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ANNABELLE LEE is fully aware of the phrase ' TIL DEATH DO US APART.'
It's a lover's wishful thinking, it's not something she should concern herself with. The idea of death being the only thing that can separate a lover's embrace has a solemn yet intimate undertone to it.
Her eyes glazed over to the man beside her, his jaws were clenched too tightly, as if he wanted to grind his teeth into dust. The man beside her was not someone she should associate this phrase with, after all, she and Sherlock Holmes were nothing close to lovers.
" What's bothering you ?" She whispered.
" I could ask you the same."
His words came out as more of an accusation than a reply. She scooted closer tot he armchair of the couch they were sitting on, leaning an elbow against the armchair as she studied his features under the dim light of 221B.
His eyes were cerulean blue under the faint absence of light, serene and cold like waters by the Atlantic. The pair studied her, his thoughts almost too loud and yet she couldn't make out any of the words.
" Mycroft told you something you didn't like, didn't he?"
" No one likes the truth, Annabelle," He scoffed.
" Not even you ?"
" Not even me."
The lightbulb by the corner of his study flickered twice, catching their attention for the briefest of seconds. There was a distant rumbling by the edge of the city, signaling the awful weather that has plagued London for the past few weeks. They were entering the last few months of the year and the weather was bound to rebel before winter settles itself over the country.
Tentatively, as if she was reaching out to pet a wild animal, she placed her hands over his. They were like marbled, carved by the same people that sculpted the thinker. He reacted by raising a brow, looking at her own smaller hand above his larger one.
Her fingers hovered above his skin, barely touching yet close enough to alert him. He cradled her gaze and for a few moments silence stretched between them like a rubber band waiting to snap and Annabelle knew the longer they kept this going the more it was going to hurt her once it breaks.
" He told me you're not real. That you walk without a family, without an identity, without a name. You are not registered in any system, in any mainframe or any country. You walk the streets without any connection to this world. You don't exist, not after last year. Not after you died. After you were shot, all records of your existence have been wiped out. No one remembers you existed, Annabelle. The only one who remembers you was the only witness on that day, which was the man who killed you. Now that he's gone, no one remembers you."
Thunder flashed across the window, cutting the room with a flash of bright yellow. She kept her gaze on him.
" What do you think will happen to me now?"
" I don't know."
The fact that he was both sincere and sorry at his own words made her more afraid than it should.
" Do you believe him ?" She asked, " Do you believe what Mycroft said ?"
" I don't have a choice."
She stared down at their hands and she applied more pressure, to which he replied by turning his hand around so she could enter twine her fingers around his. He impassively watched the gesture, their fingers snugly pressed against one another. It's funny how such a popular act of intimacy can feel so distant when she does it with him.
" He thinks you're not real."
Her eyes snapped towards his face in alarm and as if the wind has been knocked out of her lungs she could do nothing but watch as his words settled itself onto her.
" I know you don't believe that," She chuckled weakly, " Even if it may be the truth. At this point, I'm not so sure myself. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. I feel as if some of the memories I have aren't real, that someone had just placed them there out of spite. Day by day I'm finding it harder to remember things that happened to me before this year, and it's scaring me. I don't know if it's under the influence of you and your brother or if I'm just fulfilling a long overdue prophecy. But you know what, Sherlock? I can prove to you that I'm real, at least for now."
" How so ?" He challenged.
Annabelle knew she was going against the truth, Mycroft's truth. She was picking a fight with the clear evidence that she was dead. She was now no more than a reflection of her past life, an apparition caused by an error in the universe.
Yet, this pushed her all the more to place her hands on his shoulders and pull him close, her fingers resting beneath the pulse point between his jaws and neck. This was a clear invitation and her permission was accepted, as he swooped down to chastely capture her lips in his own.
Despite this, he still seemed taken aback, all the same, yet eager to continue. They shared a few kisses, the sound of their lips clashing echoing throughout the apartment. Her knees have unknowingly pulled themselves over his as she reached to hold him closer, the warmth radiating off his body intoxicating enough to make her head spin.
" Is that real enough for you ?" She pulled away breathlessly, gazing at his half-lidded eyes.
The sociopath kept his composure throughout, only letting the faint dust of pink in his cheeks to give away any sign of sentiment. That was scarce coming from a man, but coming from Sherlock, it was impressively human.
" Yes," He croaked out.
ANNABEL LEE didn't want to untangle her fingers from his, because Sherlock Holmes gave an entirely new meaning to the phrase ' TIL DEATH DO US APART.'
