[fanfic] [sherlock holmes] smoke and mirrors

[bromantic.livejournal.com]

He sat there, wreathed in smoke. The man of eternal mystery, Sherlock Holmes. He never understands what a puzzling picture he produces to the world, because he can never see himself as anything but clear-cut glass.  With his pipe in hand, dangled precariously (but Holmes would never lose his grip) and a pen clutched tightly along with a sheaf of papers (the notes are often for clarification because Holmes always remembers). His glasses (for keeping a concise hand) would be pushed up to his eyes, so far that the glass and his eyes would blur together like some alien creature. He wasn't all quite human, which shamed Watson to even consider. Still... he had to keep that minute distance, away from the smoke and the baubles lest it drew him completely into Holmes' world utterly and he would no longer be Dr. John Watson, but Watson, Watson, Watson come on, Elementary, Excellent work, Watson! and it will be the end of precious normalcy.

Still, the smoke curled around Holmes' black and shadowed form, seemed so enticing, so macabre that he had to lay his hands on him, draw him out, shatter, shatter, shatter.

He never would. But he looks.

And lingers.