Work Text:
He stood, the raging fire before him ringing in his ears. He was unable to tear his eyes from the scene, eyes stinging from the heat and the acrid black smoke that enveloped him like an unwanted hug. The wood crumbled to ash, exploding the frame of the tall building. For a moment, he just watched, mesmerized by the dance of scarlet and amber flames. Slowly though, the facts of what he had done sunk in. It was like poison, traveling through his veins, into his heart.
He tried to deny it, but his brain, usually so
calculating and calm, wouldn’t let him. He looked down at his hands, filmed with soot, though in his nightmares, it was always blood. He held in one, an old-fashioned lighter, the other cradled the skull of an old friend. He backed away slowly, horror growing in the pit of his stomach. In his head, he could hear his brother’s voice, reprimanding him.
“Oh Sherlock, what have you done?"