🔪 :-/
SEND ME THE KNIFE EMOJI TO STAB JIM!
OF COURSE , IT WOULD BE HIM. JIM HAD ALWAYS WANTED IT to be him. the scene is something jim thought about often since sherlock holmes had appeared on his radar like a guiding light through a dangerous fog. THOUGHT ABOUT is the wrong word , because jim has never felt that sense of DREAD & apprehension commonly found in other people when they think about how they’re going to die. it’s a fantasy he’s indulged more times than he can count on his fingers. and because it has to be just right , every time is different. a variable is changed to accommodate what he needs from that final moment ( ONE FINAL ACT ) no matter how minuscule it may be , IT MATTERS TO HIM.
THE NOISE THAT COMES FROM THE BACK OF HIS THROAT is involuntary. surprised & very human of him even though he’s yet to register the pain. only the pressure. for a man so consumed by the scene of his death , in the moment where he even greatly anticipates it , he’s betrayed by the body that confines the enigma of himself. his eyes , a little wider than they had been before , don’t leave sherlock’s until they absolutely have to. until he can’t stand the idea of NOT KNOWING what the sight looks like. something
SOMETHING OTHER THAN JIM’S FREE WILL tilts his chin down to look at where sherlock keeps the knife buried inside him , just between the ribs with every intention of being FATAL. another noise , not as loud as the one that preceded it , hisses through his clenched teeth. like a laugh. a gleeful laugh of relief , distorted by the shock in his body once he sees the blood.
IT’S LIKE SOME ANIMALISTIC INSTINCT TO SURVIVE clicks in the back of his mind and tells him to fall back and retreat , but jim's not looking to survive. the jarring feeling is a slow but intense vibration that runs through his muscles , especially where the edge of the knife scrapes mercilessly against his ribs & deep into the tissue of jim’s body , which is not of sherlock’s doing it’s jim. he can’t stop laughing. that intense , internal pressure returns to it’s former glory inside his chest , and he resists the urge to cough as his own blood starts to fill his lungs and travel up his throat. this must be what it’s like to drown , he thinks , and it instills in him a new certainty that CARL POWERS had gotten what he deserved.
A FEATHERING BLACKNESS , VOID OF SUBSTANCE , starts to wrap around his vision. like he’s closing his eyes. jim , even through the almost electrifying physicality to his death , knows that he’s not , so he understands that he must be getting close. his eyes flicker back up to sherlock like he’s running against a clock. his own clock. his mouth spreads apart in one of the most humbled smiles he’s ever worn in his life , bloodstained teeth of enormous gratitude exposed. he talks over the distant sound of CHURCH BELLS.
❛ THANK YOU. BLESS YOU. ❜ @undoer
