221Brick (for hiddenlacuna)
Sherlock’s cry is John’s North star. The sound becomes a thread for him to follow in this black maze of bricked over doors, and boarded up windows. John doubles back, searching for the stairwell he barreled past, when his only thought had been Sherlock is in here. He grips the torch and paints the walls with light, searching for the right door, the right turn, the way up, the way through.
“Scream for me, Sherlock,” John says. The idea sickens him and drives him forward. A cry in the dark means pain, but it also means life. I am here. Find me.
Seconds pass, time slows and feels like hours.
Sherlock’s scream rips through him, it scours his soul, and when it cuts off John’s will turns to stone.
Sherlock lies broken in the dust, shoulder wrenched out of place, blood pooling from his mouth, arms locked behind his back. He breathes though, he lives and that is the only thing of worth in this fucking place.
Two men block John’s path, taller than him, younger, stronger. A wall of muscle and hate and 412 bones, and John will grind them into paste if he has to. The blood on their hands belongs to Sherlock and he means to take it back. John shuts off the torch. He grabs a brick.
For every 221b or 314h (hannibal) I finish, x0chipill will create a composition. (…until we go crazy…) Thank you to all who sent us b words! When a word sparks we will jump on it! ;-)
Thank you hiddenlacuna for brick. Our search for wordy inspiration is still on! Please drop a b or h word into the ask!