happyyeehaw
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The dark blue of the night sky could have swallowed the 221b Baker Street if there wasn't the soft light of the kitchen, lighting until crossing into the living room. There was standing a detective and the violon he played, strigs letting go out a sweet sorrow, enough to make cry an entiere orchestra, not enough to let a single tear rolling on the cheek of Sherlock Holmes. It could have been long : Sherlock playing faced to the window, John listening as he used to do when his war nightmares woke him up years go. Until the taller man, after playing a long and heartbreaking last note, putted down his instrument and sat in his own chair, face to his friend. Best friend.
- John ? He started.
- mmh, yes ?
- What is love ? -
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the boat went away, leaving the crew on the island.
Sebastian could not believe it, they were going without him. He was going without him.
He first shouted at the ship, at the others. And then he calmed down, as the others.
There was no hope anymore. They were going to die. And his favorite person betrayed him.0