The ex-military doctor woke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath after the memories of Afghanistan had revisited him in his dreams. He had bolted upright as he woke, now he struggled for breath before flopping back down, bringing his hand to his face. The doctor sobbed quietly in despair. Across the room stood the walking stick – a constant reminder; nobody could possibly understand how much he despised it.
Breakfast was made. The mug was placed down on the table with its army insignia, next to the shiny green apple. The doctor opened the desk drawer and retrieved his laptop, revealing the gun he kept underneath; it was the second reminder of what he had lost. The ex-military man stared blankly at the laptop screen that was showing him the empty blog headed with his name – it didn't help.
Now he sat across from her "How's your blog going?" she asked.
After a second he answered, "Yeah good" he cleared his throat "very good."
"You haven't wrote a word, have you?" the pity resounded in her voice, it wasn't a question.
"You just wrote 'still has trust issues'" he pointed out.
"And you read my writing upside down" she looked at him full of sympathy "you see what I mean?"
He smiled a little in acknowledgement.
"John, you're a soldier, it's going to take a while to adjust to civilian life" she reassured him, John didn't reply "And writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you"
John stared at her for a second before eventually stating with a skeptical tone, "Nothing happens to me"
October 12th. A married man dies. Suspected suicide. No prior implications of suicide.
November 26th. An 18 year old boy dies. Suspected suicide. No prior implications of suicide.
January 27th. A young woman dies. Suspected suicide. No prior implications of suicide.
"Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?"
"Well," the DI started "they all took the same poison, they were all found in places they had no reason to be and none of them showed any prior implications of-" Greg Lestrade was then cut off by the reporter.
"But you can't have serial suicides!"
"Well apparently you can" he answered sharply.
"These three people, there's nothing that links them?" questioned another reporter.
"There's none to be found yet but we're looking for there to be one"
Suddenly the phones of everyone in the room called out an alert to say that they had received a message. Automatically, everyone checked their phone.
Wrong!
"If you've all got texts please ignore them!" Donovan announced in panicked anger.
"It just says 'wrong'"
"Well just ignore that" she snapped huffily, "If there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade I'm going to bring this session to an end"
There was a loud rabble from the reporters but one voice rang out louder, "If they're suicides, what are you investigating?"
Lestrade hesitated, "As I said, these suicides are clearly linked, um, it's an unusual situation, we've got our best people investigating."
Again phones called out.
Wrong!
"It says 'wrong' again"
"One more question" Donovan called.
"Is there any chance these are murders? And if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?"
Again Lestrade took a second to gather his thoughts, "I know you like writing about this but they do appear to be suicides, we know the difference; the poison was clearly self administered-"
"Yes but if these are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?"
"Well don't commit suicide" Lestrade snapped.
He was met by silence.
"Daily Mail" Donovan whispered to him under her breath
You could all but see the think bubble 'Oh' appear above his head. "Obviously this is a frightening time for people but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be"
Once again, the phones rang out.
Wrong!
Then just a second after, Lestrade's phone received a single text.
You know where to find us –SH
Pocketing the phone, Lestrade stood "Thank you" he muttered and left.
John Watson was walking in the park; the fresh air was supposed to be doing him some good.
"John?" a voice called from behind him "John Watson?" Confused, John looked back over his shoulder, then turned around. "Stanford, Mike Stanford!"
Mike spoke enthusiastically, ever the talkative one. "Last time I hear you were in Afghanistan getting shot at, what happened?"
John smiled grimly, "Got shot"
They sat on a bench and spoke idly for some time; what you doing now? What you up to?
"I don't know, get a flat share or something" Mike suggested.
"Come on, who'd want me for a flat mate?"
Mike laughed.
"What?" John frowned.
"You're one of three people who's said that to me today"
John blinked a few times, "Who were the other two?"
