8th September, 2017
An office in North London
It was raining. A typical London autumn rain, though of course, there was no time of year, when rain would be surprising. John Watson looked up to the window, wondering how the drops would feel like when running down his body, when slowly drenching his cloths. It had been a small eternity since he had felt that.
"You have spent the last twelve years in prison. It is only natural that it will take you time to readjust."
Readjust. Wasn't this exactly the word his therapist had used all these years ago? He tried to think back at the time when he had returned from Afghanistan but it seemed awfully far away. He tried to recall the sun burning on his skin, but he couldn't. Instead he could feel the cold water of the badly tempered prison shower. Yes, he needed to readjust.
"What's so funny about that?"
Apparently, he had unconsciously twisted his lips into a smile. It couldn't have been a joyful one, though. The last time he had truly smiled had been another eternity ago.
"Nothing," John said quickly. "It's simply that I was told exactly the same, when I came back from Afghanistan."
"You've been a soldier?"
He stared down at his fingers, which were drawing small circles on the old wood of the desk.
"You already know; it's all in my file."
"I didn't read it."
He looked up at her, surprised.
"So you don't even know what I was arrested for…?"
"I never read the files," she declared proudly. And then she continued, leaning closer, her eyes locking with John's. "I want to see you for who you are and not for whom you've been. Your former crimes don't matter to me. I think you should be allowed a completely new start, don't you agree?"
He wanted to tell her that this– no matter how good her intentions might be- was not changing anything. That even if she didn't know of his crimes, everyone else did.
He wanted to tell her that he didn't have the strength to begin again, even if he'd wanted to.
But what he said at last was "Thank you."