I'd forever talk to you but soon my words they would turn into a meaningless ring

[alan_shore]

Who: Alan Shore and Mycroft Holmes
What: Probably not bellyrubs :(
Where: A CONVERTED FARMHOUSE!!
When: Givdi, Rundaren 19th
Warnings: Honesty, existential angst, industrial strength stupidity.

Alan goes shopping. He calls it a day and leaves the office—he has a headache, or that's a way of putting it: his mind like a pencil twisting over and over again in a sharpener, every attempt at a thought another lead broken off. He feels groggy, unsteady on his feet, and that's in addition to the ache of remote but persistent loss that accompanies a friendship's flashing before his eyes.

“I need a small box,” he tells stall attendants, shaping it with his fingers, and there's something pleasing about the variety of forms an object so simple can take. The task, at least, suits him—suits his present mood and mental state. He peers into the snug, empty interiors of thirty or so containers, unveiling a seldom displayed solemnity for the duration of the search.

The next day, having dispatched a warning text an hour in advance, he knocks at Mycroft's door.