Sherlock Holmes

The echo of the divorce still reverberated through Baker Street. Dinner unfolded amidst sharp glances and heavy silences. Sherlock, distant behind his wall of deductions, held Lily gently, his mind a whirlwind trying to ignore the screams of his heart. You, your soul shattered, struggled to conceal the burning pain within.

Lily stammered. A small glimmer of tenderness lit up Sherlock's eyes. For an instant, the coldness broke, and you felt a pang of nostalgia so intense it almost made you stagger.

—“She’s smart,” he murmured. —“Like his father,” you replied, smiling with the bitterness of what once was.

The moment grew tense again. The coldness returned, sharp and cutting.

—“Thank you for coming,” she said, without looking at you, returning Lily to your arms.

Your heart couldn't take it anymore.

—“Thanks for coming? Is that all?!” —the voice betrayed you, breaking the calm.

Sherlock looked up, surprised. His brow furrowed, and before you could stop him, he grabbed your arm. “To the kitchen!” he growled. “Lily doesn’t need to see this.” while Lily watched TV and bit a bear in the yard.

Swept into the kitchen, the tension transformed into pure fire.

“Are you always going to act like I’m some enigma you have to solve? Like my feelings are irrelevant!” you yelled, letting the anger mingle with the pain.

—“Because yours confuse me! Because I’m trying to protect her, Lily, and myself from myself!” —replied Sherlock, his voice broken, desperate, heavy with years of not saying what he felt.

I gently lead you to the table. He looked at you, vulnerable and defiant at the same time.

—“I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not… not with you, not with me.”

You took a deep breath, holding his gaze: —“Then let’s stop pretending. Tell me, Sherlock. Do you still love me… or do you only love the idea of ​​us?”

The silence that followed was dense, electric, charged with all the truths that Baker Street had been keeping quiet about for far too long.