and there's no tragedy in that.
#1
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ooc.
For Tayface, of course. I apologize if this is rambly and doesn’t make a bit of sense!

ic.

It had been a long month for the former assassin but Sherlock was having the time of her life. What more could she ask for but a chase that took her across countless kilometers of land? She remembered having finally realized Dahmer had disappeared from Jasper Valley. She knew that he hadn’t been on his own mission while she had been gone, so once she had finally pulled herself out of her sulking mood she went to question a few of the other assassins. Finding that no one had seen him since shortly after Sherlock had left for her mission, she knew something was amiss; however, there was no sign of a struggle, so Sherlock came to the conclusion that her large friend had seemed it necessary to leave Jasper Valley. Knowing that Dahmer had been acting strangely lately, Sherlock realized that his leaving the pack wasn’t all that farfetched. It took Sherlock less than a full day to make the decision to follow after him, even if he had over a two week head start; she was merely viewing this chase as a game, and it was a game she was willing to play.


Although the trail was cold by the time Sherlock set off, it wasn’t all that difficult to follow, especially after finding the first clue that Dahmer had so kindly left behind. It had been a small silver ring that had been repeatedly stepped on, so it was almost a miracle that Sherlock had found it (or maybe it was because of who she was that she had found it). After prying it out of the mud, Sherlock immediately knew that it had been purposely dropped by Dahmer. It was the ring that Dahmer had removed from the body of the mark that had brought the two assassins together. The ebony female had smirked as she tucked the ring into a safe pocket of her pack while she spoke softly to herself Sentiment, really, Dahmer?


From that point on, she began to collect the dropped possessions as she came across them. They were mostly small tokens from their missions, rings, necklaces, and the occasional book. The jewellery didn’t weigh much, but the books did; she was thankful that he hadn’t thought to drop more books along the way because her pack was beginning to get heavier with each passing day and it was already heavy with the weight of her violin.


Eventually the chase took her to a lush forest, thick trees scattered everywhere. She paused shortly after entering the forest, to take a look at her surroundings and hopefully catch the direction Dahmer’s scent went. It was much more dominant in this area (more so than even the day before) and Sherlock could feel that the game was coming to an end; she was close to finally locating her companion. Eyes narrowed as she looked around, she huffed in agitation having realized that the damp ground wasn’t going to help her find a direct trail to her friend just quite yet. Well, there was nothing else to do except walk deeper into the eerily quiet forest.


After twenty minutes of careful walking, visibility was decreasing as the dense population of the trees began to cut off the constant stream of sunlight that Sherlock knew was up in the sky. She could continue on, and knew that she probably should since she knew she was ever so close close, but it wouldn’t do her any good stumbling around in circles like Dahmer on their first meeting. Glancing around, she spotted a convenient tree trunk and was struck with an idea. Of course, she muttered to herself as she made her way to the tree trunk and lowered herself down to it, It’s so obvious, I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out!

Placing the pack that was on her shoulders carefully on the ground by her feet, Sherlock removed the light violin case and placed it on her thighs. She ran her fingers over the wooden case before snapping it open and pulling the violin and bow out. Depositing the violin case next to the pack, she then placed the violin tenderly under her chin, took a deep steadying breath and brought the bow up to the strings. Letting the bow sit there for a moment before moving it, Sherlock closed her pale eyes and drew out a haunting melody.


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#2
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ooc.
I thought it was going to be all short. ....but then it wasn't. So. YEAH.

ic.

He had sworn to himself that he would forget her – really, he did. He'd spent too many nights, drowning in thoughts of her while the life raft if sleep danced just beyond his reach. He analyzed moments spent with her, going over every thing she said to him during their most important conversations. She was one of the reasons he left – not the main reason, but certainly one worth noting. While his decision to abandon his old lifestyle was brought on by a change of ideals, his feelings about his best friend held some weight as well. He had loved her all along, probably even from the first day he met her. Dahmer was like that. It was one of the reasons he wasn't cut out to last forever as an Assassin. He let emotion over take sensibility, unable to see most things objectively. His greatest failing when it came to emotion involved Sherlock. Dahmer should have been able to acknowledge the fact that his love was unrequited and moved on. She never encouraged any romantic situations between the two. The male knew she loved him, in her own way she was capable – as a brother or even a close friend. But she was distant at times, and even downright hostile in other circumstances. He knew she was different, so he accepted her behaviour and loved her in spite of it. He could handle the sharp sarcasm without complaint – that's just the way she was. What he couldn't handle, though was the fact that he was nothing more than a partner and friend to her. It was selfish, unbelievably selfish and he knew this...but there it was.

So Dahmer had made a vow to himself – he was going to forget her and he was going to move on. That was the whole point in leaving, right? He left Jasper Valley in order to start a new life that didn't involve his former job; why couldn't he also pledge to reboot his romantic life? He told himself that he didn't want anything to do with Sherlock Holmes anymore. He didn't have to worry about running into her ever again, so it was best if he just forgot her from now on. It was what he intended all along. The male told himself this, conveniently ignoring the memory of leaving a trail behind him while travelling. He tried to justify these actions – he wasn't leaving objects important to them in the hopes she'd follow him. He was merely getting rid of the reminders that plagued him so. Without them on his person, he'd be able to move on that much quicker. He truly didn't believe they'd be found by Sherlock, so this explanation was easy enough for him to accept. Besides, he didn't need to convince anyone but himself. It was easy.

The lone wolf spent his morning cleaning up the area around his home. He had finished carving out the den itself the night before and now dedicated his time to perfecting it before he moved on to the next phase. The den was sized perfectly for just him – and a small area branching off from the main chamber used for storage. He kept the area just outside nice and clean and free from debris. He had a work station about twenty feet away from the cave's entrance and beside that an ever-growing pile of lumber rested. He'd been collecting wood for about a week now and was almost ready to start building the tree house he'd been planning for a long time. Today though, Dahmer was spending the afternoon at Whisper Beach, enjoying the weather and the view. When he woke in the morning he'd been infused with a desire to do nothing more than spend the day in comfortable solitude. No work. So instead of working on his plans, Dahmer slipped from his den and headed immediately to the beach. He shifted along the way, arriving at the coast on two legs.

His morning passed quickly in quiet enjoyment as he made his way along the shore's edge at a leisurely pace. As noon came and went, Dahmer turned back towards home. He wasn't in any rush, instead pausing every few moments to look out at the ocean or to pick up anything that caught his interest. He gathered a few flat rocks in his hands, turning them over in his fingers as he studied their shapes. For the first time today, he found himself thinking of Sherlock and how they used to stand atop of buildings in between missions. They'd each hold a number of rocks, much like the ones clasped in his hand now. Each wolf would point out a target in the distance and challenge the other to hit it within so many throws. It was a simple game, something Sherlock would often become bored of quickly. Dahmer was certain she only partook in the exercise because of how much he enjoyed it. But to the male, they were amazing times. Simple and uncomplicated, requiring no thought of analysis. Just time spent with a good friend he loved. Those were the moments he treasured most.

Dahmer took a deep breath and let it out slowly, struggling to get control of his thoughts. He'd been doing so well, too. Cool blue eyes gazed out at the water, narrowed against the sun. He watched a bird as it dove into the sea in pursuit of lunch. When the osprey came up with nothing, the male let out a rueful laugh. He knew how that felt. He watched as the bird gave up and wheeled away, heading for the forest behind him. Turning back to the water, Dahmer took the rocks one by one and sent them flying into the ocean. Each one skipped across the surface a few times before disappearing under the surface. His record was seven skips, nothing more. Figuring he could beat his high score, Dahmer was about to look for more stones when he heard it.

As soon as the sound reached his ears, there was no mistaking it. The male stood straight up, his eyes wide with surprise. Once the reality of it sunk in, he froze where he was – one arm cocked backwards, ready to throw. The other was extended in front of him, as though preparing to catch him when he collapsed. He didn't move a muscle for several moments, just listening to the music that called to him. It came from the forest – a little ways from his home, if he was judging correctly. And who knew if he was – he could barely make note of where he was now. Another moment passed and yet the music continued. Dahmer was convinced it would stop any second now – prove to me an object of his imagination, twisted into the tune from his memories and just as ghostly. It didn't.

Finally he was able to gain possession of his limbs. But what was he going to do? Find the wolf who was torturing him and order them to stop? How could he explain himself? You're playing a song that someone I used to love played all the time. It's making me sad. Stop. It sounded insane in his head, how was he supposed to make the request out loud? No. It was best if he just stayed where he was, focused on other things, kept himself busy until the music went away. He was good at that – he'd spent the last two months training his mind to concentrate on things either than her. This would be no different. He turned away from the forest, threw another rock into the water. His soundtrack continued, its haunting notes calling out to him, beckoning. He wanted desperately to ignore the sound, but it was no use. Before he realized what was happening, the male was making his way off the shore and plunging into the forest. He was on auto-pilot – barely aware of his surroundings and yet he kept moving, avoiding any obstacles that came across his path. Before he knew it was happening, Dahmer was before her.

He stood rooted to the spot, his limbs limp, barely capable of holding his giant frame. Sherlock kept playing, but the notes fell on deaf ears. He couldn't hear anything. He couldn't think anything. He could only see her. So he remained silent and stoic, eyes carefully trained on her form. He made no move to speak, or even to acknowledge her presence in any way either than eye contact. But his mind was pounding with noise that overcame her music, a constant litany of one question: what was she doing here?!



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#3
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ooc.

I’M IN SHOCK! LOOK, I’VE GOT A BLANKET!

ic.

The amazing thing about playing the violin, Sherlock found, was that it did several things for her; she was able to lose herself in it, for once her mind would calm down and all of the problems, all of those little puzzles that she used to distract herself, would cease to be. The music could also put things into perspective, shuffle thoughts into the right order and allow her to spot the things that she had blatantly missed. With each shift of the bow Sherlock lost herself; she forgot where she was, why she was there sitting on that log playing to begin with, and lost the sense of time. Only the music was important, making sure that each haunting note was played perfectly.

It was the faint snapping of branches that broke the small female out of her reverie, that made her stop playing for a few seconds as she opened her eyes and glanced left, towards the direction the noise had come from. There was no mistaking those muffled sounds of Dahmer’s feet; it didn’t matter that they had been separated for more than a month; it would take much longer than that to make Sherlock forget the sound of her partner’s movements. It had been ingrained into them during their training; yes, while they were supposed to be silent, it was always hard to keep oneself completely silent so it was imperative that you memorized the difference between friends and foes. With a small smirk of the lips, Sherlock closed her eyes and picked up at the note she had left off as if she hadn't stopped playing.

By the time Dahmer finally emerged, Sherlock was getting to the end of her song; in her typical fashion, she continued to play until the very last note, long after Dahmer’s movements had stopped. Simultaneously opening her eyes and moving both violin and bow to her lap, Sherlock got her first good look at Dahmer in over a month. If it was possible, Dahmer had gotten even larger; he was too far away to check, but Sherlock figured that it had to do with building a den and moving different materials (he always did love to work with his hands, she recalled). His face, however, was closed off which left the female confused for a second. It was like he was guarding himself from something and for once Sherlock was at a loss; this had never happened before and it was a bit irritating. Other than the physical changes she could see, it was like Dahmer was a closed book.

Pale green-blue eyes met with cool blues, and there, finally something she could read. Oh the eyes, the eyes were always so expressive when you knew what to look for. Paired with the lack of movement towards her and the overall lack of acknowledgement (besides the careful eye contact), it was easy to spot the anger that shimmered behind the carefully guarded features. With a small tilt of her head, she finally broke the silence that had settled over them after the last note had been played, You’re angry.



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#4
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ooc.
I'M GOING TO SET YOUR BLANKET ON FIRE. FOR NO REASON AT ALL.


ic.


It took Dahmer a long time to convince himself that he'd never see Sherlock again. It was a reluctant thought at first – his heart struggled to hold on, both to the memories and the vain hopes for a future. The more he justified this necessary change to himself, the easier it was to accept. Adapting – that was an entirely different matter. But months had passed since he'd last seen her, and the male honestly believed he had been doing better. Until now.

Was he angry? Of course he was – the emotion spiralled out in more than one direction, aimed at his old friend and himself. He never thought he'd see her here – even in his dreams, any reunion took place back in Jasper Valley, a result of him giving in to his yearnings and returning home in search of her. But to have her seek him out? He couldn't believe it had happened. He had long explained his trail of possessions left behind as an exercise in getting rid of memories. Just why would she come after him, anyway? Sherlock was never intentionally cruel to him – but a small part of Dahmer always felt as though theirs was a friendship of conveniences. He offered her a life that involves constant puzzles to keep her ever racing mind busy...and he, well. She was his partner. The love developed later.

So yes. He was angry. Pissed off indeed. The male was furious by how all the progress he believed he had made cracked and crumbled by the mere sight of her. He was angry that she would intrude on his peace – something he made an effort to seek out alone. It didn't matter how cowardly his departure had been. It was something he needed in order to survive. And he was so irrationally angry by how he could see himself slipping back into those deadly habits he spent months struggling against. All it would take was a few conversations, more than a few days' company spent with her. All that progress, fucking gone. Yeah, he was pissed.

But he didn't want her to know that. Along with his anger there was satisfaction mingling with his reeling thoughts. He wasn't as talented as Sherlock was when it came to reading others – although he was still skilled, especially when it came to his missions. But the one he could read the most was Sherlock herself. And he could tell, he could see it in her face for just a second: she was having difficulty reading him like the open book he'd always been. Triumph mixed with the anger, but he kept the smirk off his face. His eyes remained the same, his features blank. Angry? What makes you think that?

Dahmer took a few steps forward, but didn't draw close enough for any contact. He wouldn't be able to handle that. And he was also positive that an embrace was the farthest thought from his old friend's mind. She was probably more concerned with figuring out this latest puzzle. He wasn't going to help her in any way. Not with the anger, at least. A little surprised. But that goes without saying. Curious, too. He betrayed one habit he was prone to doing when puzzled: his left hand was brought from his side and ran along his face, tracing backwards to his ears and down his neck. He'd do it during missions, mostly – when it came to solving a particularly difficult case. Most of all though, he did it when attempting to figure out Sherlock's inner monologue. He wasn't going to leave the female guessing when it came to this, either. Dahmer was going to ask his old partner out front. What the hell are you doing here, Holmes? A slip, another indication of his anger. He used her surname.


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#5
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ooc.
…. but then I’ll be cold.

ic.

The thing about Sherlock was that she that, while she was a genius and could deduce something relatively quickly and without even trying, she was also incredibly naïve when it came to emotions. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Dahmer would have left Jasper Valley for more than the reason that he was tired of his life as an assassin that perhaps he hadn’t left behind those possessions as a sort of bread crumb trail, that perhaps he didn’t want Sherlock in his life at all. To Sherlock, his leaving was just a puzzle that took her to the end of the country; it had nothing to do with her and there was no there had been no need to scrutinize it on her travels. But now, seeing the amount of anger that was directed at her, Sherlock was beginning to wonder if there was more to his leaving than what she had just automatically assumed months ago.

Sherlock continued to gaze at Dahmer, but aside from the anger that was practically rolling off of him now, there wasn’t anything the female was able to deduce. It was like her brain had suffered a short circuit; every time she looked at the large male, all Sherlock got was a constant stream of blanks and error messages, like a computer humans used before they killed themselves off. As soon as that analogy raced through her mind, Sherlock caught a glimpse of something else in Dahmer’s eyes and the twitch around his mouth that almost went unnoticed before he schooled his features- satisfaction. The bastard was enjoying this, her difficulty at reading him. Well, if he thought the time apart would have given him the chance to change everything about him, then Sherlock was determined to prove him wrong. This was a challenge she was going to enjoy.

She bent down as she finally put her violin and bow away, blocking Dahmer’s view of her face while she allowed herself to smirk with delight. That was the last thing Dahmer should have allowed to peak through, that look of satisfaction; now Sherlock was intent on deducing everything- oh, the sense of a good challenge made her heart beat ever so faster. Sherlock stood up; the smirk was completely gone by the time she looked back at Dahmer, just in time to hear him speak and watch him close the distance between them a bit.

Sherlock watched as he brought his hand to his face and proceeded to bring it down to the back of his neck as he thought of what else to say. The question – and more ammunition for Sherlock – came shortly after the pause. Stepping over her pack, the black female closed the distance between the two but instead of standing in front of Dahmer, Sherlock started to slowly circle him, her hands held lightly behind her back as her fingers tapped out an unknown beat. You’re trying so hard to school your face, you’re forgetting all of your tells. Just now you brought up your left hand to your face, bringing it down behind your ear and then down your neck. That’s one of your tells, specifically the one that you use when you’re truly puzzled, especially to the point of frustration. Now, the use of my surname, you only ever use that when you’re angry with me. Now, while I’m fairly certain I didn’t do anything to anger you back at Jasper Valley, I can assume that you’re angry that I’m here. That I found you.

She stopped her circling of him and planted herself in front of him, no more than a foot and a half of room between them. Sherlock did it on purpose, too, knowing that she couldn’t intimidate him with her height and weight (he was substantially larger than she was) but she knew what to do to throw him off balance. Besides, I should be the one who’s mad here, you left me with Anderson, you know how he lowers the IQ of the entire vicinity whenever he’s around.

She stayed silent after that, seeing if she could throw him off enough that his walls would crumble and she could figure out the true reason he was so angry with her. Besides, she had only gave a vague answer to his proposed question, that would be sure to annoy him as well.


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#6
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ooc.
DON'T WORRY. MAH LOVE WILL KEEP YOU WARM. SO WILL MY RAPE.


ic.


Would Sherlock consider it a 'tell' if Dahmer hauled back and punched her in the throat? He wasn't entirely certain, but the male had a hunch that it would completely give away his position. But the feeling was there, something he tried to suppress without much success. He wasn't usually violent like this – Dahmer was known for his ability to keep his cool in almost all circumstances. It was one of the reasons he and Sherlock made a perfect partnership. She'd be able to lose herself in the puzzle, figure out the next steps and focus on nothing else. He'd be able to deal with her musings, wait them through until they boiled down to the answer they always needed. Sherlock was brilliant – but it took a great deal of patience to deal with her. He was usually an expert at it. It was necessary in order for him to survive day to day while dealing with his feelings. But now...it appeared as though that was all out the window. To give the male credit, he was still reeling from the surprise of seeing her again. And his former partner was being annoying as hell.

Dahmer realized things were only going to get worse when those shrewd eyes narrowed in on his own, digging through their depths and coming up with her prize: discovering the triumph he was incapable of keeping at bay. He'd kept the smirk off his face, but she found the evidence anyway. And when Sherlock found evidence involved in one of her theories, she would not drop it. Like. Ever. What was with that, anyway? Couldn't she let just one fucking mystery remain unsolved? Of course not. It was impossible. She was impossible.


He remained rooted to the ground, watching as Sherlock bent over to put her violin away. One eyebrow raised as he considered her actions, slightly wary. What was she going to do, now? Suddenly, she was moving closer. Pale eyes widening in alarm, Dahmer rocked back on his feet, bracing himself. It took everything he had to prevent himself from retreating further. She couldn't know just how much her proximity bothered him, drove him crazy. Aside from his initial surprise, he let no clue about his feelings show. It was one thing she wouldn't be able to dig her teeth into. Not that it mattered, though – she was on a roll about something else. Dahmer turned slightly to watch the smaller wolf as she walked around him, letting her theories slip from her mouth in an astoundingly smug manner. Of course, they were all right. This didn't surprise him. He couldn't even manage to be angry about it – what else could he expect? He'd given her the evidence and that was all she needed to prove her case. But still, he took comfort in the knowledge that she didn't know everything. In spite of all her theories and determination, Sherlock was still very much in the dark.


She finished her spiel, and he said nothing. Dahmer stood where he was, looking down at his old friend. After a moment of silence he nodded, confirming her hunch. Yes. He was mad she found him. Now that she had touched on the true issue, maybe they'd be able to really talk about it. Speak the truth and get everything out in the open. Maybe, just maybe Sherlock would do nothing but listen for once, and hear him out without judging or trying to analyze his feelings. He'd like that. It would make him feel so much better. He could picture it. Maybe if he was able to explain things with her in those circumstances, they'd be able to settle everything. He'd make no confession to her, nothing along those lines. But perhaps they'd be able to come to an understanding. She could even stay, if that's what she wanted. There would have to be some rules about keeping her distance at first, just until he was able to adapt to the change. But after that, who knew? Anything could happen!


Buoyed by these hopeful thoughts, Dahmer moved ever so slightly forward and opened his mouth to start it all. And then she planted herself right in front of him and spoke again. If Dahmer felt himself incapable of being thrown off by her anymore than he already was, the behemoth was sadly mistaken. His ears shot back in surprise and his mouth went slack. An moment of complete silence followed, and then Dahmer exploded. That's what she was upset about?! Fucking Anderson?! A snarl rumbled in his throat, and he drew himself to his full height. His eyes were two pools of cold fury as they glared down at the female, although Dahmer was honestly so angry he couldn't see. He'd never been like this around her, but God – what else could one expect? For a moment he had convinced himself that she was capable of having a real conversation with him, no theories or quests for clues, just their words backed by honesty. But no, of course not. He got this instead. A complaint about an admittedly retarded colleague. Is that why she followed him all this way? Not to see him, but in order to lodge a complaint about her new partner? How fucking typical. He should have known.


Are you fucking serious?! That's what this is all about? Anderson?! He finally closed the distance between the two, drawing near enough to stab an accusing claw at her. You are unbelievable! You don't get anything do you?! He shook his head furiously, eyes boring into hers. You spend so much time focusing on your puzzles and your clues and your fucking theories, but in the end you don't know anything! You're clueless! And I've had enough of it. The massive male pulled his arms back, his hands clasped together in a helpless manner. He took a step back, watching her carefully. He was still furious, still dumbfounded – but sadness had crept into there as well, settling mostly in his eyes. And when he spoke again, his words were saturated with it. I give up. I just give up.


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#7
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ooc.

... I THOUGHT THE DRUG WAS IN THE SUGAR SO I PUT THE SUGAR IN YOUR COOOFFFFFEEEEEEEEEEEEE

ic.

She felt like she had him, Dahmer had remained silent as she had spouted off her theories- normally if she was wrong (which didn’t happen very often, mind you), Dahmer would have interrupted her. However, that was Before and this was After- how much had Dahmer changed in the months they had been apart? Sherlock had assumed her large friend would have been delighted that she had found him, that she had solved his puzzle, but she had been wrong. Instead, she had come to him with no delight in his eyes, no hint of the dreaded form of embrace she had been expecting (which Sherlock was surprised to realize she was almost missing. Almost.)- there was nothing here but another puzzle for her to solve.

It was with the nod of the head that Sherlock had to stop herself from showing her excitement that she could still read her friend, that she hadn’t completely lost her ability to do so (and seriously, what was up with that? She’d have to figure it out after she got a moment alone). But the fact of the matter was that she was right, that he was angry with her for showing up out of the blue, and it had to amount for something, right? Except there was a missing part to her equation, a missing piece to the puzzle and it was going to drive Sherlock crazy- because she had a feeling that it was huge and she didn’t have a clue as to what it was. Perhaps if she could get Dahmer to talk to her like he used to, maybe she’d be able to get some more data.

Sherlock felt like maybe Dahmer had a similar thought (although probably not wanting the talk for the same reason as her) because she saw a glimpse of hope cross his face but seconds after her last statement had left her mouth the anger was back in place, this time in tenfold.
A snarl left his mouth and he drew himself to his full height, giving Sherlock a rare glimpse into how dangerous the male really could be. Although she had seen his rage, it was hardly ever directed at her and never in this capacity- it was usually more irritation when he had just had enough of Sherlock’s antics or she failed to take into account of sensitive emotions, when he needed a breather away from her. Dahmer would leave for a bit and they were generally fine afterwards. This anger though, this degree of it had never been directed at her and Sherlock had half a mind to give the large male a few feet distance but instead she stood her ground; although she knew that she had to tread carefully or things could possibly escalate even farther.

It turned out that backing up would have been useless as Dahmer closed the distance between them anyways, stabbing an accusing claw at her chest as he figuratively exploded. Her ears flicked backwards slightly as his words reached them and she had a small moment to feel a bit guilty. It would appear that he had slightly misunderstood her previous attempt at a joke and the warranted stab at a useless individual, and it was, lacking a better term for it, a bit not good. Not good at all. She was just in the process of opening her mouth to explain the misunderstanding when the anger was abruptly over placed with an immense look of sadness; it even covered his words as he spoke.

She knew she had to fix this, knew that her words had been the cause of this sudden sadness that had overcome her friend even though a small voice in the back of her mind was faintly saying caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. It was something her brother had said to her that she generally believed, but at this moment she knew that she didn’t want to listen to the advice; instead, she shoved his voice to the back of her mind and took a deep breath before doing something that she never did- apologizing in her own way. That’s not what I meant, she paused a moment, making sure he was paying attention to her- she was not repeating this a second time. I didn’t just leave Jasper Valley because I had been left with Anderson and the others, I left because the only one who wasn’t an idiot had left in the first place.

God, apologies were so tedious.


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#8
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ooc.
TRALALALALALALA. ALL ABOARD THE DRAMA-TRAIN. DESTINATION: ANGST LAND.


ic.


It was embarrassing, really. He really did feel as though he had managed a great deal of progress. Instead of thinking of her a million times a day, it was only a half million or so. He didn't spend his waking hours remembering missions they'd gone on together, feeling the satisfaction they both earned when the assassination went off without a hitch. For hours after the two of them returned triumphant, Dahmer would reflect on the pros and cons of their choices. He'd enjoy the deep happiness that would take root in him and last for weeks after the mission, petering out a few days before they set out again. Sherlock was always more verbal when it came to celebrating. She would discuss the finer points of the adventure; delving into specific descriptions of the problems that arose along the way and recounting the solutions she came up with to save the day. Dahmer would graciously give his friend the spotlight, preferring to stick to the sidelines, a little to the left and hidden in her shadow. It never bothered him, at least not at first.

Now, instead of replaying these memories through out the day, he only viewed his favourites before falling asleep. And even then he wasn't as bad as before – his thoughts used to keep him up half the night. Now, he'd recall one or two before drifting off to sleep. His slumber would last through the night, erasing his evening brooding so that when he woke up in the morning his mind would be blissfully clear, without any sign of the storm from the night before. That was all over now. He could tell, even in the middle of the day that tonight was going to be hell. It took just one look from her to cause the memories to come crashing in to his mind, joining together to make one hell of a storm cloud. He shook his head distractedly, trying to dislodge the hateful memories before they took up a permanent residence in his head once again. What did he need the memories for? He had the real thing haunting him, right here.

He had to give Sherlock a little credit, at least. She had the sense to look guilty for at least a second. He read the emotion on her face, hungrily snatching it up with his angry gaze – hoarding it along with the other scraps of decency she'd thrown him throughout their friendship. The male was like a squirrel, saving these looks in order to survive the harsher moments of their relationship. Why, if he waited a few more years, he might even have enough to last him the whole winter!
But that was it. Just a small look that lasted a few seconds before she moved on to some other thing. Probably thinking about some puzzle that had been bothering her earlier, something that just demanded her attention. He did get some satisfaction out of this, though – he could tell she realized just how dangerous he could be. Not that Dahmer would dream of ever hurting his friend. The thought almost made him sick. It was still good to know though, that she was able to understand (if even for a second) that brains weren't everything. Brawn held a respectable spot in the grand scheme of things as well. And if he really did decide that he had had enough of everything and really wanted to hurt her – well, her words wouldn't do a thing, would they? A bitter thought indeed.

Several minutes of almost complete silence had passed. Nothing could be heard but Dahmer's angry breathing and the echo of his angry words. He was about to wind up for round two, when Sherlock finally responded. She caught his gaze with hers, reeling him in as she offered up an explanation. He nodded slightly, just to show that he was listening, even if he didn't really want to. Not at first, anyway. But when she began he couldn't help but let himself hope, as usual. It started out promising, anyway. She sounded so sincere and to give Sherlock credit, the female probably was – at least, as sincere as she was capable of being. When his former partner was finished, Dahmer let out a large sigh. He considered her words carefully and didn't find them too wanting. At least she admitted that she liked his company, whether she felt it was his job to entertain her or not. But the intention seemed pure enough. They could work this out, right? The male's thoughts returned to earlier – attempting to figure out the logistics of her staying. He was about to suggest that she stay in a den he knew of. It was a few minute's walk from his current home. He had spent a couple of days hollowing it out before finding his current situation. The den was nice, just not as good the one he possessed now. But it would be fine, if only to sleep in at night. The suggestion was on the tip of his tongue when he saw it. That god damn look in her eyes. The look that said she had absolutely no interest in the words she was speaking. Or at least didn't see the point in them. She didn't think there was any reason for her to be apologizing. She was annoyed about it!

Instantly, his fury was back. Dahmer drew himself up again, and for a moment, it honestly looked as though he would haul off and deck the black wolf before him. Pale eyes bore into hers, cold with fury. His lip was curled back in a snarl, giant teeth glinting in the afternoon sun. All was silent and he really didn't know if he was going to resort to violence – but instead of lunging at her, the male merely took a step back. Fuck you, Sherlock. Just....fuck you. He turned away and did not look back. Thanks to the adrenaline and the fury coursing through his veins, Dahmer was able to shift to his halfling form. It took concentration, and he'd have to rest back at home, but it was worth the speedy getaway it allowed him. As he dropped to all fours, and began to run, he tossed a parting wish over his shoulder: Go home, okay? And then he was gone, streaking through the trees.


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