It began, happened, and ended while it was raining. Everything was cold after it, and the rain turned to snow. What was it?
It took me a moment to realise it was snowing.
I had been staring. I think. Maybe I had just woken up.
I'm not sure I care.
All is quiet: in the flat, and in the street below. Mrs Hudson isn't downstairs, I'm sure of that at least, but I'm not so sure of where she has gone. She must have come up and told me at some point, but I have no recollection of her doing so. I must have filtered. More likely, I just wasn't paying attention, not to her at least. Not to anything in this flat, in this city, in this world.
Not anymore.
For those of you who are anywhere between a little and very confused, no, this is not Dr John H Watson. He really should have come up with a more complex password than 'sherlockhackmeonemoretime'. On second thought, perhaps it was more of a warning. Oh well. It's a little late for that now, isn't it? I've never really been one to listen. Ask Mycroft, he'll only be so glad to tell you how stubborn I am, despite the whole pot-kettle-black thing John was so fond of telling me.
In all actuality, it's very likely that my love of not listening was the deciding factor in getting him killed.