeze - her ears tuned in to the sound of the whistling wind, which slowly transformed into a hum.
The voice surrounded her, reverbing the crooked walls of her makeshift bedroom. He sang to her - a lullaby, which soothed her to sleep.
"Goodnight, Liliana"
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this teaser.
Request: James gets badly hurt during an investigation, coming close to his end. With prompt 36. "Don't try to charm your way out of this." "...So you think I'm charming?"Ft. Concerned Sherlock/Trio Vibes for @ih8books
Notes: Not cannon compliant and not medically accurate
Warnings: blood, gun violence
Word Count: 6k Holy Moly this one... sorry for the length
-----
In the chaos, I stumbled to my feet, snapping my head around, trying to find my friends. The wind had picked up, and there was a light rain, border lining on sleet coming down, making it even harder to see and make sense of the area. The scene was dark and chaotic, people screaming, gunshots firing, dust clouds kicked up from the ground.
In my searching, I turned and saw James across the courtyard, almost mirroring me exactly. I sighed in relief, but the feeling didn't last. I heard another gunshot but this time, James flinched, stepping back like he'd been shoved.
My breath caught in my throat, and I froze on the spot. I watched his hand race to his stomach, holding it as he winced in pain, slowly looking down at his hand. His face paled and his cheeks puffed out, trying to catch his breath. He stared at his hand with an expression I'd never seen on him, a blanket of shock and confusion.
His name was ripped violently from my throat like I had no say in the matter, "James!".
His head snapped up as I screamed, finding me in the chaos. He shuddered and held out his bloodied hand, warning me to stay back, to come no closer to the danger. I saw the blood leaking through his shirt and confidently ignored his warning.
I ran as fast as I could, no plan in mind. Ignoring the dangers around, I bolted, wanting nothing more than to be closer to him, to make sure he was safer in the danger.
I reached him just as his knees buckled, and he began to fall to the ground. His knees hit the ground as I put my hands on him, trying to keep him upright. Despite my efforts, I couldn't hold up his body weight, and he fell backwards to the ground, landing painfully into the dust. Still, my hands never left him, fussing around, grabbing onto his vest despite their tremor.
"James-" I started but was promptly cut off by his croaking, pained voice.
"You-" he winced, "-need to go," he choked, his accent sounding thicker in his distress.
I shook my head before he even finished speaking and sniffed back tears I never noticed were falling. "Not a chance, just- just hold on," I demanded, eyes glued to the blood on his shirt. I mentally slapped myself for panicking and quickly put pressure on the wound, pressing my hands down.
James jerked, tossing his head back into the ground as he cried out at the added pain. His hands shot to my own, holding my wrists as he braced against the pain, hissing through gritted teeth. "You can't stay! It's not safe-" he insisted, cutting himself off with grunts of pain.
"James, I'm not leaving you!" I ignored his protests, trying to keep a level head and shut out all the noise. It proved impossible when a single sound distracted me more than any of the others. A chill went down my spine as I heard footsteps approaching me slowly.
I closed my eyes tightly before looking behind me to see the gunman approaching, adjusting his eyes in the dark as he reloaded his revolver. With pleading eyes, I watched him and shook my head as reality set in. I felt James shove weakly at my hands, "Please- run!" He shouted, snapping me back into reality.
Quickly, I turned back to James, meeting his pleading eyes before looking away and covered his body with my own, practically hugging him close as every muscle in my body trembled.
"No no no, don't you dare!" James shouted, too weak to shove me off. "You need to go!" His pleading voice was strained but unsuccessful in convincing me to leave.
I shook my head against his chest "I'm sorry, James," I whimpered.
I heard a 'click' and my arms tightened around James, shielding him as best I could despite my stature and trembling limbs. My breath hitched in my throat, tears blurring my vision; I was desperate, terrified, but refused to move.
But instead of feeling any pain, I heard distant gunfire and a body fall limp to the ground as siren began to echo throughout the street.
A trembling breath left my lips as I pushed myself to a kneeling position, sitting up to see the gunman lying dead on the floor. I pried my eyes away from the sight and and moved to put pressure back on James' would, hands shaking.
"That was incredibly- ah! Stupid," he scolded, looking pained and almost betrayed. "Please, I'm begging you, get somewhere safe."
I opened my mouth to reply but saw his eyes drop and lost any words I had queued. Instead, I sat up a little taller and shouted, voice suddenly hoarse, "SHERLOCK!"
The distant wail of sirens grew louder, practically drowning out my voice. James had given up on his pleading and was instead putting his energy into squeezing his hand over mine. The hands that currently had his blood seeping through my fingers. His breaths came shallow and uneven; his face drained of colour.
Then, a familiar voice cut through the chaos, "Here." Sherlock appeared at my side, dropping to his knees beside me, his sharp eyes scanning the scene before him with deductive intensity. "What happened?"
James groaned weakly beneath us, his eyelids fluttering. Sherlock's jaw tightened as he waited for an answer.
"He was shot-i" I suddenly noticed how weak and pathetic my voice sounded but now wasn't the time to care about my dignity. "Shit- I don't know if I'm doing this right."
Sherlock wiped out a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it over my hands, letting me move to press it down. "You're doing perfectly," he assured, but we shared a look of concern when James didn't flinch at the added pressure.
Instead, his hand reached up weakly to gingerly wipe my tears. His hand only made it halfway before falling limp. "Don't cry, Darling," he murmured, his voice hoarse and laboured.
"You're going to be okay," I demanded, panicking when I saw blood through the handkerchief. "I won't let you die-I swear you're going to be okay," I rambled, repeating the words more to myself than to Jim.
James chuckled weakly, the sound exhaling as more of a pained gasp. "You're...awfully optimistic," he breathed, his eyes found mine with a hint of amusement despite the severity of the situation. "Not...very...logical."
"Stop it," I scolded. "You're going to be fine." i wiped my teary cheek with my shoulder before looking to Sherlock, who was hovering, eyes darting around for help.
James smirked faintly, his eyelids fluttering as he fought to keep his gaze focused. "Bossy," he murmured, amusement threading through his strained voice. His fingers twitched weakly against mine, losing grip. "But I... suppose I like that."
"Enough flirting, James," Sherlock butted in, moving to crouch behind his head, "You're in no state." In a quick, messy motion, he hoisted James from under his arms, pulling him to his feet. James cried out in pain, loudly, uncharacteristically. He was always loud, but everything else about how he was presented made me deeply uncomfortable.
James attempted to stifle a groan as Sherlock forced him to his feet; pain etched across his face as each movement aggravated his injury.
"Easy, easy," he grunted weakly, clinging to Sherlock's arm as much as his fading strength would allow. "Bloody hell, that hurts." His head dipped back before lulling forward, gritting his teeth. His eyes caught side of his wound, and he quickly shut his eyes. In fear or disgust, I didn't know.
I flinched at every sound he made but didn't give up. I looped an arm around my shoulders, and we worked tirelessly to get him somewhere safe. Despite the height differences, we managed to load him onto a cart and soon, back to our abode.
Once we were finally safe inside, we lay him out on a table where we could assess his injury. He was hardly coherent, practically unconscious aside from his pained quips. With every word, the sweat gathered on his brow, and his head seemed less steady, bobbing around as we moved him quickly.
"Mycroft!" Sherlock called, gathering an array of medical supplies, haphazardly.
His brother stormed into the room, his face getting redder as he saw the sight before him, reprimanding and scolding the two of us over our pleas for help. "WHAT HAVE THE LOT OF YOU GOT YOURSELVES INTO NOW? YOU CAN NOT BE LEFT ALONE WITHOUT CAUSING A PUBLIC SPECTACLE-"
I crossed the room to gather water and bandages, jerking abruptly with an outstretched arm. I looked back to see James still holding my hand, subconsciously not letting go. "MYCROFT PLEASE!" I shouted.
His eyes snapped to mine, seeing the pleading tears I was biting back as I tried to save my...friend. He cursed to himself and retrieved the items I was moving towards, storming back to help despite his mumbled cursing and lecturing.
The three of us worked on James' injury together, trying to find a solution.
Jameâs lips quivered, his eyes glazed over with pain. He tried to muster a smirk, but it was weak, strained. "Don't...don't look so worried, darling. I'll...I'll be fine."
My hands never left his wound, not even when Sherlock nudged me, ready to take over working on his injury. I didnât notice his presences at first, too engrossed in Jamesâ wellbeing. Sherlock nudged me again, firmer this time, his voice sharp with urgency. "Move. Now."
Mycroft stepped in, gently but firmly pulling my hands away from James' wound as Sherlock took over. He cursed to himself before turning and lifting a flat fire poker that had been burning in the nearby fire.
James stiffened at the sight. His eyes widened as Sherlock lifted the glowing-hot metal plate from the fire, its edges glowing faintly orange. His usual confidence wavered, replaced by a flicker of apprehension, a strangely foreign look for him. "Oh, thereâs no need for that." he shuffled nervously at what was to come.
I swallowed, hard at the sight, grimacing at the thought.
Mycroft stiffened and moved to press his hands firmly down on Jameâs shoulders to keep him still in the impending doom.
Sherlock approached with the red-hot metal plate, prepared to cauterize James' wound, âWould you prefer to bleed out instead?â he asked harshly, feeling a nausea rush over him.
James tensed and dropped his head back, cursing to himself, fear and trepidation flickering across his face. He gritted his teeth as he caught a glimpse of the metal plate in Sherlock's hand, the heat from the fire still radiating from the surface. He tried to protest; his voice laced with apprehension. "No need- no, really! There's no need-"
But his protestations were cut off by the quick, firm tone of Sherlock's voice. "There's no time for anything else,â he insisted. âIt's this or risk an infection," he stated bluntly, his gaze unwavering.
I stepped forward and grabbed James hands, to which he quickly held them tight in his own. "He must, James," I insisted, trying to even out the quiver in my voice. "He has to, okay?"
James grimaced at the thought of the pain that was to come, but he trusted us implicitly. He nodded, his grip on my hands tightening in anticipation. "Okay. Alright," he murmured through clenched teeth. He looked up at Sherlock, his expression a mixture of resignation and courage. "Do it," he nodded. "Just get it over with."
Sherlock's movements were confident and determined, his focus solely on the task at hand. He pressed the hot metal plate against the wound, and the air filled with the sickening sizzle of flesh meeting metal.
James cried out, unable to hold back the anguish that wracked his body. His grip on my hands tightened painfully, his head digging backwards as sweat poured down his face.
I hissed in pain and bent at the knees, dropping my head to my chest as he squeezed my hands so hard I thought they might break. He was in too much pain to have any control over the fact, and I sorely underestimated his grip strength. I bit my lip to keep quiet and recollected myself, trying to ignore the smell of burning flesh.
Mycroft called my name softly, checking on me as he forced Jameâs to stay on his back, but I hardly heard him, choosing to instead focus on staying steady for James.
Sherlock held the plate for a few more excruciating seconds before finally pulling it away, his expression grim. "It's done," he said quietly, dropping the poker on the ground, looking at it in distain. "This should stop the bleeding."
James slumped back against the table, his breathing ragged and guttural. His grip on my hands loosened slightly and I couldnât help but gasp softly in relief. His face was twisted into a grimace, sweat glistening on his brow. "God...damn it," he rasped, his voice strained. "That was...bloody awful."
I slipped a hand from his hold and shook it out beside me, hoping the pain would subside. A barely audible whimper escaped his lips as I slipped my hand away. I brought the hand to his cheek. "I know, I know it was," I rubbed my thumb back and forth, gently on his cheek. It was an intimate act considering our usual dynamic, but one that happened subconsciously. Â Mycroft and Sherlock shared a look but said nothing about it. "James? Are- are you alright?" I coaxed.
His eyes fluttered, and he fought to stay conscious, his body tensing as if it hurt to breathe. His words slurred and it made my heart race in fear as he clung to the edge of consciousness. "Not...not planning...on going...anywhere," he muttered weakly. "Not...leaving...you. Not yet"
âYou must stay awake, dear boy,â Mycroft chimed in, releasing his hold. His tone carried no real authority, just concern for the people around him. He looked to his brother, who was still staring into the fire, rethinking and fixating on everything heâd done, making sure they were all the right decisions.
James managed a faint nod, his face taut with pain. He knew he had to fight off the urge to sleep, even as his body fought against him. "Trying...not to," he breathed, his eyes fluttering. "But...God...everything spinning"
I watched Jameâs eyes turn glassy before fluttering shut. "James? James!" I worried, trying to keep him awake. His eyes drooped shut, face leaning into my hand as his head went limp, brow relaxing as he lost consciousness
I flinched at the sight and let his hand go, moving to act. Whether I was going to shake him or slap him, I didnât know. Sherlock quickly grabbed my shoulder, holding me back from either. He shook his head silently, his expression stern. "Let him rest. He needs it.â
âSherlock is right,â Mycroft stated, folding his hands behind his back, maintaining his usual demeaner. âI will send for a real doctor,â he promised before taking his leave, but not before glancing over us one last time.
I paused and collected myself, noting his steady breathing. I sniffled and wiped the tears from my cheek, unknowingly smearing his blood across my face.
Sherlock watched silently as I struggled to compose myself, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. His brows furrowed as he watched the blood smear across my cheek, a stark reminder of the situation. He looked me up and down, there was blood on my cheek, hands, lap, dress, you name it.
"Here," he offered quietly, fetching a cloth from his coat and gently dabbing at my cheek to clean the smears away. "You're covered in more of his blood than he is."
I looked up at him before taking his cloth and wiping my cheek, harder than I needed to. I looked down at my hands and dress for the first time before turning quickly and running over to the water bowl, frantically trying to clean off the blood, the realization of the situation hitting me fully.
He understood that seeing the blood, James' blood, was difficult, to say the least. "Easy," he murmured, moving to stand beside me, his voice surprisingly gentle. "It's alright. Let meâŠlet me help." He gently took the cloth from my trembling hands, carefully taking over the task of cleaning the blood off my hands.
I stilled, trying not to cry, but let him help. "Thank you" I mumbled out, feeling a small warmth in my chest at the aid from my best friend.
Sherlock nodded silently, focused on the task at hand. "Of course," he murmured, continuing to clean the bloodstains from my skin with gentle, practiced motions.
His eyes flickered upward, scanning over my face. I was grateful that he didnât mention the tears, and for once, he didn't tease. Instead, he simply continued in his ministrations.
"For helping, too." I added. âI shouldn't have panicked so much," I cursed myself, thinking about the time it took before I started to apply pressure on the wound. My heart was heavy with guilt, it felt weighed down with tar. If my panic and hesitation costed James, his life⊠I donât know what I would do with myself.
Sherlock paused, his gaze briefly shifting to check on James, who was still unconscious on the table nearby. "I would have panicked too. You handled yourself admirably. You may have saved his life."
I followed his gaze and ignored his words, "We should make him more comfortable," I insisted, taking my hands out of the water, moving abruptly to return to James' side.
Sherlock kept his grip on my hands and tugged me back to sit down by the water basin. "In a moment," he scolded. "You need to take care of yourself -"
"I didn't get shot-" I argued with a bitter tone in my voice before Sherlock interrupted, our usual rhythm of conversing.
"You are not breathing properly." He said firmly, eyes furrowing as he continued to scold me.
I took note of my erratic breaths, the very ones bringing a pain to my chest that I hadn't noticed until now. I held my breath for a moment to steady myself before gasping softly and catching my breath as it evened out. In all the chaos, I hadn't noticed the change or the pain it was causing in my lungs.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows, "See?" He noted smugly, to which I promptly rolled my eyes. He lifted my hands from the water and inspected them carefully. Once he was satisfied that there was no more blood, he let my hand fall to my lap and stood, towering over me. "You're still covered in blood," he reminded me sternly, his gaze flickering over my dirtied dress and trembling hands. "And you're shaking."
"Yes, thank you." I snapped, feeling insecure under his watchful eye.
"Heâs stable for now," he continued, ignoring my bitter tone. "Let Mycroft and I handle him."
I stood up and straightened out my shoulders, trying to stand taller, ready to argue. "I am fine enough to help -"
His tone softened just slightly. "Go change. Wash up. You're no help to anyone if you're in shock."
"I'm not in shock," I argued, fighting a battle with my nerves to stop shaking but seeing James laying unconscious, my whole body wanted to seize up. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, I wanted to double over and vomit. But more than anything, I wanted to go back in time and find him faster.
A hint of concern flitted across Sherlockâs eyes for a moment before his expression softened and he moved completely out of character. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to his chest. Despite the foreign behaviour, it was almost instinctive to hug him back and bury my face into his chest.
"Don't argue," he stated firmly, resting his chin on my head. "You're in no state to be tending to James right now. Let us handle it, dear-" he cut himself off, swallowing hard. It wouldn't have been the first time Sherlock accidentally called me his sister, but I chose to ignore the fact to not cause him any embarrassment. Instead, I nodded and loosened my grip around him.
Slowly, he let me go and I stepped back, keeping my gaze to the ground, determined to stop crying. "I'll be quick," I insisted.
Sherlock watched as I later returned, now in fresh clothes and looking marginally better. He gave a nod of approval, knowing I was stubborn enough to not be deterred.
Between the two of us, we managed to clean and patch James' wound while he wasnât awake to feel it. We changed him from his bloodied clothes to a nightshirt and move him to a more comfortable bed. Every move made my hands twitch and ache after being crushed but I powered through, regardless.
Sherlock's gaze flickered between James and I, noting my discomfort without mentioning it out loud.
When we were finally done, I slumped into a chair beside the bed, catching my breath after the tormenting day. My eyes immediately glued themselves to James, trailing over his soft face. He looked like he was asleep, like he wasnât in pain, like I hadnât failed him today.
In my hypnosis, I hadnât noticed Sherlock excusing himself, to shortly return, alerting me by a hand on my shoulder. I flinched and looked up to se him placing a bowl of snow and a cloth beside me. His gaze briefly flickering toward my hands, bruised lightly from James' earlier grip.
"You should take care of yourself too," he finally murmured, his tone gruff but not unkind. "No use in both of you being out of commission."
I smiled softly and took the bowl into my lap. âYou should go rest" I said softly, icing my hands.
Sherlock hesitated, his gaze lingering on James, still unconscious but stable, before flicking back to you. "But don't think I won't notice if you neglect your own injuries in favour of hovering over him."
âIâm not hovering,â I defended but was promptly cut off.
âRight, and I suppose you wonât spend the night by his side?â He replied, rocking back on his heels.
âWhat are you implying, Sherlock?â My eyes narrowed, refusing to accept any teasing or analysis.
He shrugged innocently and turned on his heel, striding toward the door, âNothing at all.â He paused just before exiting, glancing back one last time. "Iâll leave the two of you be.â
And with that, he was gone, leaving me alone with James, the quiet settling over the room like a heavy blanket. The silence of the room was broken only by the soft sound of James' steady breathing and the occasional creak of the house settling. The hours passed slowly, but exhaustion eventually came. I set the bowl aside and rested my head in my arms on the side of the bed, my cheek pressed near James' still hand.
James slowly stirred awake, his blurry vision gradually clearing. The pain from his injury made it difficult to focus, but he was conscious enough to register a presence beside him. He turned his head weakly. The sight before him, slumped over the bed, head resting by his hand, pulled a weak smile to his lips. Despite the pain, he reached outâŠ
I felt a soft touch brushing against my arm before softly brushing my nose. I twitched, nearly sneezing as I shook my head instinctively, sitting up abruptly. Sense only came to me when I heard a deep chuckle and looked up to see James, smiling like a tom cat.
"James" I breathed in relief, pulling my chair closer. "Are you alright? Can you breathe? How do you feel?" despite my rambling, my shoulders visibly relaxed as I saw him awake.
James chuckled weakly, the fondness in his expression was unmistakable. "Like I've been shot," he quipped dryly, though his voice lacked its usual vigour.
I almost flinched at his joke. "That's not funny" I breathed, trying to tell myself to say anything else.
James frowned, instantly regretting his attempt at humour. "You're right, darling, I'm sorry," he murmured, his tone genuine.
His gaze softened as he tried to read my face. His hand twitched again, reaching out for yours, a silent plea for reassurance.
I cleared my throat and stood, ignoring his hand that reached out. Instead, I turned to grab the bowl of water and gently pressed the cloth in before dabbing it gently along his forehead.
James closed his eyes as the cool cloth touched his forehead, a low sigh of relief falling from his lips. The gesture, so tender, so caring, made his heart ache with a mix of affection and guilt. Â Still, he couldn't help but tease again, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Using the opportunity to dote on me while I'm injured, darling?" he murmured, his tone light despite the underlying pain. "Careful, if someone sees they might think you actually like me"
"Don't try to charm your way out of this," I scolded, still gently caring for him, trying to maintain my anger.
He only smirked, unmoving as he watched my eyes, waiting patiently to catch their attention. "So, you think I'm charming?" He teased, voice hoarse and croaking through his accent.
I sent him a glare and set the bowl to the side. âI think youâre a thorn in my side,â I mumbled, the ground suddenly capturing my attention.
"Oh please,â he breathed, âyou almost look cross with me." He spoke in a light-hearted tone, but his face carried concern.
"I am cross with you," I stated plainly, sitting back in my chair, crossing my arms. âYou nearly- I had to- âI bit my cheek and looked away, not wanting to cry any more. Despite my words, I was deeply relieved to have him in a state to argue with again.
His expression softened and he tried to sit up slightly, stopping when I shot him a warning look. âYou know, I have half a mind to be quite cross with you too,â He proposed, voice confident and studious.
âMe?â I spat, sitting up, taking his bait as usual. âWhat for?â
James had no interest in keeping his beaming smile subtle, enjoying any time he could rile me up. âI recall telling you to be safe, to run,â he recalled in a playfully scolding tone.
I scoffed, leaning my elbows in the side of his bed, resting my head in my hands. âYouâre delusional if you think I would ever leave you in that state,â I mumbled.
âOh? Really? Why pray tell, is that?â he inquired, relishing in his usual smugness.
I couldnât find it in myself to reply in turn. I felt the lump in my throat, my eyes and nose stung and I stood quickly, turning my back to him. He reached out and winced as he caught my hand before I could step away.
He watched as I wiped my cheeks, the sight of distress paining him more than his injury. âDonât- PleaseâŠâ He pleaded, a tone I was unfamiliar with. âI know youâre mad but please- donât go where I canât follow.â
I sniffled and exhaled, stepping back to sit down again, letting him keep his hold on my hand. I hesitated to look at him again, knowing I looked a mess. When I finally did, he wasnât looking at me but at my hands.
âDid I play a part in this?â he asked dimly, inspecting my bruised hands with a remorseful look blanketing his face.
âOne can hardly blame you,â I reasoned, flexing my fingers his hands. âYou were in a terrible amount of pain.â
âYou made it so bearable,â he whispered, âI didnât mean to-â
âJames, itâs okay,â I insisted, âa small price to pay for your comfort.â
He shook his head before looking up, locking eyes with me. I was never able to look away when he had me here. âI donât ever want you to suffer, especially not for my benefit.â He spoke confidently, like he was disgusted by the concept.
I scoffed, âThen donât go getting yourself shot!â I rushed, the words falling from my lips before I could stop them. âI donât know what I would do with myself if youâŠâ
âHey- Iâm still here, in one piece,â he assured, softly brushing his thumb along my hands, âThough admittedly this piece is a little more hole ridden than usual.â
I scrunched my nose, trying not to laugh at his poor attempt at a joke, turning away to hide the helpless smile. âYou arenât funny,â I mumbled, though you could hear the smile in my voice.
He tilted his head to follow my eyeline, laughing softly in victory, âahhhh, thatâs quite the stance to hold while youâre trying desperately not to laugh at me.â
I shook my head in denial, still looking away as a smile crept onto my face, âYouâre impossible.â
He âtskedâ softly, âI only want to see you smile,â he defended. âAfter all, you saved my life, in quite the heroic fashion.â
I scoffed and turned back to him. âHardly,â I bit my lip. âIt was quite pathetic,â I breathed, recalling my earlier panicking.
âBelieve me, I understand,â he coaxed, still holding my hands gently. âIf the roles were reversed, I would be inconsolable. Iâd be furious, terrified and yes- crying.â
âWell,â I smiled, mostly from exhaustion, âwhen I get shot, we can test that theory.â
âOh no,â he shook his head, âLetâs not explore that. One bullet between the two of us is enough.â
âOne is far too many,â I shuddered, keeping my eyes on the floor. âMy heart could hardly take that.â I said so softly, it was barely heard.
âLove?â He ducked to catch my eyes, âAre you really okay?â
I smiled bitterly and took a deep breath before continuing. âMy heart is still aching in my chest,â I confessed. âIt hurt so badly-â
Jamesâ expression softened and he swallowed hard, looking longingly and almost⊠hopeful? He brough my hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to my knuckles. âIâm not going anywhere. I swear.â He promised. âI have far too many plans with you,â
âWhat?â I sat up straighter, attention spotlighting him as he laughed at my abrupt reaction.
âCâmon,â he coaxed softly, gesturing for me to move closer. âCâmon. You look positively exhausted and your touch is practically a pain killer, darling.â
I stopped, frozen in my seat. âYou want me toâŠ?â I began, trailing off as he chuckled lowly and nodded. Slowly, I stood up but instead of laying down, I rounded the bed to sit by his uninjured side.
He noted my reluctance and added, still smiling his cocky smile, âI donât mean to make you uncomfortable-â
âYouâre not-âI interrupted.
âYou just seemed quite content,â he recalled, âcurled up by my side earlier.â
I felt my face heat up. Between his words and commanding smile, I was weak to his charm, but I had endless fight when it came to James. âYou should rest,â I encouraged, but made no movement to leave.
His eyes softened, adopting the yearning look once again that Iâd only been introduced to today. âPlease, love. I just want you closer.â
My breath hitched, hearing his words and I was halted, practically frozen to the floor as I took in the scene before me. I felt my knuckled tingle, over the space he kissed, and I knew I was going to give in. I nodded and watched his shoulders untense as I did.
Carefully, I slid under the blanket and cuddled into his side, resting my head on his chest where I could hear is heart. He wasted no time in wrapping his arm around my side and pulling me close to his side. I felt him exhale and his entire body relaxed at the touch.
Despite the unfamiliarity of the situation, I felt comfortable and couldnât imagine myself anywhere else in this moment. âDonât move, you could hurt yourself,â I warned before looking up at him. âIs this okay?â
I noticed just how close our faces were. I could practically count every subtle freckle on his face and strangely, the thought didnât seem terribly unappealing.
âThis is far more than okay,â he assured, breathing deeper by the second. âJust donât let go,â he said, again in the pleading tone that turned my resolve to dust.
âJames Moriarty, if you keep speaking like that, I might start to think you have feeling for me,â I hummed, feeling safe again in our dynamic of picking on the other whenever it entertained us.
I felt his chest rumble as he laughed. His arm pulled me in tighter âOh, is that all I had to do?â he said softly, before adding. âAnd what if I did?â he inquired.
I scoffed a laugh, shutting my eyes as I layed against his chest, âI would be deeply annoyed that it took you getting shot to say something.â
There was a pause before he spoke again, quieter this time. âI had a plan,â he confessed and every nerve in my body stilled. âOne that doesnât involve gunshot wounds...â
He moved his other hand to rest under my chin, tilting it up until I was looking up at him. My breath hitched in my throat, making no move to stop him. I couldn't help but glance down at his lips as he spoke, deeper than his usual tone.
âThough I suppose this works just as well,â he concluded, lowering himself to press his lips to mine, soft and achingly tender. I gasped into his lips and kissed him deeper, bringing my hand to his cheek. A soft whimper escaped his lips as my hand pressed against his skin. The pain from his injury, faded into the background.
When he pulled away, not rushing a second, we both had to catch our breath. A smile broke onto my face, and I sat up more to kiss his cheek, then his nose and his other cheek, peppering kisses around his face until I was satisfied.
I sat back only for a moment to admire his smiling face, âYouâre quite thorough,â he laughed, a blush now visible on his face, âIs it your intention to make me blush like a schoolboy?â he asked, laughing at himself.
I shrugged, keeping close, letting the smile sneak onto my face, âIâm only trying to soothe your pains,â I justified softly, biting my lip as I admired the pink glow on his cheeks.
His bashful smile softened as he watched me, taking in every detail of my face, âYouâre far too good for me,â he whispered.
I shrugged and kissed behind his ear, âI think weâre just rightâ, I replied before peppering around his neck and jaw.
He couldnât help but laugh softly, his shoulder rising reflectively to defend himself. âYouâre a menace,â he growled playfully, wrapping an arm around me, drawing me closer. I settled into his side, relaxing for a moment as we caught our breath. He let out a content sigh. âComfortable?â he asked, bringing a hand up to stroke my hairline.
âVery much,â I replied, sleep evident in my voice.
I felt him chuckle, deep in his chest, âyou should rest, youâve exhausted yourself doting on me.â
I look up, too tired to move my body, âand if I want to keep kissing you instead?â
James beamed at the idea, his smile nearly hurting his cheeks. He kissed my lips softly before pressing a kiss to my forehead. âThereâll be time for that once youâre rested,â he teased. âFor now, rest.â
I yawned, nodding before tucking my face down into his chest, snuggling in subconsciously. âWill you wake me if you need anything?â I asked softly.
A fond smile tugged at Jameâs lips. He knew the concern was genuine and it warmed his heart every time he heard it. âOf course,â he assured. âIf I need anything, Iâll wake you. But for now, please get some sleep.â
James has intended to stay awake and relish in the touch, but despite his best efforts, he was powerless. The exhaustion set in and the soothing soft snores, gentle touch and pleasant scents soon conspired against him, lulling him into peaceful slumber.
His arms tightened around me, even in his sleep, keeping me close. In the quiet darkness, his breaths evened out, matching the rhythm of my own as we found comfort in each otherâs touch.
