He wipes his skin clean after years of staring into the mirror like his reflection is a living, real thing. It is somehow like him, but not. All John knows is that he does not remember the catharsis of revenge (of blood spilling between his fingers; of wet, curly hair, threading through his hands) like his reflection seems to. He does not remember the torn stitches above his brow bone, or Sherlock's name bastardized on his lips, twisted into a scream.

about bamf! John but i have no plot

And colorblind is so incredibly imminent so i can't slow progress

Do you guys have ANY ideas?

It's 4:00 am i am so goddamn tired gnight