Sherlock lowers his hands, still trembling faintly--it's a huge feeling, even when he has someone to talk to about it--and looks over at his brother, long and searching.
"It never stops."
He means John first and foremost, but he also remembers that piece of cake with the cat's eye marble baked into it. He'd carried that damn thing everywhere with him for twenty years; in fact he still regrets having gotten high enough to lose it.
And now the shaking is partly fear. Sherlock knows now, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he has a heart. He knows he's capable of something he can't understand or dissect logically. His heart hammers in his chest; every breath nearly burns.
The words are huge in his mind, but they stick in his throat, threatening to choke him.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-06-11 02:57 am (UTC)"It never stops."
He means John first and foremost, but he also remembers that piece of cake with the cat's eye marble baked into it. He'd carried that damn thing everywhere with him for twenty years; in fact he still regrets having gotten high enough to lose it.
And now the shaking is partly fear. Sherlock knows now, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he has a heart. He knows he's capable of something he can't understand or dissect logically. His heart hammers in his chest; every breath nearly burns.
The words are huge in his mind, but they stick in his throat, threatening to choke him.