ooc.
WELL. THIS GOT OUT OF HAND.
ic.
Even though Dahmer was working against a deadline, his movements were never rushed or hurried in any way. At least one hurricane struck shortly after the season began, so he knew he didn't have a great deal of time to get everything ready – but still the male insisted on taking his time. Dahmer took great pride in his workmanship, making sure everything was crafted carefully with attention being paid to every detail. While he worked like this, the outside world gradually slipped away as he became completely focused. Hell, a hurricane could have struck and it would have taken him a long time to notice. Which is why Dahmer continued on blissfully, moments after Sherlock arrived on scene. After a while though, he finally paused. He'd used up all the wood he had up in the tree and needed to bring more up. As he put his hammer back in its place on his belt, Dahmer turned away from the house and prepared to jump down. It was then that his eyes fell upon her figure, and Sherlock spoke.
He considered her words carefully a moment, remaining where he was as he looked down on her. After a moment of silence, Dahmer spat the nails from his mouth and dropped down from the branch, landing gracefully on the forest floor. He wouldn't look directly at her though, and moved forward, brushing softly by her as he approached the table he had constructed for his plans. He inspected the tree house from afar before leaning over the crinkled papers that lay upon the table and making a few marks here and there. Still, he said nothing. He kept waiting for that anger to bubble up within him again, to take over like it did last time. Instead, he found that although the wound was still painful, it didn't appear to be festering anymore. He just felt an odd sort of emptiness in the pit of his stomach. And yet, as he considered her words, there was something else. The massive male stayed where he was, his back to her as the memory washed over him.
They were on their fourth or fifth mission and the two of them had come to blows over how to proceed. The target had been lost, and time was running out for the two. If they didn't catch the guy, a great deal of information would be compromised. And even worse – this was the first mission the two of them had been on together since he realized he loved her. Just before the mission the young wolf had been filled with hopeful thoughts – the whole thing would be completed without any problems and then they'd spend the rest of their time together, talking through the night. They'd congratulate themselves and rehash the finer points of their success and maybe, if things were going well – maybe he'd even tell her how he felt.
That morning they had set off and Dahmer had nothing but optimism in his heart. It would take long however, for all of that to disappear. First of all, their target remained elusive from the beginning and before long, the two of them were far behind on their schedule. Secondly – Sherlock never even gave him an opportunity to talk about the mission, let alone his feelings! She wouldn't stop going over their clues, trying to figure out where the target could possibly be. Whenever he offered up a suggestion, his partner would viciously rip holes in his theories and cast them aside and it didn't take long for Dahmer to feel as though he was going to be thrown aside as well. He stopped talking entirely, his eyes narrowing in anger as the two of them ran across rooftops and crouched amongst the shadows as they desperately searched for their quarry. She would ask him a question (even though she already knew the answer – he never understood why she did that. It annoyed the fuck out of him, every time), and he'd merely grunt in response or turn away without responding at all. Not that she noticed – she was buried too deep within her thoughts, nothing could pull her out of them. So Dahmer stopped trying. It wasn't until he had suggested that two of them check out a well-known haunt of the target's when things got nasty.
Predictably, Sherlock found the suggestion trying. It was obvious, she said – no intelligent being would allow themselves to be found so easily. Dahmer was clearly joking, right? Because even he wouldn't have thought of such a stupid theory. Dahmer had listened to her quietly, his features becoming more and more angry as spoke. Finally, his partner seemed to notice his disposition. Well come on, Darwin. She had erupted with exasperation, using the pet name she'd come up for him a while ago. You were joking, weren't you? She'd looked at him then, honestly baffled that he could possibly come up with such an idea and be serious about it. It was at this point, that Dahmer's temper had exploded. He unleashed his frustrations on her, completely destroying any hopes of them remaining undercover in the area they had been hiding, but he hadn't cared. He remembered acknowledging her surprise with satisfaction – wanting to some how force her from that calm, coolness she always seemed to possess. And he mentioned that, too – telling her that the only reason she was able to remain above everything and capable of thinking things through so objectively was that she didn't care about any one or anything aside from her god damn puzzles. And that included him. It was why she didn't have any friends, why he was the only one willing to be partners with her. Why even the head Elder found her trying. He admired her intelligence and valued her ability during missions – but her personality was an entirely different matter.
Dahmer had always been hurt by the way she'd nonchalantly state that she had no friends. He had always known that she stuck around because of the missions and the puzzles they offered. But after a while, he'd secretly held the hope that maybe, just maybe she stayed because of him. The male had always been afraid to ask – but now he knew the answer. Without giving Sherlock a chance to respond, the male drew his hood up over his face and made his escape, scaling the building they had taken refuge behind in record time. Taking care to remain undetected, the male raced across the rooftops, jumping from building to building before coming to rest in a dark alleyway on the outskirts of the town. No enemies would find him here, he was free to spend his time thinking while immersed in the alley's shadows and the shadows of his mind.
A few hours later, Sherlock found him. She spoke quietly and awkwardly. It had always surprised him – for Sherlock always spoke eloquently. But perhaps she wasn't used to talking about her feelings. Regardless, what she spoke rang true with him. I've always said that I don't have friends, Dahmer. And I mean that. I don't have friends...I have just one. And he'd watched her carefully, searching for any evidence that she was just saying what she needed in order to salvage their mission. But her eyes were clear – with no sign of deception. And while it wasn't entirely what he wanted – he wished to be more than her friend - it was enough.
The memory faded and Dahmer pushed himself away from his work table. It occurred to him that throughout their friendships, whenever they fought, it was always Sherlock who sought him out. She had then and she had now. Hell, she'd even found him after he left without saying a word. That had to mean something, didn't it?
With this in mind, Dahmer finally turned to face his old partner and friend. No, Sherlock. I don't want you to go back. His words were soft and broken, but devoid of anger and entirely truthful.
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