tigriswolf: (funeral of ravens)
From: [personal profile] tigriswolf
(Um. I'm not sure if you know either of these fandoms. Sorry.)


They had not skill enough your worth to sing



"You always knew you couldn't keep him, child," his old teacher says softly, placing a strong hand on his shoulder.

"I know that," he hisses, pulling away. "Damn you."

What's left without John? Without his flatmate, his keeper, his friend?

His friend. The best man he's ever known, will ever know. Even Mycroft likes--liked him. And Mycroft has never liked anyone Sherlock liked. And no one has ever been like John. Will ever be like John again.

"Those who took him," his teacher murmurs, kneeling beside him and pulling him close, "they are still alive."

Sherlock raises his head to meet Death's eyes. "Not for long," he promises.
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