a/n: for full effect, listen to the bbc sherlock holmes soundtrack, the woman

enjoy-

You know him more than anyone else.

You know how broken he is inside; yet how gentle and kind he could be to others.

You owe him everything for caring for someone like you.

So all you can do is just love him back, to show that even someone like him could be loved.

Nothing makes him feel more alive than being with you – the intimate gestures you share: of whispering each other's name, skin touching skin, eye contact that could last forever.

Never in his life, has he ever felt that life was worth living. Never in his life, has he ever felt such emotions erupt inside of him.

It was really you that changed his life in ways words can't express. All the red steam is gone now, for all he can see is you and only you. No longer does he have to suffer through the uncontrollable tantrums, because all he needs to think about is you – the way the edges of your lips curl up ever so slightly, and how your eyes shine whenever they find him – and all the madness is nowhere to be found.

He remembers how in his childhood, even in such innocent days, he didn't believe in love. Of course, other people could love, but not him – oh, not a monster like him. Who would even show a hint of affection to someone as horrible as him?

You, however, proved him wrong.

So now he has you, the thin silver band on your ring finger forever claiming you as his, and nothing can change that. He can hold you as long as he wants, probably for all eternity if he could.

He can touch you, and feel how soft your skin is under his large calloused hands.

He can hear you, pleading for more of him as the night grows darker.

He can see you, waking up every morning to reassure himself that you're real.

He can smell you, the sweet scent of your hair he inhales whenever he embraces you.

He can have you, because you want him as much as he wants you.

Sometimes, he would wake to find you there, and despise himself for the marks he leaves on you. How passion escalates into something else, littering your fragile skin with black and blue.

Sometimes, you would wake up to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, his face buried in his hands. You'd crawl over to his side, and hug him from behind, rocking in a slow rhythm whilst humming a gentle tune.

"This doesn't change anything." You would tell him. "Because I still love you, Shizuo."

And that would comfort him – though he could never forgive himself for hurting you, he would replay your words in his head – and turn around to hold you in his arms.