JOHNS ARMEGEDDON JOURNAL
John couldn't write in his blog anymore. The power had been cut weeks ago. He now used a journal for his personal writings. He felt one day someone, somewhere would need them.
June 17, 2017
It's only been two months, and all of London has fallen. We have no contact with anyone. For a short while, Molly, Greg, and a woman by the name of Sadie had been with Sherlock and me. We stayed together, fighting and living together. Protecting each other. But one by one, they disappeared. Greg first. Then Sadie. And Molly was just taken today. She was bit on the arm, and begged us to end it before it began. It was hard for us. It still is. No contact with anyone. We have no idea of the state the rest of the world is in.
Sherlock refuses to leave Molly's body behind. I think only now he realizes the love she had for him. And the love he had for her as well. I've never seen him cry. He is weeping over Molly's lifeless form. One does not realize how much they had until it has left them.
June 26, 2017
We watched someone try to... Escape. We tried to help. A young woman was running away from a hoard of them. Sherlock and I were safe on high ground. We shouted at her to join us, to get up off the ground so they couldn't reach her. But she must have not heard us. She ran right under and passed us. We watched as she was caught, and listened to her scream as she was torn limb from limb. Sherlock watched on in disgust. I could not watch. It seemed her screams went on for hours. They eat you slow, and they eat your vital organs last. So you are alive for a great deal of time, before you finally die.
July 2, 2017
Sherlock is sick. We needed medication. At Scotland Yard as we entered the medical room, they were there. Many of them. We were chased into a small storage area. This is where we have been for the past day.
July 3, 2017
We have been stuck here for 24 hours. Sherlock is getting worse. He is pail, and has developed a cough. They are still out there. They bang on the doors all the time. Not once has it stopped. And they growl. There is no chance of sleep. I fear we will not last longer. Sherlock is talking in his sleep, asking God for death. Which I feel I will be begging for in a short matter of time.
July 4, 2017
I don't know how, but one of them got in through a vent, and it bit Sherlock. I killed it. I got it fast, but it got Sherlock. And he is shivering uncontrollably, and his temperature is dropping drastically. I cannot kill him. I will not. I could not bear for myself to do it. His head is in my lap now. He is shaking. I can't calm him down! He asks me for death. I CANNOT PROVIDE! I CANNOT KILL MY BEST FRIEND. WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH. HOW CAN IT END HERE?! How can it end here? God, I feel, is sadistic.
July 5, 2017
Sherlock's last words before he became one of them. "John. John." Was all he said. I've tied him in a corner. I can't kill him. I will die here. I'm starving to death, and I've not had water in three days. My hours are limited. I spend them talking to Sherlock. He's still there. Somewhere inside. He is there.
July 6, 2017
Three hours ago, I let Sherlock bit me. I can feel. Taking toll. Eyes are blur. Limbs cold, numb. Skin is pealing. Hair, falling out. My mind. Wanders. Thoughts are not mine. Auto pilot it seems like. Going fast. If you find this. Know I was a good man. I tried to help, and survive with others. I loved this world. What happened to it.
Dr. John H. Watson signing out.
