They told him it was a chance to redo it all.
"You can finally, finallymove on, John. Take it. Take this chance."
John did not want to move on. He did not want to be healed, he wanted to take his wound and not nurse it and never get better. He wanted his wound; to live with it and talk to it and take his memories and dream with them and coexist with them. He had faced death before. He would get through this. Why did everyone think he was so weak. He was a soldier.
Lestrade told him that he would need to take a very small course at the police academy, and then he would be the head of the police department in a small rural area. There would be little action, mostly small infractions of the law. "John, please take this. You need to get out of London."
"Lestrade, don't say that to me. I am a part of London, i've lived here for so long, it's a part of me."
Lestrade leaned in closer. "We both know why you can't leave London, John. And it has nothing to do with the city."
John packed that night.
