October 14 2007

The first battle drones are commissioned for use in the Afghan war.

July 25 2008

Battle drones show the first signs of being semi-sentient- capable of basic emotion; displaying loyalty similar to that of a dog to its owner, all without programming. They show despair over fallen comrades. They try to save other drones even when there is no hope of rebooting them. They listen to the whims of local children and bring them paper and pencils from the field supplies.

September 3 2009, 21:02 local time

Captain John H. Watson is shot in his left shoulder.

September 4 2009, 00:09 local time

Captain John H. Watson is pronounced dead.

September 4 2009, 14:54 local time

Captain John H. Watson wakes up.


It is generally accepted that life consists of a string of events in chronological order which elicit emotional responses, which in turn allow us to learn from experience. John Watson, therefore, was correct in his belief that what he was experiencing would not be classed as a conventional "life".

14 December 2009, 15:32 local time

"Nothing happens to me."

"Then it's up to you to change that. Meet someone. Take up a hobby. It'll help to take your mind off things."

He gave her a sideways smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Right. Yep."

It was good advice, he knew that, but Lord was Ella asking a lot of him.

For months he had been trying to get used to "civilian life". He had the freedom to eat what he wanted, sleep when he wanted, he could get a job, or a girlfriend. He could take up drinking like Harry had, or gamble his meagre pension away like his uncle George had.

He didn't.

He ate whatever he could stomach. He would walk around outer London's less charming streets for half an hour at 10 o'clock. Pop into Tesco's for milk and a microwave dinner. Wobble home and sit in one spot until half past six when he would pick through said dinner and nudge the rest around his plate. He would try to watch some mind-numbing television but would end up shutting off whatever programme was on in frustration way before it was finished. His attempts at sleep followed. He aimed for the recommended eight hours, but was always woken early by images of blood and missing limbs, all surrounded by dust and noise and an ominous ticking.

The unfaltering tick tock tick tock continued into his waking hours, but by then he had taught himself to shove it to the periphery of awareness. Its monotonous consistency had caused torturous headaches in the first two weeks back from Afghanistan. Thankfully, they began to wear off as John came to terms with it. It was not going to stop until the day he died.

Shut down?

English vocabulary had not advanced far enough to accommodate John's unique circumstances.

Stopped?

That was a nice middle ground, he supposed.

January 29 2010, 10:58 local time

"John! John Watson!"

Avoiding old friends took a kind of social skill that he didn't have. John begrudgedly turned back to Mike as he reintroduced himself. He didn't seem to have noticed the cane as he launched into conversation.

"I heard you were away gettin' shot at. What happened?"

John blinked disbelievingly. Mike was never the most observant guy. "I got shot."