[log] Event: Howl [open]

[snowblindmods]

Characters: everyone
Location: The sort of location M.C. Escher wishes he'd thought up.
Date: nights 211 & 212
Summary: I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallow'd ground
Warnings: potential for violence, death, and psychological horror; please note in subject lines if any specific warnings come up!

like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
I want to find you tear out all your tenderness

Comments

[howdull]

[He might not be able to see her, but he can feel the gentle tremble and the motion of her head to the crook of her elbow that tell him that she's crying. She knows, she has to know, she's far too clever not to have figured it out.]

I think you know exactly what, Mrs. Watson.

[He's not going to outright state it, but he's going to make sure that she knows that he knows that she knows.]

[agravating]

[She feels panic welling in her stomach again, a whirlwind of anxiety overtaking any sense of focus she'd had, the aching sadness she'd been feeling finally having a real and definite cause.

She pulls away from him, a gloved hand covering her eyes as her breathing grows increasingly quick.]

I'm dead, aren't I?

[howdull]

[It's almost a blessing that he doesn't have to see her expression, though he hears the way her breathing picks up. It makes him reach out to put a hand on her shoulder, the pressure light.]

The future is a dangerous subject to discuss.

[agravating]

[She crumples under his hand, the tears quiet but audible. It wasn't the dying part she particularly minded--it was what death did to her John. Her Rosie. To the man in front of her, confirming that her attempts to protect her unusual little family had failed.]

Tell me that John and Rosie are safe. [It's not a question, but a request. That her past had caught up with her and her alone, that her husband and daughter walked out the other end uninjured.]

...oh God--tell me it's not my fault they end up dead. That you end up dead. Please, Sherlock.

[She barely gets the words out this time before she can no longer speak, choking on sobs.] Please, please,--

[howdull]

[He cannot resist pulling her in close and winding his arms around her for a hug. It's not a natural gesture for him, but some occasions simply warrant the unnatural, and there's no hesitation.]

Hush, Mary, you know that you would never allow that to happen.

[Of all the people involved in this disaster, this is not her guilt to bear.]

Rosie and John are well, none of us have died as the result of your actions.

[agravating]

I didn't want to leave you. [Mary tries to restrain her sobs, head burrowed into Sherlock's coat and hands absently grasping the lapels of his coat.] Any of you.

I thought running--I thought maybe you'd be safe--

[She coughs, sitting back to wipe her eyes. A few moments more and she's able to catch her breath, the tears slowing to the occasional hiccup. Even as she grows calmer, she stays wrapped in his arms, slipping her hands free and wrapping them around him in turn.] I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry.

[howdull]

[The worst part of this, is that maybe she would have been safe? Maybe bringing her back to London had been what killed her, so she could be there when Sherlock made his stupid deductions to a woman on the edge.

He continues running a hand almost carefully down her back.]

You have no cause to apologise. We found you, your decision to run has nothing to do with what happened. You have caused no harm to your family.