mechanicI want to kiss every aching wound you have,More Like This
bandage your heart every time it bleeds,
and patch up your mind over and over
because not a single tear deserves to fall
from your brandy-drenched eyes;
This dripping heart of mine can only feel,
and the healing honey words it flames get caught
in the back of my throat and on the roof of my mouth,
so I only have these passionate guttural cries
to tell you that I care all too much.
In order to fix you up again,
I would need to tear myself to tatters
and trade all of my working parts
for your leftover, fading pieces
but I just haven’t figured out how.
Untitled Sherlock/Doctor Who crossover - Part 3When the door closes, that is when the vibrations start.More Like This
It starts as a gentle humming inside the watch which quickly rises in velocity into a desperate, deafening rhythm "Open me open me open me openme openme openme openmeopenmeopenme!" the four beats command.
Sherlock Holmes scrutinizes the contraption before his eyes, taking anew all the details in the design, every line, every indentation. Inside his palm, under his watchful eye and spilling out between his fingers golden tendrils whiff around the now quiet watch, painting kaleidoscope patterns in the air only to vaporise again.
The tendrils reach out to him, like a child silently begging to be lifted up. But they cannot reach. They hover inches over the watch. Waiting. The beating has stopped but he still recalls the command.
And with a snap the watch is open.
It wastes no time. The tendrils rush to his face, cruel hands that they are. As they touch him, seep into his skin, every cell is being twisted, re-awakened an