Farewell to John (JohnLock) [COMPLETED]

Reminiscence

It was a moody morning within the moors of my memory. I held the wooden besom near my chest, my grip was unyielding and intense as I stared at the displeasing sight unfurling ahead of me. I remembered my eyes blazing in throbbing envy, the beating in my chest temporarily impeding when his knuckles brushed against Sherlock's soft cheeks. He was flaunting his possession. The way he held him was an aching reminder of what I couldn't feasibly have. I was suddenly brimmed with wonder, what was it like for Sherlock? He was bearing cuffs in his body; inside him was a trickling reminder of his imprisonment in this mansion, shuffling off this mortal coil, rotting, before he even began to live. It terribly saddened me that he had to be with that ghoulish man, no longer a brother, but behemoth himself, and he served no purpose but to be a bisque doll. Pretty and still.

Bitter bile rose in my throat. I was supposed to be sweeping off the dead sandy leaves yet I couldn't help but once again stick my nose to where it didn’t belong. My role in the mansion when the late Mr. Holmes hired me as an impoverished boy was to keep the inside and outside of the mansion tidy. I was to avoid forming any interaction with the young masters as he commanded, but from the moment I set foot on that marble floor and my eyes laid upon that luscious curly hair, I knew that someday my vow would be broken.

I vividly remember the moment I was first spoken to by the young master, Sherlock. He spoke with brutal frankness that his every word was like a piercing dart puncturing my lungs. A true egotistical aristocrat was he, yet I saw the concealed desert behind his cold and sharp decoy. He was much more beneath and I could remember the freezing humid air and his billowing nightshirt when he first approached me during my midnight walks; his feet were pale and bare and I have never seen something as purely elegant under the ghost of moonlight.

“Boisterous thoughts, John?”

He asked with wide-eyed curiosity masked with a failed aim at nonchalance. I reckoned he was eager to know what was on my mind just as I was eager to know his… and there I was ready to reveal my insides and let him dissect the crude contents of my whole being. Oh, to dip the tips of my finger in burgeoning love—the feeling was as sweet as nectar in bees. It wasn’t that long, however, before his name was called and he had to go back to the alabaster floor where he belonged. Back then, I was foolish enough to think that it was enough that I got to step out and walk on the same road as him for a spell but as I watched him casting one last sensuous look before closing the timber door, I was unable to contain the temptation I continuously prayed would not engulf my being.

The conversations we shared when Sherlock had begun to join me in my midnight walks were void of meaning. Our silence was filled only by some of the raw observations he had made about me or the other workers and I remembered being envious of his honesty even though others considered that habit of his displeasing. He was brilliant. I could only stay silent and bathe myself in his mesmerizing body and flushed cheeks as he excitedly rambled about people he despise and other subjects beyond my restricted education.

He was the noon of my life. The highlight of my own story. My moments with him shone the brightest even from a faraway memory… But our time was terminal and I was ungracious.

We usually part ways before the clock hits one and that was usually when he started to go back to his dull self. I could see the languish enthusiasm being snuck out of his body and although my heart ached for his inevitable departure, my heart also leaped with glee for I know that his walks with me were something that he took the pleasure of enough to loathe its end.

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"Who do you wish to marry, John?"

I was twenty-one. He was eighteen. We were the emblem of youth. It was a time when everything was supposed to be as flawless as our plump flesh but although it might be true for him, it was not for me. Soon, he was to leave to pursue his studies abroad and I would be truly alone once again. My heart wanted me to grab his hand and beseech him to stay but I could only strike myself for entertaining such ludicrous thoughts. He was a mourning dove waiting his whole life to spread his wings. I was merely a watcher.