YEAR 1
It's his eyes. His eyes are what haunt me. The look on his face when he grasped my limp wrist, hoping, begging for a pulse. He didn't feel one, of course, i'd made sure of that. His slurred words as he collapsed to the ground, in shock, not believing what he was seeing. His despair at my grave. God, how it haunts me. I woke up screaming. Again. The fat old land lord protested, banging on my door, yelling in portuguese that he would kick me out if I kept it up.
No one must know. Just Mycroft and I, that's the arrangement. Everyone must believe the lies, even John, as much as it pains me. I can imagine him now, curled up in his horrendous maroon armchair, clutching on to my scarf, still stained with another man's blood.
It's so different now. I'm alive of course, but not really. John made me alive. He made me not the machine I once was. Now that i've lost him I'm empty. Back then I actually smiled. I laughed too. But now i've returned to the darkness that once consumed me.
I've been staying off my 7% even though I desperately need it. I'm doing it for him. When I come back, I don't want him to be disappointed in me.
If I come back. Tracking down murderous killers isn't exactly the most safe thing one could possibly do. There's no guarantee i'll ever see him again.
He's what I hold on to. Just one more man to track down and then I can see him. Just one more night alone and then I can see him. It has been longer than one night. Much longer. But still, I keep telling myself the same words. It is the only thing keeping me sane.
-SH
YEAR 2
I am closer to my goal. Finally, one last man to find. Moran. He is the prize catch, the hardest to track. I am on his trail though. It will hopefully all be over soon.
John has found someone. A woman, Mary. She is pretty, smart, and kind. I am not kind, nor am I handsome.
She is everything John could hope for. They look happy together, Mycroft tells me. I am glad that he is happy.
I keep telling myself that it is good that John has her.
But, there is an alcove in my soul, a pit of doubt that is tearing me apart. I've never known what jealousy feels like, but this must be it.
My mind wanders, obsessed with what she could be doing with my John. I constantly doubt his feelings as well. I tell myself that it is impossible for him to love her. That his courting her is a facade to help ease the grief of my "death".
However, I know I can't live in denial forever. I have nothing to hold on to anymore. I've lost my blogger.
-SH
YEAR 3
Moran has escaped my grasp, again. It sometimes seems like he is a ghost, a figment of my imagination. Now and then I actually believe it, that I'm losing my mind.
The thoughtless, stupid apes before him were so easy to subdue, I never expected it to be like this. Then again, the criminal was worthy enough to become Moriarty's right-hand man. I will not rest until I find him.
Mary is dead. The cancer brought her down quickly, she shouldn't have felt much pain. And if she did, it wasn't for very long.
Mycroft was at her funeral. He tells
me it was pretty. John made a speech. He cried during the entire service.
He didn't cry at my funeral.
But what could I expect? John could never love me the way I love him. He will never know what is behind my gaze, nor what I'm actually saying when I call him an idiot. I love you, you brilliant man.
Sometimes I see a flicker of hope, that he feels the same way, but it always disappears in a flash.
My work is almost finished, I will soon be freed from the prison of my mission. But I will not be freed from the prison of my heart, which is being consumed by fire.
-SH
13 MONTHS LATER
It is done. I am going to my John, my home. My heart is whole again.
-SH
