tan and far away
2013-06-04 18:21![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mekachu04there’s a man walking across the sands to him.
Sherlock stares at the figure, distorting in the heat. He wonders - is this a mirage, like the beast before?
He coughs out sand, clutching his shoulder. nothing broken, but the bruising is significant.
The man before him - still could be a mirage. He’s not native, his hair once a light brown has been bleached by the sun. He’s tan, but still a few shades lighter than the men who call this harsh land home.
And his blue eyes stare Sherlock down with an intensity he once thought only his brother could match.
Despite the high desert heat and the unforgiving sun, the man strides across the burning sands with nothing to protect his skin; body and feet bare in the rolling heat. As he gets closer, Sherlock can see the map of scars across his torso, the most impressive being a rather otherwise innocuous starburst just a few inches above his heart.
It doesn’t look like much; Sherlock was sure the exit would would be something astounding though. They stand a few yards away, staring each other down.
The man’s voice is rough - unused, most likely. “English?”
“Am I, or do I speak it?”
The man smiled, cheeky grin, and ...well, it was a giggle. “I’m guessing both then?”
“Are you hurt?”
Sherlock stares at the figure, distorting in the heat. He wonders - is this a mirage, like the beast before?
He coughs out sand, clutching his shoulder. nothing broken, but the bruising is significant.
The man before him - still could be a mirage. He’s not native, his hair once a light brown has been bleached by the sun. He’s tan, but still a few shades lighter than the men who call this harsh land home.
And his blue eyes stare Sherlock down with an intensity he once thought only his brother could match.
Despite the high desert heat and the unforgiving sun, the man strides across the burning sands with nothing to protect his skin; body and feet bare in the rolling heat. As he gets closer, Sherlock can see the map of scars across his torso, the most impressive being a rather otherwise innocuous starburst just a few inches above his heart.
It doesn’t look like much; Sherlock was sure the exit would would be something astounding though. They stand a few yards away, staring each other down.
The man’s voice is rough - unused, most likely. “English?”
“Am I, or do I speak it?”
The man smiled, cheeky grin, and ...well, it was a giggle. “I’m guessing both then?”
“Are you hurt?”
