The world was colorless.

There was no longer a spark alive in the things John Watson saw in his day-to-day life.

The buildings in London didn't look as spectacular as they had been before, and the faces of all the strangers he walked past every day on the street and in the park didn't shine with evident emotions of happiness or sadness like they used to.

Everything was just bleak, and it had been this way since his return from fighting.

John had been broken down in Afghanistan, both mentally and physically. His shoulder now throbbed with a constant burning pain from the shot wound he had suffered through, his leg ached from a non-existent injury, and his view of the world had been tarnished. His dreams were filled with the screams of his comrades and the faces of the people he had been unable to save in the hot and wretched desert.

Dr. John Watson was indeed a broken man who no longer was in possession of the ability to capture a pure emotion with the help of the camera he had saved up for all those years ago when his interest in photography had first caught flame.

The flame it seemed had been put out and his inspiration had deserted him for what looked to be forever.

The ex-army doctor hadn't even the energy to pick up his camera since returning to London and moving into his too expensive, yet too small flat. Instead, his once cherished camera and all the filled photo albums that contained all of his better photos taken from all through the years took residence in his tiny closet, collecting dust.

And more often than not, John would spend a few moments wondering if he'd ever again meet up with the inspiration that had left him all alone. He wondered if he would ever again catch a hold of that inner spark, wondered if he'd ever feel that craving to capture everything he could with his camera, freezing what had once seemed like a perfect moment in a picture format forever.

He would swiftly arrive to the conclusion though that, no. Never again probably. John highly doubted it happening again. The chances of him meeting up with his muse again seemed so slim that John didn't even bother with keeping his hopes up.

After all, nothing ever happened to him, so what could happen to him to push his life in a different direction. A direction where a camera would be held in his hands most of the time and he could once again see the beauty in the world. See the joys too, not just the constant sorrows.

Where was that balance?


Author's Note: Yes, short. I know. But, I'm merely testing the waters with this little tidbit. See how people react. I do have the rest of it written out though, it just needs to be typed up and edited a little.