Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry


Title: Dissolving
Author: ciaranbochna 
Rating: R
Word Count: 283
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Disclaimer: Do not own, just toying with the characters.
Warnings: Descriptions of blood, surgery
A/N: Another short piece, make of it what you will
Summary: "You feel the echo of possibility in the room..."


Blood flows at a different pace for everyone. It is more noticeable when they are bleeding out, running over your fingers.

With your hands inside them you can feel the echo of possibility in the room, the smell almost stronger than the blood.

Feel the beat while holding arteries together with the edge of your nail, trying not to slip. You forget to clean the dark trapped in your fingers, it will return the next day.

They keep calling. Say you are the best. Least fatalities in any camp. You stare at their manicured fingernails and attempt not to stab them with the pen hovering on the edge of their desk.

You don’t remember eating, barely sleep, but still they come. And you try holding the pieces together, use stitches that dissolve. They don’t live long enough to heal.

There is a mental log, of each pulse you have held. All different rhythms, unique. If you could just harness the energy behind it, you could force it to stay, force them to stay. You fail. 

Feel the beat of your own blood as you are trying to hold another one together. You almost forget you are shot, and you save them, close the artery using a shoelace until you reach the tent. Then you feel your own heartbeat slow, stutter, everything slides a little to the left. You can feel the echo pressing against you, almost give in.

This is what you hear when you sleep. Every song of blood you memorized, attempting to save the next, and the next.

But there is Sherlock, and the chase, and you hear his frantic pulse. You feel something more than the rhythm. Counterpoint.

A pattern created anew.



( 6 comments — Leave a comment )
Jan. 3rd, 2011 09:15 am (UTC)
Lovely piece - you've captured the sheer sense of exhaustion really well here.

However - a drabble is a story of exactly 100 words. This one has 285, so it's not a drabble. It's a ficlet. (And a lovely ficlet it is indeed. Just not a drabble.)
Jan. 3rd, 2011 09:28 am (UTC)
Thank you, I appreciate that.

Ahh I see, I have corrected the wording:)
Jan. 3rd, 2011 09:26 am (UTC)
But there is Sherlock, and the chase, and you hear his frantic pulse. You feel something more than the rhythm. Counterpoint.

This is a lovely metaphor for their friendship.

Jan. 3rd, 2011 09:30 am (UTC)
Thank you, I hoped:)
Jan. 3rd, 2011 06:11 pm (UTC)
Oooooooooo! Very nifty and poetic! Well done!
Jan. 3rd, 2011 08:25 pm (UTC)
( 6 comments — Leave a comment )