#lossbroken

           MULTILINGUAL. ❛   прочь с дороги. Теперь.      ❜ there is no gentle inflection in the cadence of her voice, nothing but irritation running thick on her tongue.

           BUSY. ❛   can i help you? or are you going to continue loitering in the doorway as if some sort of london vagrant?      ❜

           SMOKER. ❛   please don’t do something so infantile as to tell me that i cannot smoke here. we’re surrounded by corpses; i doubt they would pay us much mind.      ❜

           UNDERTAKER. ❛   how chivalrous of you.      ❜ distaste drips from her tongue like saccharine syrup. sentiment has never been her forté; she has preferred reasoning over passion every time the choice has presented itself. and yet, there is something tender in the idea of help. she perseveres alone, as she so often does; the idea of companionship has the slightest ring of appeal. and yet, in spite of herself, fingers flinch every so slightly from his for a moment ( is aversion to touch a holmes family trait? ), before stilling themselves under his hand as lips twist with a hint of sardonicism. ❛   it’s ah, for a dog. my family’s dog; he passed away, rather regrettably. this is so my brother can get a proper goodbye.      ❜

                   “ THAT’S, UM . . . THAT’S A LOADED QUESTION, y ’ know, that. ’M not sure I’m th ’ best person to ask, I’m afraid. ”  An idle hand reaches up, scratches at the back of scraggly brown locks, an undeniable discomfort rising in the company of such a tender topic. Paul has always been known to be  THERE  should someone need to talk, to confide in for the sake of his natural gift at providing comfort. His hand finds a way to hers, a subtle flirtation as well as a demonstration of support, COMFORT; it’s the least he can do.   “ I could . . . maybe go with ya? Y ’ know, help y ’ choose or summat, I guess . . . but -- I mean, honest, I really wouldn’t know what ‘m talkin’ about. I hardly even know th ’ best wood f’r a bloody fire, really. ”

           CHARMED. ❛   helen of troy was a daft bimbo who couldn’t deal with what she’d been given and caused a war simply because she followed pure passion over logic.      ❜ and yet, not even the cool reason that dictates her every move can overpower that faint red glow that dusts along her cheeks. it appears no one, not even a holmes, is immune to the charm of being compared to mythology’s most beautiful woman, no matter how insipid she may be. lashes brush against accentuated cheekbones as her gaze flutters downwards for a moment, a hint of a smile quirking the corners of her lips. whether it be from bashful contentment or mere amusement, she’s not quite sure yet. ❛   if this is to become a habit of yours though, let me give you fair warning: i was always more partial to odysseus and penelope. just in case there was another charming compliment bubbling up in your mind.      ❜

           ONLY CHILD. ❛   wonderfully astute prognosis, doctor. as usual, only your wit could possibly outclass your intelligence.       ❜ some may have found his concern touching. she does not. he has no business being concerned. his friend is dead, ah well, how tragic. and yet, that friend is her brother, the brother she has spent years caring for, the brother she has kept safe so much from his own inner demons that she hadn’t even realized external forces could do damage. and yet, is she not to blame? the information that had spilt so easily from her lips had tumbled into the hands of an infuriating spider, one who had used what he had been given to defame and eradicate sherlock holmes. oh yes, oh god yes, this is a murder, and one for which she bears partial responsibility. there had been a vow sworn, in some dark and seedy house late at night, while her brother hallucinates and she worries, that she would never let him come to harm. she has failed; she has broken her promise.  ❛   i see no problem of filing a defamation and libel lawsuit against one kitty riley. and even if i did, how i choose to spend my time is not, nor has it ever been, of any concern to you.        ❜

           DON’T MAKE ME ORDER YOU. ❛   i make no attempt to sound anything but ominous, mr. trevor. i’ve asked you to look after my brother; i expect you to do as told. or i’ll make life difficult for you.      ❜ cool detachment drenches an already apathetic tone; one would think this was a business transaction rather than a checkup on her brother’s state of being. and yet, anyone who knows her ( and those souls are few and far in between ) are well aware that there’s no need for concern to leak into her voice when discussing sherlock. a mere query from her about him is enough evidence to how she worries.