"What did you just say?" You found your voice again just as he'd began to eat. It was a frazzled sound, made worse by your shaking confusion as his eyes, fixed with their false puppy-dog stare in a passionate stillness, met yours. His skin looked so gorgeous. The sun's rays sneaking in to highlight his every perfect feature like it would for the cherry blossoms when they came into bloom. Not a single angle, even those shadowed and shrouded in darkness, looked dark. They just looked peaceful. Like the smirk that was slowly pulling to his features, what was quickly becoming a crooked smile.
"No one ever said you were a toy?" He seemed amused by your confounded stare. Wait- they didn't need to. It was a fact, obviously. You were shaking in anger with his attempts to manipulate you. And you'd nearly fallen for it. The humorless chuckle should've clued him in on what to expect, but soon your words flew at him in a rage, and he couldn't tell what it was he was feeling anymore...
"But that's what I am to you," You shot up from your seat, jaw fixed in an intense furious stare, "A bloody pet for you to 'take care' of!" You over dramatized your motions, your voice both deadly calm and mocking in its theatrics. This was behavior one could expect from Jim, himself. From what the criminal had seen, you bounced between him and Sherlock personality wise, but were most comfortable closer to the calm, cool side of the detective. This, this was all Jim. The flaming anger flickering in your usually petal-soft eyes, your swooping, large motions like willow branches to convey your point- all of it. It was all just like HIM. It was almost scary how quick you'd changed. A prolifically lavish field to a drought ridden bowl of dust and riddled with the tombs of once flamboyantly growing greens...
"You can take care of yourself... I don't see you as a pet..." Jim defended, his lips parted in a silent shock. As you shook violently, he felt the urge to reach out to you and hold you, but a bigger urge to get the bloody hell out of there as fast as he could. However, he did neither, just sat there in shock.
"So, I was right. A toy. No one has to say it for t to be true! Christ- I was so stupid for giving you even an inch of trust!" You spat, almost as if you were as disgusted with the words themselves as you were with yourself for falling for his. After all, a flytrap lures its victims with sweetness. His eyes were wide, and he couldn't figure out what it was, or how it was possible, but he felt like everything inside of him was cracking. He didn't like it. Not one bit.
"A toy for you to play with and twist to become whatever you please before one day it just- SNAPS, because that's what you do!" He'd had people tell him that before, but he'd never had even the slightest bit of remorse for it until he saw how much this actually hurt you. He shook his head lightly. He couldn't stand this cracking feeling as it started to suffocate him in the dark abyss it promised to have on the other side. He tried to bring himself back to the feeling he had when you smiled at him. It didn't matter how many before him had seen ones just like it, those ones were his. But now this deadly glare was his, these accusations of being everything everyone had ever told him he was from your lips were his. What had he done to make you hate him enough to force this kind of pain onto him?
"No-" He went to tell you that you were wrong, but his mouth couldn't keep up enough with the thoughts whirring through his head and you beat him to speak again. Your anger became vines, helping along the process of slowly ridding him of any breath. How gorgeous you looked to him despite your cheeks falling into rose bloom colour to define your anger, and your eyes screwing shut to prevent the e/c blossoms of your irises from ever blooming for him to see.
"Don't tell me. 'I'm wrong, you're different!' Because that's a load of bull. You're a psychopath, and I'm not falling for your manipulative little tricks!" You were hard after your outburst, but Jim didn't respond, he just stared at you. In a metaphorical sense, he was the puppy you just kicked down the stairs and right out of the door to rot in the rain. You were too upset to see the look in his eyes, too distraught to notice the glint of realization that went across his eyes. You were different. And not just in him and Sherlock's way. You were different for reasons he couldn't begin to understand or explain...
He stood slowly, "Y/n..?" His hand clasped over your smaller, trembling one. You expected it to be sound and secure. Sure in its motions, just like its master was sure in himself...
But it wasn't. It was shaking more than you were, like a frail bunch of baby's breath blossoms trembling in a violent storm. His confidence seemed to blow away like their fresh buds, yet his roots remained steadfast into the ground despite how he shook. A gentle, sad laughter filled him suddenly, and his pine-needle lashes along his eyelid branch littered with morning dew he so desperately tried to hide. Or were those tears..? He couldn't be crying over what you'd just said. That was simply ridiculous. He took a sudden deep breath, fully opening his eyes to look at the only person who could bring him to behavior that completely uprooted his typically confident personality... yet, you remained blind to what was going on.